#Enjoy Riesling Wine

[noisycowboyglitter]

A Glass of Riesling: The Ideal Wine for Beginners and Connoisseurs Alike

A glass of Riesling invites a sensory journey marked by complexity and versatility. This white wine grape, renowned for its aromatic intensity and vibrant acidity, offers a spectrum of flavors from bone-dry to lusciously sweet.  

Buy now:19.95$

At its core, Riesling is a wine of terroir, expressing the unique characteristics of its growing region. From the slate-driven minerality of German Rieslings to the lush fruit-forward styles of Washington State, each bottle unveils a distinct personality. The wine's acidity acts as a counterbalance, ensuring a refreshing and palate-cleansing experience.  

Whether you prefer the crisp, dry elegance of a German Riesling or the opulent sweetness of a late-harvest Alsatian example, there's a Riesling to suit every palate. Pair a dry Riesling with seafood, Asian cuisine, or spicy dishes to experience its food-friendly nature. For sweeter styles, indulge in desserts or enjoy as a standalone aperitif.

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With its ability to age gracefully, Riesling offers a captivating evolution over time. As the wine matures, it develops complex aromas of petrol, honey, and dried apricot, adding layers of depth and intrigue. A glass of Riesling is more than just a beverage; it's an invitation to explore the world of wine and discover the endless possibilities this versatile grape variety has to offer.

A Wine Costume Christmas is a festive and fun theme for a holiday party. Whether you're hosting a glamorous gathering or a casual get-together, dressing up as your favorite wine varietal can add a touch of whimsy and sophistication to the occasion. Guests can come dressed as classic reds like Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot, crisp whites like Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay, or even bubbly options like Champagne or Prosecco.

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To complete the wine theme, decorate your space with grapevine garlands, wine bottle centerpieces, and cheese and cracker platters. Create a signature wine-inspired cocktail or offer a wine-tasting station for added entertainment. Encourage guests to participate in wine-related games or trivia for a fun and interactive experience. A Wine Costume Christmas is a unique and memorable way to celebrate the holiday season with friends and family.

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A Merry Christmas gift is a token of love, appreciation, and joy shared during the holiday season. It's a tangible expression of the festive spirit, bringing warmth and happiness to the recipient. Whether it's a thoughtful present for a loved one, a fun surprise for a child, or a small token of gratitude for a colleague, a Merry Christmas gift is designed to create lasting memories and strengthen bonds. The act of giving a Merry Christmas gift is a cherished tradition that fosters a sense of community and generosity.

[hotchscoffeecup]

from across the bar

summary: an observation here and a sarcastic retort there is a sure fire way to catch agent hotchner’s attention at the hotel bar. after sharing a drink, he invites you to his hotel room where he gives it you just the way you ask for it: rough.

tags: light bondage, minor self-degradation, hand sex, oral sex, p in v sex, ass slapping, rough sex

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

rating: m, mdni

word count: 4.2k

Goosebumps bristle across your skin; the sharp bite of winter’s wind whipping against your cheeks and tossing your hair about your face. You fold your arms across your chest, tucking your hands beneath your biceps and thinking you ought to have worn a thicker coat. The thin suede Calvin Klein duster you’re wearing flutters about your ankles as the doorman tips his head in greeting and pulls the door wide. Heat rushes out to greet you and you smile in thanks as you cross through the threshold.

Friday night at The Ritz-Carlton is as busy as any bar or restaurant in DC. Men and women dressed in exorbitantly priced suits and dresses mill about, laughing and cavorting over drinks; standing at cocktail tables or seated at the bar or sleek leather seated areas interspersed throughout the modern space. Recess lighting creates a dim ambience that gives Hollister a run for its money. Your lips twitch and you have to fight to school your facial expression. The opulence is unnecessary, but you roll your shoulders back and situate yourself at the bar anyway, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you do so.

“Something to drink?” a bartender asks, placing a drink menu in front of you.

You smile politely and push the menu away. “A riesling, please.”

“Riesling? That’s awfully sweet, isn’t it?”

Your brow arches in response to the deep tenor rumbling a few seats down from you. You spare a glance in his direction and note the way in which he swirls the scotch in his hand. You’re half convinced that no one actually likes scotch; that it’s more about men establishing dominance around other men while they all pretend to enjoy a drink that tastes like paint thinner.

He is quite handsome though; from the strong set of his jaw to the dark slash of his brow, everything about him exudes leadership and power. A lawyer, perhaps. His suit is tailored to fit his lean frame, an expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt.

You thank the bartender as they place a long stemmed glass in front of you. You take a long slow sip, enjoying the crisp white wine.

“Careful, big shot” you warn, not looking in his direction. “Sweetness often masks the taste of poison. You ought to know,” you say, inclining your chin toward the glass in his hand.

He chuckles wryly and sips his whiskey, “Scotch is an acquired taste.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, noting the lack of text notifications or any sign of a missed call and slip it back into your coat pocket.

“Not the message you were expecting?” he asks and he seems genuinely curious.

“It’s the lack thereof,” you grumble and take another sip of wine. Five minutes late is one thing, fifteen is a different matter altogether without any attempt to reach out.

“Stood up on a Friday night,” the man arches his brow and blows out a slow breath. “That’s rough.”

“I was not stood up!” you counter defensively. You take a quick breath and actually turn to face him. Your heart stills momentarily as you take in the amused look in his dark brown eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips. Quickly coming back down to Earth, you blink several times and cross one leg over the other.

You feel his eyes level on you and you struggle to come up with some quippy retort. As he sips his whiskey, you can’t help but notice how strong his hands look; his wide palms and long fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand. For a split second you wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers wrapped around your throat or tangled in your hair.

“Wedding ring,” you almost blurt out.

His brow furrows and you point to his left hand, indicating the tan line on his fourth finger. His hand flexes around the cup before he sighs. “Divorced.”

“Ah,” you say, taking another sip of your wine. “So, that’s why you’re drinking alone on a Friday night?”

“I’m not alone,” he replies coolly, arching a brow as he regards you.

His keen stare forces a rush of heat to flush to your cheeks. A smirk tugs at his lips in response to the obvious scarlett trailing across your face and neck.

Taking a deep breath, you finish your glass of wine, stand, and shuffle down to occupy the seat beside him, your high heeled boots clacking against the tiled floor. With a newly emboldened confidence, you place your hand flat against his thigh, boosting yourself up onto the barstool as you level your gaze on him from beneath curled lashes.

His eyes widen slightly, but you see a spark of a challenge flare to life inside them. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Forget my name,” you say coolly. “You clearly came out tonight looking to meet someone and it looks like my plans have changed.”

“I have a suite on the 7th floor,” he says.

You offer him a wicked smile, “Then what are we still doing here?”

•

As the elevator doors pings, signaling its arrival in the lobby, the man extends an arm, holding them open for you to enter first.

“A gentleman too,” you remark as you slide past him letting your body brush against despite the ample room to avoid doing so. The heady scent of his cologne sticks to you and you wonder if you’ll be smelling it on your skin here soon.

He steps inside and presses the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator doors begin to close, someone rushes toward them, trying to get on but the man doesn’t move to hold them. “Take the next one,” he says as they seal shut.

He pounces the second they do, one hand curled around your waist and the other tangled in your hair; your combined body weight thudding against the paneled wall of the elevator. His lips crash against yours, and your lips instantly part for him; groaning into his open mouth. This only seems to drive him further and you feel his erection pressed against your thigh.

“Eager, are we?” you breathe against his lips before nipping at the shell of his ear.

His left hand curves around your ass to cup it in his large hand as his other curls around the back of your neck, using his thumb to angle your chin up towards him. “You have no idea,” he says, voice husky as he moves to suckle the hollow of your throat.

You fist the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to you. You moan against his mouth eliciting a deeper one from him. As the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the seventh floor, you peel yourself off of him and slip through the doors right as they open leaving him panting and aching for more.

Giggling to yourself, you don’t wait for him as you head toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after you seductively. With a breathy laugh he adds, “You don’t even know which room it is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” you tease. Without turning back, you raise your hand in the air, his key card tucked between two fingers. “You really outta keep better track of your belongings.”

The sound of him slapping his pockets and grumbling curses brings a cheeky grin to your lips. You slap the key against the keypad and buzz inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just before he reaches you.

A dark laugh rumbles from beyond the door and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Undoing the belt at your waist, you shrug out of your coat and toss it over the nearby sofa. He knocks on the door and in a voice just above a whisper he starts to detail what he’s going to do to you once you let him inside. Your black high waisted trousers accentuate the curve of your waist, the black lacy corset teddy you’re wearing underneath pushes your breasts up and out.

As you move to open the door, you swipe his badge from your coat pocket, the other item you’d managed to swipe from his suit jacket.

He opens his mouth to chastise you, but instead he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drop to the swell of your breast. He leans into his arm that’s stretched up above him where he holds onto the doorframe.

Pouting, you fold your hands behind your back and rock back and forth on your heels. “I’m sorry for locking you out,” you say coyly. “Tell me though,” you say, leaning forward, looping your arms around his neck. “Do you have a pair of handcuffs somewhere on you to go with this badge, Agent Hotchner?”

Pulling your one hand free from around his neck, you flip open the leather bifold and dangle his own photo in front of his steely gaze.

His lips press together in a firm line as he looks from his badge to you, though the smile doesn’t slip from your mouth. He pushes his weight against the door frame and peers over both shoulders before taking his forearm and pushing it into your chest, forcing your back against the doorway and knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest heaves and your abdomen clenches as you bite your lip, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes. He dips his chin so his lips are level with your ear.

“I don’t need my cuffs to keep you at my mercy,” he growls.

The breath in your lungs stills and you feel your pulse increase, thrumming inside your neck. Wrapping his tie around your knuckles, you gently tug him towards you. “Then give it to me, rough, G-man.”

He wastes no time. Releasing the door frame, he drops it and loops it around your waist before yanking you against his muscular frame. He walks you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and the door automatically locks.

His grip on your hips is bruising and you love the ache of his hands on you as he guides you to the bed. His lips seek yours out and when they find them, you slip your tongue between his lips. You can still taste the scotch on him. As you fold your hands into his hair, you gently suck on his lower lip, grazing your teeth along it and savoring the moan that elicits from him.

When your ass touches the edge of the bed, he pushes his pelvis against your hip, his erection digging into your thigh. You yearn to feel that hard length inside your pussy, but you know it won’t be that easy. You’ve played too many games with him tonight to win him over that easily. You lower your weight onto the bed and wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“So?” you ask, offering a flirtatious glance whilst skirting the toe of your boot up the length of his leg. “What’s the verdict on those cuffs, Agent?”

His fingers curl around your bare shoulders and toy with the straps of your teddy. “I’m not carrying them tonight,” he says after a while. He moves to loosen his tie and your belly clenches as you wonder what he plans to do with it.

“Hands out,” he orders, and the authority in his voice is so natural you immediately feel compelled to listen.

He slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around your wrists, tying them together snugly, but not so much to cut off feeling to them. He grips the loose end and aggressively tugs you towards him so that your chest is flush with his.

You splay your fingers out against his chest and try to reach for the collar of his shirt to start working on the buttons when he yanks your wrists away.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs. He releases his hold on your makeshift restraints and shifts both hands under your ass. With a grunt, he picks you and shifts your weight so that you’re sat fully on the bed.

“Lay down,” he commands. “Arms above your head.”

As you slowly do as he asks, your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Yes sir, Mr. Hotchner.”

He emits a low groan as his name tumbles from your mouth and you know his cock is straining in his pants. Again, you try to tease him through his trousers with the toe of your boot, but his reflexes are too quick and his hand snaps out to catch your ankle. He arches one dark brow at you before focusing his attention on unzipping each one at a relentlessly slow pace. Your pussy throbs in anticipation of what’s to come and you bite your lip as he straddles your waist, one knee on the bed as his other foot remains on the floor. His eyes are fixed on yours as his fingers make quick work of the buttons of your pants. As his fingers curl around the hem and begin to wind them down your waist and hips, you can’t help but reach up and try to run your fingers through his hair.

Immediately, he snatches your wrist from midair and slams it into the mattress. You gasp and try not to giggle, excited by this show of brute force.

“Don’t move.” His voice is low. “If you can’t follow instructions, there will be consequences.”

You push your lower lip forward, “And I hate to suffer those at your big,” you enunciate each word, “strong, hands.”

Hotchner keeps his obsidian eyes, sharp as knives, daggered on you for a second longer, before releasing your wrists and sliding your pants down and off your legs.

“Now this,” he says, trailing a finger down the lace up front of the corset styled teddy. “Makes accessing want I know you so desperately want me to touch a little difficult, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, you should check again Mr. Hotchner,” you reply with a flutter of lashes.

He regards you curiously, but there’s a dark amusement glinting in the depths of his irises. His hand slinks around your calf, and that alone elicits goosebumps up and down the length of exposed skin. As his hand trails up the inside of your thighs, your muscles quake as you allow your legs to fall open for him.

His lips part as he discovers the missing fabric between your legs. His brow curves as he regards you with keen interest. “One way or another you knew you were getting fucked tonight.”

“One can never be too prepared, can they?”

“No,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. You squirm as he presses his hand flat against your belly, fingers splayed out as he slowly drags them down toward your center.

“Now let’s see just how ready you are, shall we?.” He sinks one long finger inside you and you groan. “So wet,” he murmurs, slowly sinking another finger inside of you. You feel the moisture pooling, how quickly the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers heightens your arousal. When his thumb presses against your clit and begins moving in slow circles, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Oh, Aaron,” you say, dragging out his name. Your hands fumble to grip onto the sheets as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, maneuvering his fingers each time to strike your g-spot in rhythm with the circular motion around your clit. The wet sounds of his hands wringing pleasure from your body alongside him murmuring filthy things is too much. You need more.

“Please,” you say, arching your back against the mattress in an attempt to draw his fingers in deeper. “I need more.” You hook a leg around his waist and pull him against the edge of the bed, not missing the way his throat strains and eyes roll back at that thought. He increases his speed and without warning withdraws his fingers. You immediately miss their presence, but then suppress a scream as he dives face first into your pussy. His tongue delves into your center, devouring your pleasure. His slick tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nub and your pleasure centers are firing on all cylinders.

You dig your elbows into the mattress and push your hips into the air, pressing yourself against his mouth and he moans against your pussy. You feel the deep tremble reverberate against your walls and cry out as it becomes too much to bear in the best way possible.

He grips your hips and you kick you legs up around his neck, drawing him in as if he could get any closer to you. You clench the sheets above your head and cry out, his name on your lips as pleasure builds in your abdomen, pulsing through you all the way to your core. He shifts then, and before you can wonder what he’s doing, he takes a breath and sucks your clit between his teeth. You hiss at the unfamiliar sensation and swear you see stars when his fingers plunge deep into your pussy.

You come instantly, your orgsam surging through you like electricity. You feel it through every inch of your body, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your tousled hair. The aftershocks are still coursing through you as Hotchner tightens his hold on your hips and with a grunt of effort, flips you onto your stomach and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed. The sound of a belt unfastening and zipper coming down is all the preparation you receive before he slaps your ass and the hard length of his cock slams into you. You cry out with ultimate ecstasy as he fills you.

Turning your face into the mattress, you gasp and grunt with each forceful thrust. Your pussy clenches around his thick girth. The slap of flesh on flesh is all that can be heard as he pumps himself in and out. He releases a sharp breath and winds his fingers into your hair, tugging on it. You cry out and moan as you turn to look at him over your shoulder, finding great satisfaction when you watch him melt under your sultry smokey eyed look.

“Come on, baby,” you urge and you see his restraint crack. “Take what you want.”

His brow pinches and unfurrows as his grip starts to falter.

“Use me,” you push, delighting in the way his lips press together as he fights to hold on to his release.

You press your ass higher into the air, allowing him to plunge deeper into your core as his thrusts become less controlled and his pace becomes erratic.

“You don’t,” you grunt and moan as he strikes your g-spot again and again, “even know my name.” You breathe out and groan as you turn over your shoulder once more. “Let me be your whore, Agent Hotchner.”

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock into your pussy. He holds onto your hips so tightly, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You relish in his pleasure as much he relished in yours. When he stops shaking, he slowly lowers your hips onto the mattress and smooths his fingers over the tender flesh there.

Easing you on to your back, you feel his cum slip down your inner thighs as he clambers over you and tenderly kisses your face and neck. When his lips brush yours, you taste yourself on him.

You reach up and hands still bound, brush the hair from his forehead. He smiles as he reaches up and undoes the knot with one swift move. The tie instantly unravels and he casts it aside. You place your hands on either side of his face, thumb stroking the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Let me help get you cleaned up,” he says gently, eyes soft.

You nod, “I think I’d like that.”

He cradles you into his arms and carries you to the shower where he places you on the tile floor and cranks the water on. As steam begins to fill the room, he helps you out of your negligee. Without words, you turn and push his blazer off of his shoulders. You do the same with his dress shirt and let him kick out of his shoes and socks before curling your fingers around the hem of his pants and underwear and kneel to draw them down over his ankles.

He loops his arms around your waist as you stand and kisses you slowly as he guides you back into the walk-in shower. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing your taut muscles. You close your eyes as he tilts your head back and smoothes your hair away from your face. He places feather light kisses along your jawline as he pumps body wash into his hand from the dispenser on the wall.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he lathers the soap between his hands and smoothes it over your shoulders.

You release a moan of a different sort as his fingers massage the soap into your neck and back. You turn around and lean against the wide plane of his chest as he curves his hands around to wash your breasts and stomach.

His voice is amused when he speaks. “That good, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm.

He laughs softly in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple. He continues to wash your body, treating each limb like a holy object the way he handles you with such delicacy and adoration. When he finishes with you, he washes himself quickly and exits the shower to retrieve two plush towels from beneath the sink. As you work to try yourself off, he fetches the robes provided to each guest from the closet in the main room.

You admire the softness of his stomach contrasted with the hard angles of his face and lean musculature of his arms and legs. He really is a beautiful man.

“Thank you, Agent.” You say with a wink as you take it from him.

He laughs. “You and titles. I thought we’d agreed on no names.”

“I said you didn’t need to know my name. I never said anything about yours. What can I say? I love a power play. After all, you must be used to that in your big, bad FBI office, hmm?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

You continue to towel dry your hair and smile back at him. “I guess this game of ours has reached its end. I gotta say, I had a wonderful time.”

“It doesn’t have to end,” he says with a suggestive arch of his brow.

Tilting your head back and forth, you weigh your options. “How about this?” you say, taking a measured step toward him. His eyes widen, surprised by your sudden prowess. “You and me,” you say slowly and stand on your toes so you can purr directly into his ear, “drop the ruse, order room service, and watch a movie on Netflix?”

He pulls away, expression unreadable for a moment. You keep your eyes on him, waiting, and then smile when his posture visibly relaxes. “Honestly, that sounds great, babe, I’m exhausted.”

A grin pulls across your cheeks as you dash into the room and grab your purse. Returning to the bathroom, you reach deep into your bag and unzip the pocket in the inner lining. You fish out your wedding rings and place Aaron’s in his hand before slipping yours back onto your finger.

“The crotchless lingerie was a nice surprise,” he says as he adjust the simple gold band on his finger.

Your lips quirk into a grin, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that little surprise.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. “Seriously though, how’d I do?” he asks. “I’m not used to using my office persona around you. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. With you, it’s so easy to leave work at the office and relax.”

“Well I certainly hope you don’t do that at the office.”

He chuckles. “You know what I mean!” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “The hardened exterior, the stern, hard voice, expressionless. Dominating. I’m never like that with you.”

“Naturally,” you tease, voice light. “I’m so full of fun and whimsy. It’s hard not to come back down to Earth from your Bureaucratic cloud of murder and mayhem when you’re with me.”

He loops his arms around you, hands flat against your back. “Five years of marriage and you still manage to keep me on my toes, more so than some of the men and women I’m paid to track down and put away.”

You pull back and look up at him. “You love the sex bucket list, be honest.”

He can’t fight the grin that tugs at his lips as he nods. “Role playing as two strangers that meet at random is definitely up there with the things we’ve done so far.”

“More fun than when we played naked Twister with the body paint?”

“Ooo, don’t make me choose.”

He dials room service, ordering plenty of food and desserts to refuel after your exciting adventure into role play and as you climb into the California king bed with him and snuggle against his chest, you silently thank whatever divine forces exist in the universe for every opportunity you get to spend with him like this; your lover, your husband, your everything.

[hearts-hunger]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Taglist Form

Summary: For Josh, home is where you are. | Standalone in the Cabin Fever universe

Pairings: Josh x Wife! Reader (Josh POV) | Genres: domestic fluff, angst, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: a little mention of spice

A/N: I loved Josh's most recent insta caption about the stage being his ethereal living room he gets to share with us, but I also love hurt/comfort, so I made it angsty and fluffy for Josh and Baby. I hope you like it! ♡

“The stage is your ‘ethereal living room’?”

Josh looked up from the charcuterie board he was meticulously arranging to see you on your phone, presumably scrolling through the concert pictures he’d posted half an hour ago. He smiled.

“Yeah, you know.” He tapped a row of crackers into line until they were perfect. “The shows are a place where people come together to enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere that feels like home.”

You didn’t say anything. He glanced up at you again.

“Ethereal means — ”

“I know what ethereal means, Josh.” Your face went pink. “It’s just not usually a word you use to describe a living room.”

He was a little surprised at your tone; it bordered on sounding upset, but maybe that was just because he’d embarrassed you, though he certainly hadn’t meant to.

“I was just trying to help, baby,” he said gently. He tried for some humor. “And you’re right, it’s not usually a word you’d use to describe a living room. Definitely not our living room in the state it’s been in lately.”

That had the opposite of the intended effect, and he wished he could take it back when your face fell. “You don’t think it’s ready for tonight?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s ready now. Everything looks great. I just meant that we haven’t been as good about tidying every night, so it’s been a wreck recently.”

“Right,” you said, but it was doubtful and tense. “Well, I tried to get most of it done while you were at work — ”

“I know, baby.” He felt that he’d botched this conversation pretty badly, but you also seemed much more sensitive than you usually were. “It was a huge help, and I’m grateful that you did most of the cleaning when we made the mess together.”

“I didn’t make it quite as ethereal as a concert, though,” you said, and your laugh was a little strained.

He wondered at your fixation on the wording of his caption, but maybe you were trying to make it into a running joke.

“The Kiszkas wouldn’t know what to do with a living room too perfect for this world,” he teased. He set the board on the other side of the island and went hunting for the wine glasses. “Could you grab me the corkscrew, honey?”

You did as he said, but there was a pensiveness to your body language that made him worry. You’d been in a great mood all day, his happy bubbly girl, spending the day shopping and tidying and preparing for the dinner party you were hosting. Jake, Sparrow, Sam, and Danny were due to arrive any time now, and Josh had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you after work getting your home ready for your family. He didn’t know what had brought on this sudden change in mood, and he racked his brain for what could have caused it and what he could do to fix it.

“Dessert smells really good,” he said sincerely. “Did you end up putting the strawberries in there too?”

You handed him the corkscrew and stood uneasily as he opened the Riesling, toying with the sleeve of your pretty dress.

“No,” you said quietly. “It’s just regular blackberry cobbler. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

A frown tugged at his features. “I don’t,” he said. He popped the cork out.  “Of course I don’t mind. That sounds great, honey.”

“It’s not very exciting,” you said apologetically.

He didn’t know where this was going. Surely you weren’t upset about the dessert you’d made, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what you really were upset about. He decided to stick with his usual strategy, which was mostly just continuing to be sweet to you. 

“I don’t need exciting, baby,” he said, kissing your cheek. “It’ll be perfect. I can’t wait to try it.”

Working together, but without your usual quips and jokes back and forth, you and Josh put the finishing touches on dinner before the doorbell rang. Josh put his dishtowel over his shoulder and went to welcome your guests in, and he was happy that you joined him.

“You look beautiful, baby,” he said. “I love that dress on you.”

You touched a hand to the neckline of your summery black dress patterned with little red cherries. “Oh, well, it’s only a sundress. But... thank you.” The usual enthusiastic enjoyment of his compliments he loved hearing was nowhere in your voice. He wished he could wait to open the door and ask what was bothering you, but the doorbell was now accompanied by rhythmic knocking the type of which only a drummer could deliver. 

“I’m telling you,” Josh said, trying one last-ditch attempt to coax a smile out of you. “This ethereal living room business — it’s better if it’s just our plain old living room with these hooligans.”

The smile you gave him was clearly only for his sake, not even reaching your eyes. Discouraged and unable to stall any longer, he turned the door handle. 

“I didn’t mean to push this on you,” you blurted. Your expression was anxious and regretful. “I’m sorry, Josh.”

By the time he’d processed what you’d said, the door was already open, and your family was coming inside full of laughter and bearing gifts of wine and appetizers and card games to play. He wanted to jump right into the festive atmosphere his brothers and sister-in-law brought with them, but he was completely preoccupied by your blurted-out apology for... what? What could you have to be sorry for? He looked across the foyer and felt his heart twist when he saw your strained smile as you welcomed your family inside.

“Alright, Kiszkas,” he said with more levity than he felt. He ushered everyone into the living room, pointing out the drinks and snacks on the kitchen island. “Eat, drink, and be merry. Dinner’s almost ready.” 

He asked Danny to watch the sauce simmering on the back of the stove, wanting to try and get a moment with you before dinner. He left Sparrow and his brothers chatting and snacking in the kitchen and found you in the dining room, double-checking the place settings you’d already made perfect an hour before.

“Baby,” he said gently. “What did you mean, you’re sorry for ‘pushing this on me’? Did you mean dinner?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I should have asked you before I planned it.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “You did ask me. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” you said sheepishly. “I think I just told you I was doing it, and you went along with it.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t mind,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad you planned it.” He debated giving you space or pressing a little deeper, and he risked the latter. He came around the table to the side where you stood.

“I’m glad we’re all spending time together,” he said. He took your hands in his. “I’d like to enjoy it with you, too, but I wouldn't be happy if you were unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” you lied.

“Baby,” he chided tenderly. “You’ve been out of sorts for a little bit now, and I want to help you get back into sorts. I just don’t know how.”

You looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re happy with... all this?”

He raised a brow. “Dinner? Or, like, the universe as a whole?”

You sighed. “No, I mean... do you like being home? Maybe it’s a little lackluster after touring.”

“That could not be farther from the truth,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. Was that all that was bothering you? 

“Silly girl,” he said with a smile. “Of course I like being home. I love being home.”

“But it’s... it’s just... me,” you said lamely. “Just our house.”

“I’m still not seeing a problem,” he said, affectionately teasing. “I love you, and I love our house, especially when it has all the people we love in it drinking all our wine.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Then — “Are you sure?”

For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt a surprisingly sharp flash of hurt at your doubt. He tamped it down to focus on you, his sweet wife, who apparently felt that his homecoming had been spent wishing he was back out on the road.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he finally said. He cupped your face in his hands, reading something sad and needful in your expression but unable to figure out how to fix it. “I love being home with you, baby. I miss you so much when I’m away. You don’t know that?”

He saw your eyes sparkle with tears and wished desperately he could understand how it had gotten this bad, wished he could figure out how to fix it.

“Hey,” he said softly. He kissed you. “I love you. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“But it’s not — ”

“It’s perfect,” he said, gently cutting across your protest. “And though I love the way you open our home to our family, even just being with you, eating takeout in our pajamas, would have been perfect too.”

You gave him a watery smile at that, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s that smile,” he said tenderly. He brushed the tears from your face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough, baby. You're everything to me. You’re my heart. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded and kissed him, and he was so happy to have helped even a little. He’d probably ask about it again, try to understand what had made you think such a thing so that you'd never have to think it again. For now, though, your family was waiting, and you seemed eager now to get back to them.

“Don't tell them I was crying,” you said, running your hands over your cheeks, trying to hide the telltale signs. “Tell them we were having a quickie or something.”

He chuckled. “I'm not sure I’m skilled enough for that to be believable, baby. Less than five minutes is a lot to ask.” He kissed your cheek. “And I won’t tell them you were crying. That’s between you and me.” To his way of thinking, a husband's job was to protect his wife at her most vulnerable, not to expose her. These moments between you, the words and soft touches and intimacy you shared — those were just for the two of you, and Josh treasured the privilege of being the one you shared yourself with when you needed a little extra love.

You took his hand, and when he was sure you were ready, he led you back out to where your family waited. 

He saw you return to your usual self as the night went on, and he loved to hear your laugh and watch your smile light up your face as you spent time with your family. Sam, Danny, Jake, and Sparrow — they never failed to bring warmth and light with them wherever they went, and Josh knew that there was no better medicine than their terrible jokes and affectionate bickering and safe, easy love. You were always beautiful, but joy made you ravishing; you shone as brightly as the sun when you were happy, and he felt a weight come off his shoulders as you came back to yourself.

After dinner, you found a spot on the couch; as Josh went to fix glasses of wine for both of you, he watched the drama unfolding in the living room. Catty corner to you, Sam and Jake were playing guitar, Sam casually and Jake with characteristic seriousness; Sparrow sat perched on the arm of Sam’s chair, and Danny sat on the floor.

“Watch him,” Danny said, slipping a hair tie from his wrist and aiming it like a slingshot at Jake. “I bet he won’t stop playing.”

“No, Danny!” Sparrow giggled around the straw stuck in her wine glass. “That would be so mean to my poor Jakey.”

“He wont’ even notice,” Danny said, unable to hide an impish smile. “Watch.”

He shot the hair tie at Jake, and it popped him on the forehead before tumbling down the guitar and landing on the floor. Jake didn’t miss a beat.

Danny and Sparrow dissolved in uproarious laughter, and Jake merely rolled his eyes with a telltale smile.

“You’re all idiots,” he said.

“Not me!” Sam protested. He watched Jake’s fingers, invested in learning the tune now. “I’m trying to play with you, but geez, can you dial it down from rock god so I can figure it out?”

Jake slowed his playing, talking Sam through the notes, and good-naturedly accepted a kiss on his forehead from Sparrow. Danny tried to find the hair tie again and hit Sam with it when he did, earning himself a nudge with Sam’s foot that made Danny laugh and lean his head against Sam’s knee in apology.

Josh brought your drinks over to the couch and handed yours to you. “For you, baby.”

You accepted it gratefully and patted the spot next to you. “Thanks, honey. Come sit with me.”

He did, draping one arm over the back of the couch behind you, pleased when you scooched closer to him. He gave you a sweet, chaste kiss.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked gently.

You couldn’t help a dull blush, but you gave him a bashful smile. “Yes. I’m sorry I was so... tearful earlier.”

“That’s alright, honey. Would you mind telling me what it was that got you so upset?”

You ran the pad of your thumb over the bottom of your wineglass. He was patient as he waited for you to gather your thoughts.

“It’s silly,” you said finally. “You’ll either laugh or be annoyed that I made such a big deal about it.”

He considered that. You usually took things in your stride, and neither of you made a habit of being offended or upset over trivial, accidental things. Whatever it was, it had hurt you, and he would validate that feeling no matter what it turned out to be.

“I promise I won’t laugh,” he said. “And I don't think I’ll be annoyed.” He really just wanted to know what it was, and he told you so.

Your nervous, wandering fingers found his, and he was content to let you play with his wedding ring. You brushed your thumb over the shiny gold surface.

“It was your caption,” you said. “You know, for those pictures you posted.”

He was bemused for a moment. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “There’s no greater feeling in the world than returning to the stage. It is my ethereal living room. A place where things feel lighter than air. I love you.”

If anyone had asked him to recite from memory the caption he’d written himself, he couldn't have done it. The fact that you knew it word for word told him you must have been saying it over and over again in your head since you’d read it.

He thought of the wording in light of your feelings and saw how it could have hurt you. It had been their first show back after a long break spent at home, and while you were in your plain old living room at home and missing him, he’d apparently been away in a much better living room doing much more exciting and wonderful things without you. Of course he hadn’t really been comparing a concert to the home he shared with you — it was only an Instagram caption, after all, and not a serious commentary on his life. But even though he felt it was reasonable for you to have known that, he also knew that sometimes the heart wasn’t reasonable.

He twined his fingers with yours. “Sweet baby,” he said. “I’m sorry it hurt you. It wasn’t my intention at all. I don’t know if it helps, but I wasn’t thinking about our real life living room when I wrote that. I just thought it sounded clever.”

“I know,” you said. You gave him a wobbly smile. “It was clever. It’s sweet. And the fans deserve a little love note from you. I just...”

“You just missed me,” he said, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I know, baby. I missed you too.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal out of it. I could have just been honest that I was upset. But really, I should have just taken it like you meant it and not started catastrophizing, thinking you weren’t happy at home.”

“Well, sometimes our imaginations run away with us,” he said, patient and kind. “For the record, I am happy at home with you, baby. You in your old sundress making regular blackberry cobbler is the kind of thing I dream about when I'm away from you. And if I could only have one, I’d pick our less-than-ethereal living room and be glad to share it with you for as long as I lived.”

You touched his cheek. “Why are you so sweet to me?”

“Because I love you very much,” he said simply. He kissed you. “Tell me you know that.”

“I know that,” you said softly, tenderly. “Of course I know that. I love you very much too.”

He kissed you again, taking his time, drawing you closer to him. You tasted like sweet wine and sounded so pretty when your breath caught, your fingers brushing through his curls, your heartbeat light and fast under his hands, almost ethereal.

From the other side of the living room, there was a vague commotion and contagious laughter from Sparrow and his brothers. 

“Should we check on them?” you asked, your voice muffled and smiley as you kissed him.

He chuckled. “They’re fine. Hush and let me kiss you.”

You did, and when you threw your arms around his neck to pull him even closer, he decided you weren’t ethereal after all. The two of you together, surrounded by the ones you loved, laughter and joy and music filling your home — it was something better than ethereal, something earthy and imperfect and steady. For all he loved his work, this right here was exactly what he wanted.

“I love you, Mrs. Kiszka,” he said gently.

You smiled and set everything right in his world. “I love you too, Joshy.”

@wideminded-dreamer and @spark-my-nature were particularly excited for this one so hey here you go <3

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know... (4/?)

Word Count: 2,270

Chapter 4

"Meet me on your best behavior, meet me at your worst…" - Death Cab for Cutie

Wondering who-the-fuck-in-Hell would be there knocking this late at night; Lucifer opened his door. Seeing that it was, in fact, Alastor standing at his threshold with a seemingly pleasant smile across his face; Lucifer immediately bristled.

“What in fuck’s – wait. Is that wine?” Lucifer peered behind Alastor’s waist; seeing his separated shadow clasping a large bottle of Riesling and a pair of wine glasses.

“Yes. I thought it might pair well with our…discussions. May I?” Alastor asked him, politely.

“…yeah, ok.” Lucifer stepped aside; letting him in.

Alastor stepped inside; his shadow following close behind. The shadow paused briefly beside Lucifer; offering him the bottle. Lucifer took it, and the shadow swept further inward to be closer to Alastor. Looking at the label; Lucifer closed the door.

“Where in Hell did you get this!?”

“I don’t just deal in souls; your grace.” Alastor told him. “And I’m rather partial to a rare vintage every now and again. This one has been made ready for us to enjoy.”

“No shit. Damn.” Lucifer led him to a small suite; directing him and his shadow to some plush chairs and an ornate table for them to recline by. There were less rubber ducks and circus trinkets scattered throughout here than were piled in his work-room. Alastor didn’t seem to pay much attention to the surrounding room though; his gaze never straying across items, walls, furniture, etc. He was very focused on his business here.

Alastor’s shadow; taking the bottle from Lucifer – opened it and began pouring wine into the two glasses. Alastor and Lucifer both sat down. Lucifer reached across for his wine glass; then leaning back he asked:

“So…what the fuck do you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure you are well aware of the subject matter that I wish to address with you tonight.” Alastor said; taking his own glass from the table and gently swirling the liquid. His shadow excused itself into a dark corner nearby.

“Hm…how forthright of you. You seem to be in a more…agreeable…mood tonight than you were yesterday.”

“The extermination is merely a couple months away…I had hoped that I might avoid having to address my…“rut” until sometime after, but I’m afraid that won’t be the case.” Alastor explained. “I’d like to discuss the best…approach to the problem; if you are so inclined.”

“Uh, huh.” Lucifer said dismissively. “So, what exactly are we discussing then?”

“I’m afraid that the effects of the cycle will greatly influence my duties in safeguarding Charlie and the hotel. During that time, I won’t be getting much sleep and –“

“Do you actually sleep?” Lucifer interrupted, prodding him.

“Yes.” Alastor answered him honestly. “Maybe not as much as most but I do require a reasonable amount.”    

 “I must have really taken the wind out of your sails.” Lucifer tipped his glass to his lips. “I didn’t anticipate you coming here and being so candid with me.”

“Yes, well, I can admit when I’ve made an ass of myself.” Alastor allowed.

Knowing this was as close to an apology as he was liable to get; Lucifer stated: “Well, I won’t say that I’m sorry. If anything, I think I should have gutted you sooner.”

Lucifer waited for Alastor to make a quip at that but then; he said nothing. Instead, he raised his own glass to sip from – offering no comment.

Interesting.

“Ok, so I assume you are wanting to formulate some plan going forward, is that it?” Lucifer clarified.

“Indeed. Initially, I preferred the idea of you safely displacing me from the hotel until I cycled out but, the timing is not ideal. There’s too much to be done and I don’t like the idea of leaving the hotel unguarded for any extended length of time.”

“Ah, lock you away in a tower just like you’re Rapunzel and I’m the dragon.” Lucifer japed; unable to help himself.

“I don’t recall a dragon in that particular fairy tale.” Alastor remarked.

Lucifer nearly choked on his wine. “The fuck do you know about fairy tales!?”

Alastor shrugged then waved him off; “Essentially…I suppose, but it’s not a good solution; not now.”

“Oh?” Lucifer absently traced a sharp claw around the rim of his wine glass. “How long do these things usually last for you, anyway?”

“You are somewhat familiar with Cervidae demons, yes? You’ve commented on it once before. We are commonly known for our deer-like tendencies. One very prominent one being that we experience fluctuating periods of cyclic mating periods or “the rut”. There’s a lot that gets rather muddled with it though; it’s confusing even for us demons that experience it because each and every individual is different in the timing, frequency or intensity of their own personal mating cycles.”

“Sounds frustrating.” Lucifer offered.

“It…is. I never know when a rut will happen or for how long. I can usually tell when one is approaching due to certain…changes. Even now though; I know one is coming I just don’t know when. I could start the cycle tomorrow or in a couple of weeks; it’s terribly inconvenient. Judging by personal experience; my cycles range anywhere from part of a day to several weeks. Unfortunately; avoidance is what lengthens the period. If I…sate, the need and rather quickly, the period tends to be much less.”

“So what if I contact Asmodeus? I’m sure we could find you some willing participant from the lust ring to fulfill whatever needs you need satiating.” Lucifer suggested. “He might even have another Cervidae in mind.”

Alastor shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with that. I assume when you offered and agreed to our deal that it was implied that you would be the actual one to…manage this. I’m afraid now it might have to be quite literal. Lilith wasn’t wrong in saying that I’ve killed other demons during my rutting. After your explicit demonstration yesterday; I am confident you would be well equipped in governing my actions.”

 “Honestly, I meant it in whatever way you wish to take it. I’m no prude.” Lucifer shrugged; tipping his glass. “While we’re on the subject though; I’d really like to know –“

“If you are referring to my moment of sexual homicidal infamy; I’d rather not discuss it.”

Lucifer very much wanted to prod more into it; but, he could see that Alastor was making a great effort here in being professionally courteous. Which led him to his next question;

“So, what exactly is your deal with all of this?” Lucifer asked him; setting his wine glass down now. “You’re here pitching off your plans to me like we’re discussing something terribly unpleasant. I get that you might think sex is beneath you; or rather you’d prefer you didn’t need it but, c’mon…if you have to go through it anyway, why not own it and enjoy it?”

“You misunderstand. It’s not my perception of sex that has anything to do with it.” Alastor told him. “I simply don’t…care for it.”

“What?”

“Apart from when I am in rut; it holds no interest to me.”   

“None? Whatsoever, just….nothing?” Lucifer gaped at him.

“Truly.”

“So, you just can’t get it up unless you are in one of your rut thingy’s?” Lucifer was trying to make sense of this.  

“Not exactly…” Alastor huffed. “With enough effort; stimulation and finding the right mindset – sure…but, it doesn’t just happen. It’s really and truly something I don’t care to think about or pursue, otherwise.”

“I can’t…I can’t wrap my head around that. I mean I-I could fuck anything that moves. Not that I really would but, well…you know.” Lucifer shrugged.

“No…actually, I don’t.” Alastor reaffirmed.

“So, do you – do you like know what you want to actually like…do?” Lucifer asked him.

“How do you mean?” Alastor’s ears slightly leant back; whether it was him being uncomfortable by the question or a display of true confusion; Lucifer couldn’t tell.

“Mutual masturbation? Oral? Anal? What have you?” Lucifer threw out.

Alastor’s ears stiffened; pressing further back. Definitely discomfort.   

“When I’m in in rut; I’m sure anything and everything will be open and on the table.” He sighed.

“So do you like, turn into an even bigger asshole when your rutting?”

“No, not quite…that more tends to happen to the time leading up to it.” Alastor was telling him; briefly remembering his friend Rosie dismissing him from a brunch they were having in Cannibal Town once telling him: “come back after your damn rut; honestly, you’re worse than a woman!” He couldn’t remember details; only that he was terribly aggravating to her that day.

Meanwhile; Lucifer was waging an internal battle. So, you were PMS-ing yesterday? He very badly wanted to say it…he very nearly did, but he reigned it in; feeling it prudent to continue with the good footing they had established here.

“It’s more that I’m…” Alastor was continuing with his answer. “I’m just – Well, I can be a lot in those moments.”

The Radio Demon promises a good time… Lucifer thought, then he asked:

“Ok, so circling back. When or where are we going to…hash this all out?”

“I’m naturally crepuscular; and I’m generally more nocturnal in my activities. I can easily manage myself during the day. If we spend too much time at the hotel; even in my radio tower – we run the risk of being found out or discovered. If I spend too much time here or elsewhere; it leaves the hotel vulnerable. I propose we go back and forth; it won’t be so different to my normal activities – no one would think to question it at this point – and I have Niffty and Husker established so that if anything were to happen while I’m away; I’d know and can be there almost immediately.”

“Hm…yes, that might be wise. We can always tell Charlie that you and I buried the hatchet, as it were, and are meeting to discuss ideas with how best to proceed with the upcoming exterminations. She’ll wish to be included – of course – but if I tell her it’s something you and I are bonding or getting to know each other over; she’ll let it be.”   

“How…very manipulative of you.” Alastor commented; ears perking up. He was…impressed.

“Yes, well…” Lucifer reached back for his wine; lost for a moment in his thoughts. Then leaning back in his chair again; he offered:

“You’ve been very…frank with everything tonight. Do you have any questions you wish to ask me?”

“This meeting Charlie has with Heaven…do you think it will accomplish anything?” Alastor had in fact; been holding onto some questions.

“No.” Lucifer told him bluntly. “I don’t but, Lilith foresaw Charlie asking me to arrange it. I’m not…comfortable with it but Lilith will be there – Charlie won’t know that, of course – but it’s the only reason why I’d allow my daughter to go up there without my being there with her.”

“Do you think Lilith will succeed with her plans?” Alastor asked him, wanting to know. “Do you think that she can actually overthrow Heaven?”  

“If anyone; it would be her.” Lucifer finished off his glass; Alastor’s shadow quickly slid out from the corner to refill it for him. Lucifer nodded to it, taking a sip as it shifted itself back away. “She’s been planning this for some time now, making sure everything falls into just the right place at just the right time. The only hiccup we’ve ran into was you slipping yourself between the cracks but maybe that was fortunate for us – it remains to be seen.” He gave Alastor a hard look.

“If I get what I want from this, I’ll be as beneficial to your cause as I possibly can.” Alastor told him. “But, why are you choosing to do this? Weren’t you amiable toward Heaven; even after everything?”

Lucifer sighed. “Lilith has been with me through all of it…since the beginning. I’ve tried to make the amends to my mistakes; tried to make Heaven see that what we did…it wasn’t for the intentions that they thought. I’ve been fighting a losing battle for thousands upon thousands of years…Lilith stood by me; supported me all that time. Now, it’s time I stood by hers. We got nowhere with my plans and ideas for our future; so it’s time I supported hers.”

“How disgustingly devoted of you.” Alastor made a face and movement of his tongue; like he had actually tasted something terrible.

Lucifer laughed. “That’s just who we are. We depend and rely on each other.”

“So…she really has no issues with…this? What you and I are going to be doing?” Alastor asked him; wondering. “Call me ‘old fashioned’; but I’d hate to come between a man and his wife.”

“Lilith never would have agreed to it if she had reservations.” Lucifer told him. “She wasn’t lying when she told you that our relationship has been…unconventional, at times.”

“Hm…” Alastor remembered his wine and sipped from the glass.

“How long has it been for you anyway?” Lucifer asked him. “I’ll be coming out of a bit of dry spell myself; Lilith tends to get focused on other things when they’ve claimed her interest and I haven’t found much motivation in seeking out an outlet.”

“Years?” Alastor though. “Very nearly a decade, maybe.”

“Fuck.” Lucifer blurted. “You’ve got me beat then. You weren’t kidding when you said these mating cycles of yours were unpredictable.”

“Also part of the reason that I’m relying on you…specifically. I’m not sure just how…enthusiastic I might be.”

“Oh, don’t worry – my King.” Alastor fixed him with a sharp gaze. “You will know.”

“So, how will I know that you are in rut?” Lucifer questioned him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scene inspired by: @applepartysins fanart/comic here

Chapter 5

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A well-rounded meal

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 29

Prompt: Spicy

Rated: E

CW: Sexually explicit content; D/S dynamics; cock warming; humiliation kink; praise kink; subspace (implied)

Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie

Notes: Continued from day 6

"Y’know,” Steve muses. “I think many people really don’t understand how important dessert is for a well-rounded meal.” 

He holds up his glass of wine, watches how the candlelight catches in the pale gold liquid - some sort of Riesling, Eddie thinks? Steve told him exactly what it was earlier, he’s sure. He dimly remembers a full-on monologue on body and tasting notes and whatnot, why this one was a perfect fit for the pasta and asparagus they were having … but it’s all sort of hazy now, lost in the low buzz of the alcohol, the low drone of the music playing in the background, Steve’s voice slowly seeping into his bones. 

Steve takes a thoughtful sip of his wine and sets the glass back down on the table. 

“Because, see,” he continues, “many people treat dessert as more of an afterthought to the main course. Just something you slap at the end of the meal to gobble down and be done with." 

He chuckles to himself, scoops a small helping of lemon mousse from his plate and pops it into his mouth. He hums around the spoon as it melts on his tongue, and the sound vibrates all the way down Eddie’s spine. 

He must've made a noise, because Steve pauses and glances at him, an indulgent smile gracing his handsome face. 

"The truth is," he murmurs, fingers tightening against the back of Eddie’s head, threading into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. "A well-done dessert is actually what completes a meal. It's… something to look forward to, something to savor and enjoy. A special indulgence to conclude the menu. Don't you agree?" 

Eddie tries to answer, but the words turn into a throaty hum instead, muffled by the warm, heavy weight pressing down on his tongue. Steve laughs and pets his hair.

His eyes are beautiful in the flickering candlelight, more gold than hazel, full of that fond condescension that settles low in Eddie's abdomen like a hot, liquid weight. He looks regal, the way he's regarding him, like a haughty prince looking at a servant, like this is exactly where they both belong. Steve reclining in his chair with his glass of wine, the first few buttons of his dress shirt casually undone. Eddie on his knees under the table, golden light glinting off flushed, naked skin. Lips stretched around Steve's cock, drool running down his chin, eyes glazed over with arousal. 

"Enjoying your dessert, then?" Steve asks. His fingers travel from Eddie’s hair to his cheek, pat it lightly, and Eddie wonders if he can feel the bulge of himself there. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. You can blink. Once for no, twice for yes. Understand?" 

Eddie is dimly aware that he's been asked a question, that Steve is expecting him to do something. The thing is, his head is all fuzzy, his body tingly and light, like he isn't really here at all and he doesn't … he can't- 

"Hey, baby," Steve chuckles, and pinches his chin between his fingers. Not hard, just enough to pull him back with that gentle pressure. "Stay with me. God, aren't you the sweetest thing? All floaty already, just from keeping my cock warm for me." 

He winks, a slow and deliberate thing. The praise and the humiliation and the lust all mingle together, like a delicious cocktail laced with poison. Eddie's cock twitches against the fabric of Steve’s pants, where he's straddling his leg. Steve smiles, bright and happy and impossibly pretty.

"Certainly looks like you're enjoying yourself," he muses. "Gonna need you to tell me though, sweetie. Blink twice if you're good, can you do that for me?" 

Eddie rocks himself against Steve’s leg, can't keep in the moan that claws its way out of him. The sound makes his throat constrict around Steve's cock, and all that comes out in the end is a pathetic, nasal whine. Steve tilts his head, waits. 

Eddie draws in a shuddering breath through his nose, lets it out slowly, pulls himself together. 

Blink, you can do it.

Once … twice. 

"There you go," Steve coos. "Good boy." 

One lean, strong hand caresses Eddie’s cheekbones and his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. 

Only to snap back open in alarm a few seconds later, when Steve hooks a thumb into his mouth and pops his lips open. Suddenly, Eddie’s mouth and throat are empty again, all of that delicious weight and warmth gone. 

Steve has started to stroke himself in slow, teasing motions. When Eddie finally manages to tear his gaze up, he is smiling down at him, glass of wine still lazily held in his other hand. 

"Oh, honey, don't pout. I haven't forgotten about you." 

Eddie startles as Steve’s leaking tip nudges his bottom lip. 

"Now," Steve says, voice low and sultry and commanding. "Open wide. We're not done with your meal yet."

All my holiday drabbles

[itoshi-s]

could i pls request skinny dipping + size kink w/ reo + fem! reader? reo being an absolute sweetheart to his s/o HAS to be canon 🥹

hiii nonnie ! thank u sm for the request, hope u enjoy this one !(´• ω •`) ♡

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

. 　　 ·　 ˚ ✧ ─────────────────────────── ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

　　　　　　───────────────────────────

*.✧ ft. 𝐫𝐞𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞

*.✧ wc: 1.3k. nsfw / 18+ only / minors dni ! - fem reader, size kink (reader is tinyy compared to reo :,)), alcohol usage near the water (dont do it guys), characters aged up and 20+

*.✧ sometimes, your and reo's nights turn wet and steamy.

　　　　　　　　　　

"did ya want another?" you can barely make out reo's voice calling out, the warm water bubbling just right by your ear. eyes slowly fluttering open, you have to blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting on reo's terrace as footsteps approach you, "you there, doll?" this time, more inquiring.

reo tilts his head slightly, a sly grin on his face as he approaches the hot tub. putting the two glasses of riesling down on a nearby glass table, he lets his eyes roam over your body, barely visible through the raging bubbles. (it makes him grunt under his nose a little. honestly, he wishes he could see just a bit more of you.) "mm, sorry," you moan out, a giggle slipping through as you reach up to fix the bun on top of your head, keeping your hair from getting wet, "i think i almost drifted off."

"yeah, probably," the man teases, dipping his toes in the water experimentally to check the temperature, "'s pretty hot, you should come out." he states, pulling his foot away as your eyes lock. reo isn't sure if it's the alcohol taking its toll on his mind, but he feels his cock stir in the thin cotton of his boxers. your face is flushed a pretty pink, glistening from slight sweat and the hot steam as you gaze up at him with doe-like eyes, "c'mon, before you faint on me, love."

you hum, a quiet sign of agreement, as you shift out of position and stand up. your nerves tingle as the cold night air hits your skin, reddened and plump from the heat of the water, and you smooth your hands down your body to relieve the cold before finally climbing out of the hot tub.

"you still wanna have a swim?" you ask reo, reaching for the glass of wine. as your fingers wrap around the thin glass and tip it to take the first sip, he answers,

"mmm. would rather do something else," a hand finds its place on the back of your neck, pulling you back up and to face reo as he smirks, a glint to his violet eyes. "you look so good." he breathes, your nose now rubbing against his as he closes the gap between the two of you.

reo was always much bigger than you - standing above 6 feet tall and further improving his muscled physique to allow him better plays - and, being the gentleman he is, he'd rather dip his head down than have you struggle to reach him on your tiptoes whenever you wanted a kiss. "thank you," you mouth against his lips, a small smile breaking through as you peck them again quickly. "but, i want to take a dip, too." your words are met with a groan, reo's hand now slipping from the nape of your neck to the small of your back, trying to stop you from pulling away.

"quit teasing," reo grumbles, eyebrows furrowing but you can see a ghost of a smile on his mouth, "you were almost out just a while ago."

"m'not teasing! you just needa control yourself, reo," you quip, giving the firm muscles of his chest a pat or two before finally pulling away, with little resistance from reo's arm around your waist. "besides, we still have the whole night."

while sounding imperturbable, it would take only one dip of a finger into your skimpy bikini panties to realise that you were just putting up a little facade. just one look at reo the way he was now was enough for more wetness to pool in the material - but maybe it was indeed the alcohol just pushing you further? reo was easy to tease, and it seemed like his playful nature allowed him to enjoy it, too, so it wasn't such a big deal anyway. (it might not be now, but you most likely will regret it later, too sore to walk. even reo can take only this much chiding and prodding at him.)

you walk over to the infinity pool, taking a quick glance at the city view stretching all across. the night is still young and lively, lights flickering and distant noises reaching your senses as you put the glass down and climb into the pool. the water's warm and soothing against your muscles, first loosened up by the heat of the tub, and before you can tip back to let yourself float, an idea breaks through.

reo is just a few steps behind you, copying your action of putting the glass down right by the pool, his attention away from you for a split second. your fingers reach back to the tie of your bikini, the string finally giving away at the same moment reo locks eyes with you again,

"oh," he muses, the sound surprised and light but his eyes darken and give his excitement away. "change of plans?"

"mm, we will see," you wonder, reaching under the water to the tie at your hips. with a quick glance to the side, you toss the bikini away, right by the deck chair. "you feel like swimmin' now?" you tilt your head back, letting your hair out of the bun as you watch the scene in front of you play out.

reo doesn't answer straight away, instead dips his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers and tugs them down, his cock almost bobbing up to hit against his tight abdomen. the material pools at his feet before he steps out, pushing it to the side and that's when you realize he's joined your game now, his actions slower than needed.

finally he steps into the pool, sploshing the water over his arms to adjust to the temperature with a content sigh, "you're not gonna drop it, will ya," reo gives you an amused look and, for a second, he can feel his heart struggle to keep up with its steady beat. you, standing with your back to the edge of the pool, the city spread behind you in all its glory and yet, you're still the most beautiful view reo has ever seen. not even a single scenery from all his world travels could compare to you like this - hair damp, eyes still so big and aware, focused on him even though the blush on your cheeks gives away your tipsy state.

"come," you mumble, the playful tilt dropping from your voice as instead, you reach your arms out.

reo dips under the water, closing the distance between you with just a few smooth movements, and soon comes back up, pressed up right against your bare chest. although expecting it already, you let out a surprised yelp, but it is quickly muffled by reo's mouth pressing to yours messily.

his tongue feels heavy in your mouth, desperate and hot as one of reo's thighs presses between yours, firmly resting right against your heat. your hands clamp down on his biceps, holding yourself up as you gasp for air, a high, "reo," slipping past your lips.

nuzzling against your cheek, the man sighs, arms tightening around your waist and pulling you even closer, breasts squeezing against his chest, "say it like that 'gain," reo rasps, his fingers flexing on your hip as it fondles the soft fat, "love it when you say my name like this." he nearly moans, eyes finally fluttering open to look at you, gaze clouded over with desire and in this exact moment, you can feel yourself crumble in his grip.

reo breathes against your mouth, soft kisses pressing into your jawline and at the fat of your cheeks. with your breath caught in your throat, you tremble at the feeling of reo's throbbing length rubbing against your heat as he easily manhandles your much smaller frame to wrap your legs around his waist.

"my sweetest girl, i'll give you the whole world if you want m' to."

　　　　　　───────────────────────────　　　　　　

reblogs are greatly appreciated ! :)

© itoshi-s. do not plagiarize, repost as your own or mention on other sm platforms.

[ursulanoodles]

Random Harvey Headcanons Pt.1

He was bullied as a child-- by his family and kids at school

Started his career in emergency medicine, but lost a patient and switched to the mundanity that is family medicine so he could focus on his hobbies and interests

Has autism (war planes, ham radio, and old medical journals are his special interests, though he hides them and tries to contain himself when someone mentions any of these things in public for fear of being judged).

His parents treated him very poorly and he has a lot of childhood trauma and insecurities because of it. He was made to feel like he was never good enough and they pushed him to do well in school. Burnout definitely contributed to him moving away from home.

When the farmer arrives in Pelican Town, it has been quite some time since he’s had any sort of romantic partner. I would say at least two years.

He’s definitely been dumped for being too nice.

He never touched coffee until his residency, but now he can’t get enough. He got very into different styles of coffee brewing and owns several different coffee makers including cold brew, French press, and pour-over. Despite what some might think, he doesn’t drink his coffee black and takes one cream and one sugar.

Loves a charcuterie board with his glass of wine.

Very tall-- we’re talking between 6′4″-6′6″ and he has to duck through just about everyone’s doorway in Pelican Town or he’ll smack his head.

Smells like cinnamon and warm spices (and coffee-- obviously)

His favorite kind of cookie is oatmeal raisin

Is very loving and protective in a relationship and will do anything for his partner, even if that means inconveniencing himself.

Has virtually no friends, though he does sometimes hang out with Elliott and Leah.

Makes his own pickles and likes them very garlicky.

The kind of guy who brings a book to a bar. He is genuinely not there to socialize, he just wants a glass of wine while he reads and he needed to get out of the house.

Comes from a little bit of money, but he has nothing to do with his family and does not take handouts from them. Despite this, he does have some expensive tastes and enjoys dressing well.

His favorite wine is a red zinfandel or he’ll go with a cabernet sauvignon if that’s not available. He does also enjoy white wine, Riesling being his favorite white.

Shaves with a straight razor

Wears a mustache to hide the fact that he has a baby face (though in my fic I gave him a small scar on his upper lip that he hides haha).

Is meticulous about his personal hygiene and appearance

Absolutely treasures his alone time

Has a temper that he hides very well

[hbnjhgv]

Aot characters favorite Alchoholic drink

(I am under 21 and don't drink so I'm sorry if I get any of the tastes or drinks wrong) (all characters are after the time skip so they are all 18+)

Eren Jeager: Jeager Bomb. Fitting and he likes the act of dropping the shot of Jagermeister into an energy drink. He also tells people sitting around him that the Jeager Bomb was named after his family, in hopes of getting a free drink.

Mikasa Ackerman: Traditonial Mead. Likes the balance between the sweet honey but also the slightly acidic taste of fermented yeast. She mainly drinks it for the sweet edge of honey.

Armin Arlert: Malibu Sunset. Doesn't really like the taste of alcohol but seems like the kinda guy who really likes the taste of pineapple. Can only have like 1 or 2 drinks before he switches to some kind of juice (normally apple juice).

Jean Kirstein: Manhattan. He enjoys the slight bitterness and I don't see him as a big sweet tooth. Also eats any garnish that comes the drink.

Marco Bodt: May Day Cocktail. He likes the 'explosian of flavors' he also like the sweet but tart taste to it.

Connie Springer: Beergarita when he's not drinking with Sasha. He likes the mix of sweet, sour, and bitterness.

Connie and Sasha when they're together: They both get Scorpion Bowls. They both LOVE the super strong taste. Thinks it feels like getting a slap in the face. Also slaps eachother in the face after the first sip.

Sasha Braus: Blue Hawaiian. She enjoys the sweet tropical flavor. Defiantly acts like a "cool surfer dude" after she drinks one.

Annie Leonhardt: Sea Breeze. Likes the grapefruit taste. Also not the biggest vodka fan so enjoys how she cant really taste the vodka and likes the fruityness of it.

Reiner Braun: Vodka Cranberry. Thinks its the most perfect drink ever and doesn't think its too sweet or too tart. But if he's not feeling like he wants to wait long or had a bad day just White Rum.

Bertholt Hoover: Bellini. Thinks its super refreshing and enjoys the fruity taste of it. He also 1000% is a brunch guy.

Ymir: Irish Coffee. Probably the type of person to be drinking coffee all day every day. When she finishes the drink though she just gets what ever Historia is getting.

Historia: Wine. She is a total wine drinker. Her favorite is Riesling but it kind of varies. She also very much prefers white wine over red wine.

Hange Zoe: The Batanga. Thinks its fun to say the name and really likes the sweet and tart flavors that come with it. Theyre also the type of person to order a drink thats on fire.

Moblit Berner: Will drink literally anything. He drinks sp much be he always loves Irish Mule. Is also an avid Ginger Beer drinker. (me too) Type I'd person to just eat straight ginger. (me too)

Levi Ackerman: Just a Vodka on the rocks. Nothing too complicated.

Miche Zacharius: His go-to is always any type of whiskey, but if there isn't any whiskey he'll just drink vodka. Drinks beer casually. He will also drink wine when he's at some sort of fancy event. When he drinks wine he does the whole swirl the wine while the glass is on the table to "awaken the aromas", sniff it up close AND from a distance tilt the glass to check the wine, then drink it. But that's only at fancy events to "edicet" when he's no where fancy it's whiskey. He can also tell what type of whiskey it is just by the taste.

Nanaba: Any wine or vodka. It really depends on the day and how she's feeling but normally goes with wine.

Gelger: Litterally anything. Typically likes a super strong vodka but if it's not he'll still drink it. Grabs the first thing he finds and drinks it.

Erwin Smith: Kinda has what ever Miche has cause they go bar hopping together but he'll have Abstinthe as his go-to.

[thegoatsongs]

Question: Can you buy Golden Mediasch, a wine which, according to Jonathan Harker in Dracula, ‘produces a queer sting on the tongue’?

Answer: Golden Mediasch was a real wine, but it is no longer made.

Bram Stoker’s source for the episode in his novel, where his character Jonathan Harker has a memorable meal, was Andrew F. Crosse’s 1878 travelogue Round About The Carpathians: ‘The weather had been fair, though sport had been bad, so with a feeling not altogether sorrow like we sat down to a hearty good meal.

‘The wines were excellent. We had Golden Mediasch, one of the best wines grown in Transylvania, Roszamaber from Karlsburg and Bakatar. The peculiarity about the first-named wine is that it produces an agreeable pricking on the tongue, called in German tschirpsen.’

Today, wine production in the Medias (former Mediasch) area is limited to small- scale vineyards producing Riesling-style wines.

Jonathan Harker drank this wine in the fictional Golden Krone (Crown) Hotel in Bistritz. Fiction became fact in 1974 when the Golden Crown, the Hotel Coroana de Aur, opened in modern Bistrita. It served a wine it called Golden Mediasch, though its provenance is unknown.

Also on the menu was the meal Harker enjoyed there, Robber Steak, which is bacon, onion and beef roasted on an open fire with red pepper. Also on the menu was a dracula red wine and a plum-based spicy liqueur redolent of blood.

Source

[somethingclevermahogony]

As Promised! A Recipe for Kipsha (Sort of)

Hello everyone! A few days ago I said that, as a way to celebrate reaching 100 followers that I would make one of the dishes from the setting of my WIP. And I did that! Kind of. You see it turns out that Sainsbury's or at least Google, lied to me, and so I was unable to find barely which was a necessary component of this recipe. Even worse when I returned home I found that the only wheat flour that I had was self-rising. And so, I did not make Kipsha (recipe here) which is eaten in the western and central parts of Kishetal, rather I made Kipisa which is eaten on eastern border of Kishetal and Makur in cities like Kutar and Nabi (shown below).

The primary difference between Kipsha and Kipisa is the grain used. Kipisa is made with rye while Kipsha is made with barley. In addition, Kipisa is often served with butter. Butter as a culinary ingredient is almost entirely limited to the eastern plains, where it preferred to or eaten alongside olive oil. Saramuk Ukishiya, meaning "Butter Eater" (Saramuk coming from the Lakuri word for butter, Shayram) is a common derrogatory term used to refer to those people living in the region shown above. The recipe is below the cut!

Kipisa

Kipsha or Kipisa or Kipcha is a kind of cake or biscuit commonly eaten by the wealthy and poor alike. It can vary wildly from soft and spongy to harder and more cracker like. It is a popular form of street food and can be served as savory or sweet. In savory applications honey is typically forgone and olive oil may be replaced with various varieties of animal fat. All varieties contain some amount of barley or more rarely, rye, however examples meant for nobility may contain up to 70 or even 90%.

The name Kipsha is a reference to the sesame and/or poppy seeds used in and sprinkled over the top. Kip being the Kishic word for seed or grain. Though it may also refer to an infant, thus part of the cake's association with fertility.

This recipe is for Sweet Kipisa, as it is enjoyed in the city of Kutar. A similar varient is eaten just across the mountains in Labisa, though here they make use of barley rather rye. It is this barley variety, Kipsha, which is my MC, Narul's favorite dish.

This particular variety of Kipsia is cracker-like, with a slightly chewy interior.

Ingredients

Note: For those ingredients which are not available on earth, approximate substitutes are provided.  

The Cakes

(Note that Kishetal has no distinct set of measurements nor are recipes recorded. Recipes are typically passed down orally and differ greatly between regions and even families. Adjust ingredients to one's own liking)

1 ¾ cups Rye Flour

1 ¼ Unbleached Wheat Flour

½ cup Water

1 Tbsp Olive Oil or Untoasted Sesame Oil

2 Tbsp Sweet White Wine (Riesling or Muscat are suggested)

3 Tbsp Kafa (This Kishic yogurt drink can be substituted with equal parts plain greek yogurt and whole milk)

2 Tbsp Honey 

1 Tbsp Red Wine Vinegar

2 ½ Tsp Untoasted White Sesame Seeds

½ Tsp Sinrian Cinnamon (Substitute Cassia Cinnamon)

¼ Tsp Ground Black Pepper

Toppings

 1. This are meant to reflect Narul’s Preferred Toppings, though with the addition of more typically eastern additions

1-2 Dried figs chopped (Fresh figs may be substituted)

3 Tbsp Honey, warmed

2 Tbsp Regula Juice (Substitute 1:1 parts orange and lemon juice)

Ground black pepper to taste

Sesame Seeds to taste

Chibalan Salt to taste (Substitute: Flake Salt)

Torn mint leaves

Goat Butter, melted (Cow or sheep is also acceptable)

2. Other Toppings

Unsalted soft cheese such as ricotta

Yogurt

Dates

Crushed nuts (typically walnuts or pistachios)

Chopped Cherries or other fruits

Preparation

1. Combine all dry ingredients in a large bowl.

2. In a different bowl combine all liquid ingredients and whisk thoroughly.

3. Combine wet and dry ingredients, knead using your hands to form a firm ball, add water and flour as needed to achieve this.

4. Cover the dough with a damp towel and allow it to rest at room temperature for a minimum of 1 hour and a maximum of 4.

5. Preheat oven to 400 F or 200 C (fan 195 C).

6. Liberally dust a counter or large cutting board with rye flour. Dust a rolling pin or similar instrument with flour.

7. Place the rested dough onto the floured surface and roll out to approximately 1/4 inch

8. Using a biscuit cutter or knife, cut dough into cakes, these can be any number of shapes, delicately score the surface.

9. Place cakes on a covered cookie sheet making sure that they do not touch. 

10. Bake for 10-15 minutes until golden or lightly browned.

11. Remove and immeditately apply melted butter, honey, and regalu juice to surface. Allow to sit and cool for at least 5 minutes (Kipisa is not eaten hot. The more time is allowed for the absorption of the toppings, the better)

12. Once cool, add additional toppings. It is not unusual at this point to add additional butter and honey, nor is it unheard to dip the cake in the regalu juice and butter while eating it.

13. Enjoy!

I probably should have a taglist but I don't know who all would be on it, whoops. So I'm just tagging my followers that liked the original post @patternwelded-quill , @skyderman , @flaneurarbiter , @jclibanwrites , @alnaperera, @rhokisb, @blackblooms , @lord-nichron , @kosmic-kore , @friendlyshaped , @axl-ul , @talesfromtheunknowable , @wylanzahn , @dyrewrites , @foragedbonesblog

[mothdruid]

Happy birthday !! I’m a huge fan of all you’re work and think I visit your page at least five times a week 🫶🫶

Had a smut request with the prompt “come for me” with rooster 🫣🫣🫣 take it however you want !!

I hope you enjoy your weekend, I love your Fics so much and thank you for all of them 🫶

i'm so sorry this is so late. I kind of lost all inspiration for a while, but here it finally is anon! i hope you see this. again, i'm very sorry for how late it is 🙈

pairing.

bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x afab!reader

warnings.

this is an 18+ work, so minors buzz off. smut, voyeurism, female masturbation.

It was your monthly date night, one you and Bradley had decided to spend at home. The night had started out sweet. A candlelit dinner made by your husband. It was your favorite spaghetti carbonara paired with lovely sweet Riesling wine. Bradley had put on one of his favorite slow records, setting the mood.

Even though it started out sweet, it had devolved into something less than savory.

The top few buttons of his shirt had been undone, showing off the perfect amount of skin. Bradley was currently standing a few paces from the couch. The couch that you were happily seated on. The soft material of your dress bunched up around your waist. . A wine glass was still in Bradley's hand, only a few sips left. His other hand was occupied with the pathetic piece of lace you called underwear.

The top few buttons of his shirt had been undone, showing off the perfect amount of skin to you. Your legs were spread wide, fingers between them working your clit. Bradley's brown eyes were full of a hunger, one that could only be satiated by you. You let your head fall back for a moment eyes closing.

"Tsk, tsk," Bradley sipped his wine, "what did I tell you?"

You brought your head back, opening your eyes to meet his. You kept circling your fingers on you clit.

"That's it, good girl." Bradley's voice was deep, a smile curving his lips.

Your hips canted forward, rocking into your own hand. Bradley sipped his wine again, swirling the small amount left after. His tongue flicked out, running slowly over his bottom lip. The bulge in his pants had become more apparent. You bit your lip, thinking about what was to come after you gave him what he wanted.

Moans were casually passing past your lips, sighs weaving through. It was becoming harder for you to keep your hips still. The tightness in your lower abdomen had started to form. You let your head rest back, making sure not to break eye contact with Bradley. He took the last sip of his wine, setting the glass down on the near by coffee table.

"Gonna cum for me?" Bradley rasps.

All you can do it nod your head, fingers working slightly faster. You watch Bradley smile again, urging you closer. Knowing you were pleasing him, doing exactly what he wanted was going to push you over.

"Good, cause I'm ready for my desert."

[askjingrandet]

Jin's Wisdom: Alcohol

Hey there everyone! For my first bit of wisdom the topic we'll be covering is alcohol. It's something I know I fair bit about and it's not a heavy subject so thought it would be great as a starter so let's get into it.

You don't have to pay a lot for alcohol to be good. Try a few different types to see you may find a surprising new favorite.

Always cook or bake with an alcohol that you like, I know Yves will agree with me on this one! The alcohol gets burned off when cooking/baking but the taste remains. If you use an alcohol you don't like the food isn't going to hide it and you'll have just wasted a bunch of ingredients, time and money.

When pairing alcohol and sweets generally speaking you want the alcohol to balance with the sweets, in wines case you want it to be sweeter than the treat. If you're drinking beer, spirits or a fuller bodied wine they go best with things like dark chocolate and caramel. Lighter bodied wines go good with milk or white chocolate and sour gummies. Really chocolate almost universally matches any alcohol, at least in mine and my admins opinion.

If we're talking proteins well red wine and beer go great with beef but so does whiskey. If your eating chicken other than white wines or Riesling you can go with pale ales or surprisingly enough Gin. Fish gets a bit more complicated, in general white wine is better than red because of the tannins. If you're having something like crab or lobster rum complements those bold flavors great. Vodka has no flavor so it won't compete with the subtleties of grilled fish. Gin goes great with smokes fish, it's floral notes pair really well with the char and earthiness. Then whiskey is for things like a good salmon or trout, brings some depth to them.

Alcohol tastes better when you enjoy it with friends, or a beautiful woman.

Drink slower, it'll help you recognize when you're having too much.

Alcohol won't solve our problems no matter how much we wish it would. It can cause some though so....

Always make sure to keep yourself hydrated when drinking it's really important and helps with hangovers.

Never drink, especially the hard stuff, on an empty stomach.

Don't mix drinking with riding a horse, driving a carriage or with taking medicines an apothecary gives you. All of those things can be super dangerous for not just you but others.

Don't get into drinking contests, especially with Luke or Silvio. I mean have you seen those two drink?

My last bit of wisdom, stop picking on people who don't drink or try to force them to drink or even worse try to sneak alcohol into their non alcoholic drinks. It's not cool, they hate it and it can even be dangerous depending on why they aren't drinking. And no, you're not entitled to an explanation of why just take their No and move on from it.

I hope you all enjoyed my first tidbits of wisdom.

Admin here: PSA time, if you or anyone you know has a problem with alcohol and needs support look for your local Al Anon program or check online for other resources in your area.

[gallierhouse]

Top 5 cocktails?

I’m a bit confused about why people are interested in my preferences, but I’m happy to share. I love cocktails.

Espresso martini. I know it’s overhyped right now, but it’s easy to drink, and it contains caffeine to even you out since alcohol’s a depressant. I really prefer drinks that go both ways, so I also enjoy a good Jägerbomb. I like all martinis, really, but the espresso is my favorite.

Bellini. It’s elegant. It’s a great drink to start with, to signal to everyone that you’re not purely interested in getting drunk. I’d also put a French 75 here, which is lovely when well done, sweet with an edge. I know the French 75 is supposed to have a “kick” to it, but it’s still an elegant drink.

White Russian. I love sweet things. It’s essentially an alcoholic milkshake, but it tastes really good. I love Black Russians too.

Bloody Mary. It makes you feel really healthy, especially when they add garnishes. It gives the illusion that you’re not getting utterly wasted. Then there’s the fact that it’s really good. It’s the perfect brunch drink; mimosas are a little boring.

Negroni. I prefer Campari to Aperol, so this is already a win for me. It’s also one of my ex’s favorite drink, so I’ll always have a soft spot for it. Besides, it gets the job done.

I’m also fond of a (good) daiquiri, when it’s not totally overpowering sweetness and there’s an actual rum note to it. I’ll always enjoy a good sex on the beach and really anything fruity and fun. I tend towards wine, honestly, and I only ever bartend for other people, so I’m not really set in my preferences. I’ve been told I make an excellent Cosmopolitan and a decent martini. Oddly, I’m also very fond of Moscow Mules. Gin and vodka are my favorite spirits, and I’m on speaking terms with rum, and tequila and I are mortal enemies. I also only drink white wine and I enjoy Gavi and Riesling the most. I also really enjoy moscato and any sort of dessert wine. I really like sweet things. I can reliably be found in a wine bar listening to music and doodling in a notebook. I’ve become a regular at one and apparently all the waiters know me, which is terrifying, because I have a crush on one of them. Oh, and a vodka cranberry never fails. It has to be double, obviously.

[proverbsss]

delicacies (john tyler x reader) -suggestive/nsfw

John Tyler, Tell Me Your Secrets

prompt(s) + synopsis : "be naked when i get home” and “you’re not allowed to come until i say so” [from this post] // reader is John's private chef while he's living under an alias

anon: I hope you enjoy this :D I do apologize for the cliffhanger.........but I don't know when this will be continued.

notifs: john tyler's a bad man (we know), john disrupts reader's communication (phone), after time skip reader is restrained ; this is purely hamish thirst and headcanoned as cnc, please consume safely!

3:30PM •

“Mr. Wolfe, you’re too complimentary of me,” you’re saying, twisting John Wolfe’s landline phone cord around your finger and watching minced onions cook down in your saucepan.

“Well, anyone who can cook something that close to my Mom’s cheesy squash casserole…” he teases, “deserves a medal and a competitive pay raise.”

“You pay me fine,” you push back playfully, thinking of the thousand dollars he dropped for just three days of your cooking. Not for the first time, you dismiss the nagging sense that he had the money cold like that, and in cash. But you don’t have the luxury of being choosy about some long list of clientele. You threw–or even blew–all your money at two years of cooking school, and as nice as Mr. Fish of Finz’ Seafood is, he’s being a bit of a sluggish bastard about arranging for you to stage. “Before I forget, did you want a chocolate dessert, or a fruit tonight?”

“Oh, you have to give me all the hard choices–” he mock-complains.

“You are the boss.” You tease back. Yes, you wouldn’t mind an evening with him. Sucking down strawberries, playing coy when he flirts with you, melting into a soft, saccharine kiss–

“Fruit, please.” he pulls you out of your reverie with a jubilant decision.

“And it’ll just be you?” You kick yourself in the ankle.

“Just me and the finest private chef in this state.” He’s chuckling, you’re getting ready to say goodbye and add the dry white wine to your sauce francese, when his tone shifts a bit and he chuckles, “Just one more thing, Y/N?”

He can practically see your bright eyes get wide and ready to answer him.

“Be naked when I get home.”

Your breath stalls in your chest, the feeling of dropping from a height belts you in the stomach and you stutter, “What was that?”

“You heard me. I’ll see you tonight.”

He hangs up the phone. You stand stock-still in his kitchen, suddenly sure you’re being watched, being cornered. You grip the counter for balance and breath. Not ‘naked,’ surely? Be ‘ready’ when I get home. That doesn’t sound plausibly similar. ‘Make it when I get home,’

you’re prepping now, and he knows that because you told him. With that bottomless feeling in your stomach is a small quaking in your legs. Your boss of three days and counting. Asks you to sleep with him after you make him dinner. Are you safe here? Do you leave?

Mindlessly, you get the bottle of wine and splash your onions. They hiss happily in the pan. On second thought, you swig the Riesling back yourself to taste what the onions are so enthusiastic about.

‘Naked when I get home’ sounds better in John’s voice than it has any right to, playing over and over in your mind. Between finals and bills and moving out of your ex-friend’s shabby apartment with its glorious little kitchen, you haven’t had much time or energy for getting up to naughtiness with any partner to speak of. John’s nice. He’d probably fuck you nice.

He might also be weird and ask to drink this Riesling out of your well-padded collarbones or some other rich guy shit, but there are far worse fates. Through your initial apprehension, the warmth and seduction of a thought like bedding down the tall, dark, and charming man who employs you starts to seep into your imagination, and you sigh gently at the thought of his hands giving your body a much-needed going over.

Finish the sauce. Then figure out whether to finish him.

__________

• 4:30 PM •

Well, this looks silly. You take yourself in, in the mirror of his guest bathroom, trying to catch every angle, every unflattering position to avoid. Not naked, no. You don’t have quite the gumption for that. Which is ironic, considering you’re still entertaining the thought of being very, very naked with John later.

But you must acknowledge to yourself that you have prepared a godlike chicken francese with garlic mashed potatoes, left perfectly hot on the stove while you stripped down to your skivvies in order to serve them upon his arrival. And this wasn’t the plan at all getting dressed this morning, so a rust-colored bra with some cotton floral boyshorts is going to have to be the offering. And the apron. Lest we forget the tiny gingham apron.

You run a hand up your leg, peek at a particular curve of your ass. You must compliment your features where credit is due. Can a man possibly find this alluring? You envision yourself proceeding into his carpeted dining room with the baking dish of chicken francese in its lovely lemony sauce, and your legs and feet bare, your shoulders covered only by straps, the checkered apron folded and tied around your waist revealing a little bit of your midriff.

‘Be naked when I get home’ and you’ve dressed for a slightly risque slumber party. Has he done this before? Is that why he hired you so quickly when you catered the Whole Foods executives’ luncheon? This is stupid, you’re stupid, this isn’t safe, when have you ever been so impulsive?

But when have you? How often have you craved more excitement, someone saying dirty words to you in dulcet tones, someone who will use more than five hasty minutes to make you feel good?

And if he’s bad in bed? That just serves you right.

You panic and fight the urge to gather up your chef coat, tank top, and slacks when you hear the front door open. “Y/N, I’m home!” John calls, joyfully. Still not the demeanor of someone giving you sexy orders over his home phone, or someone dangerous for that matter. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe…

John knocks on the bathroom door. “Y/N? You okay?”

“Hh-Hi, yes, yes, I’m fine.” Think, dammit. And make up your mind. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Starving.” You can just see his smile in your mind’s eye.

“The table’s set if you want to go sit. I’ll serve.”

“You spoil me,” he says. And is there the littlest bit of an edge to his voice, or do you imagine it? His footsteps fall away from the door, and presumably he takes his seat in the dining room. Your routine for the last two days.

What are you hoping for here? Because if he does take you up on this–avoiding the mirror, gah–offer, you’re going to have to be okay with his hands, maybe his tongue, maybe his dick a lot of places pretty quickly. This is real life. This is not a fantasy.

Fuck it. Mustering courage, you inhale and exhale, and crack the bathroom door open just to make sure he’s not in the hall. He isn’t. You tiptoe, looking down at your feet, wringing your hands, barely aware as you step into the kitchen where he’s–waiting for you. He’s in front of the door to the outside.

“You do spoil me,” John says, a foreign huskiness in his voice as he looks you over, shameless. “Look at you.”

You color nine shades of scarlet and can’t speak.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t sure what I’d find when you came through that door. You almost followed directions,” He smirks to himself, “almost. Where’d you leave them?”

Your heart is hammering too loudly for you to process the question.

“Clothes, sweetie. Where’d you leave them?”

“Bathroom,” you get out, confused. Is he going to subject you to the embarrassment of putting them back on?

“They’ll stay there,” he promises, taking a step toward you. The shadow he casts is long, long. It’s getting later in the evening. Your chicken is eating temperature now, it could veer dangerously into cold territory soon. When prior to this have you so abandoned one of your food-babies? “Everything you wore today stays here and I’ll keep them.”

“My…coat…” you say, a little bit genuinely miffed. Dirty words are one thing, but that thing was several hundred dollars. To say nothing of its sentimental value. A crisp heavy cotton sign that even amid sacrifices, you’d made it. You’d begun.

“Maybe that. Maybe that and nothing else. When I let you go. If.”

“John?” This is somewhere between seduction and plain creepiness. You’re thinking about the door and how he’s between it and you. Reflexively you pat your lightly clad body for your cell phone, and John holds it out to you in one palm, battery in the other.

“You left it, silly.”The two of you make eye contact, almost like other times, his Cheshire cat smile painfully disarming. But this time his pretty mouth tightens at the corners, and a seriousness overtakes his features that you don’t necessarily like. And of course he’s holding your phone, until he isn’t. He drops the battery on the floor and stomps it till it breaks under his shoe. Now you’re ready to run.

“Um-what the fuck?”

“Language, please. Couldn’t bear thinking I’d made a mistake with you.”

It crosses your mind to yell for help, and as you open your mouth to do so John surrounds you. For a tall man, he’s terrifyingly fast on his feet and his hand over your mouth is like a vice. You can’t see, won’t realize till later but on a flat surface nearby or in his pocket is a chloroformed napkin–one of the dinner napkins you didn’t set–and the lure of chemical shuteye is pulling you into darkness, soft, sweet darkness…

______

• Nightfall •

A sheet, some satiny give underneath your drowsy body. Bed. You’re in bed.

“That’s why you’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties/

You will always find me in the kitchen at parties–

Bum, buh–”

Not your bed.

You’re on your stomach. It tickles where a rumple in the bedsheet meets your ankle. You drag your ankle back and forth over it in a soothing repetition. Someone or something has a hold of it so it doesn’t go very far, somehow reminiscent of the sensation in dreams of opening your mouth to talk or scream only to have nothing come out. The movement you think you’re making might be so small in real life that it’s imperceptible.

Your awareness wobbles and flickers as you take in the haze of new stimulus. Someone is singing.

“Me and my girlfriend we argued/

And she ran away from home/

She must’ve found somebody new/

And now I’m all alone.

Dun-buh-buh-

Living on my own…”

The bed creaks somewhere near to you and you feel new weight alongside one of your arms, which is extended, and a little sore. And doesn’t give when you try to tug it.

John perceives you moving around and immediately acts to get a better vantage point on you.

“Hey, good girl. Good girl. Nice to see you.”

[tau1tvec]

“Oh no, not again.”

Obviously the ring spooked her, and suddenly he’d seen this arrangement for the problem it was. However he couldn’t part with the thing, as much as it reminded him of his failures, it also reminded him of a time in his life where he felt at his happiest.

That happiness, sadly, wasn’t something he’d felt a lot of as of late though, and it’d driven out a sort of desperation in him; he only felt lifted from his shoulders the moment he saw her picture on that app.

Beginning to turn away from the table he’d spent a pretty penny reserving for them, he got from his chair to grasp her hand as gently as possible. This drew a rather expected response from her, however, as she glared at him, and pulled her hand away, and all he could do now was throw both his hands up in surrender, as he pleaded with her. “Look, I get it, I should’ve never deceived you, I— I don’t know what I was thinking, and if you decide you never wanna see me again, I wouldn’t blame you.” Sitting down again, he waved over a waiter, and immediately the server dropped what he was doing, and walked over like he’d been put under some spell. “Doesn’t change the fact that I pulled a lot of strings to get this reservation, the least you can do is enjoy a nice, free dinner.”

Crossing her arms over her chest she rolled her eyes as she looked down at him, begging almost, and even she had to admit it was as rare a sight as it was a pleasant one. Wealthy men of his caliber didn’t typically reach out to her, and he did fill out a suit well. So, as the waiter approached to help with pulling out her chair, she sighed in a bit of defeat, and plopped down into it begrudgingly.

“Fine! Dinner, but that’s it, I’m not looking to be someone’s side piece.”

Grinning, quite relieved to see her give in, he picked up his riesling he was sipping on while he waited on her, and took a quick sip. “Dinner and desert, and all the wine you like. Honestly I’m just glad to be having some company that isn’t my client.” Snapping his fingers at the waiter again, that’s all it seemed to take to convince the young man to fill up her glass to the brim with one of the house offerings. “I hope you like fish, I had a fresh Halibut sent in earlier today for the two of us.”

“Well,” she utter, impressed, but unwilling to let it get to his head more than it obviously already had. “You certainly did well for yourself.”

Raising a brow as he set down his drink, he looked at her a bit curious as to why it was she worded her reply like she did. “Oh? Did— did we know one another?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember me” Setting down her purse on the table, she pursed her lips. “Guess I can’t blame you, we only dated because we were desperate for dates to prom.” Smiling, and nodding at the waiter, he returned the gesture, then excused himself for the time being. “You broke up with Corin, and I found you in the empty computer room crying… isn’t all too often you find a high school boy in such a compromising position.”

Smiling widely, Aex scooted in his chair a bit more to get a better look at her in the low lighting. Suddenly it was all coming back to him. Sitting behind her in class, the smell of her body spray, her hair always done up intricately, her scribbling on notes her friends handed to her with a glitter pen while the teacher had his back turned. Those were such simpler times. “I’m surprised you didn’t record me, and post it on the internet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not an asshole unlike my ex at the time, who also broke up with me. I guess I just empathized.”

“I remember now… we had almost all our classes together but we barely spoke to one another. You were always so quiet though, I never knew whether you just didn’t like jocks, or—”

“Oh I didn’t, I honestly thought you were all assholes, and yet I dated one. Starting to think I just like assholes.” Isa grimaced at the thought. “Though I will say Corin and company took the cake, as far as high school bullies go anyway.”

“Then I guess this is a pretty terrible time to tell you I married her.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Isa tried to give her response some thought to avoid adding any more tension to the air between them, especially when it’d just begun to thin. “Terrible, yes. Surprising? Hardly.”

Returning with a co-worker, their waiter set down their first course for the evening, then his friend set them both on fire with a blowtorch before she could even attempt to recognize what it even was. Which proved he wasn’t lying about how costly this reservation was.

“You married your highschool sweetheart, you going to tell me what it is you’re doing here then?”

Grinning, even blushing a little as he did, he let the fire go out in front of them, a bit of an on the nose depiction of their conversation, then he fixed his tie, stalling essentially in hopes of finding the right words. “She’s been having affairs with other people, my brother being one of them… and even when I confronted her she seemed so matter of fact about it, as if I was the wrong one for just now finding out, and not taking it well.”

“Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.” Picking up her fork and knife, Isa examined the plate in front of her trying to find the best point of entry. Too busy to notice the joke had gone right over his big head.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” she replied as she looked up at him, then took a bite of whatever it was the waiter just put down in front of her, only to disappear again like a well dressed cryptid. “Let me guess, she’s given you permission to go and do it too, so she can keep doing it without repercussions?”

The truth hurt, and it showed in his eyes.

“We’ve tried everything.” Picking up his napkin, rolled up neatly into a ring, he slipped it off and set it aside, and then placed the napkin over his slacks. Four years of finishing school having instilled habits in him he did without thought. “Counseling, trips to the alps hoping to reignite something— she slept with her ski instructor you know?”

“Sounds like she reignited something.”

“Supposedly she doesn't do monogamy. Two years of marriage, how am I just finding this all out?”

“I don’t know, everyone else in school knew.” This seemed to insult him, all too obvious in his changing expression, and she wasn’t surprised. Despite all his success, in sports, in school, at his business, when it came to love he clearly lacked all self-awareness, but it wasn’t a terrible thing to lack.

“Look,” setting her fork down, she tried to level with him, if at least to keep him from getting upset over his overpriced appetizer. “You did what a lotta people do. You fell in love with someone, and refused to see the worst in them, ever, you might be an idiot for that, but you aren’t wrong for it.”

“I went through that too at one point,” she add as she let out a sigh.

“Terrible, isn’t it? When you realize you’ll never be enough?”

Isa, returning his stare with her own, wasn’t fond of that question, but knew deep down it was still the right question to ask.

They were both here for a reason after all.

[damnaation]

Seafood Dinner

A well known actor encounters someone with very particular tastes in garnishes.

Soft unwilling open ended vore (reluctant pred unwilling prey)

The tray had a bottle and a pair of wine glasses on it, each with a small amount of water and...

Tiny mermaids? Some sort of elaborate decoration in the glasses, at least. One with a hot pink tail, the other dark blue. Otherwise almost identical, save for the length of their hair—the pink one had a short, jaw length cut, the blue longer curls. Truly amazing craftsmanship, so detailed he could almost imagine they were breathing.

The doctor uncorked the bottle and started to pour, speaking as they did so. "Now, Mister Juniper, I must warn you, this wouldn't be your typical role. But we can get into that later—I do appreciate your interest and quick response."

The mermaid decorations looked even more lifelike in the wine, almost-

No. He hadn't imagined it. The pink one flicked her tail as he watched, clear as day.

What the hell.

They handed him a glass—the one with the pink mermaid—and sat back down in their chair, holding the glass with the blue one in their hand and giving it a little swirl. He watched as she flailed, tail flicking against the whirlpool current. The doctor's expression behind the red mirrored sunglasses was imparsable.

His gaze flicked to his own glass, where the pink mermaid had her hands pressed against the side, staring across the gap at her- sister? They had to be related, with how similar they looked. After a few seconds she looked up at him, a clear expression of trepidation on her tiny face.

Surely they don't...

"Aren't you going to drink?" The doctor's eerie voice snapped him out of his thoughts, looking back towards them to see they'd nearly emptied their glass while he was contemplating his own. The blue-tailed mermaid was curled in just a small amount of wine—a pose very similar to when he'd first seen them, actually—, lying limp with her eyes closed as if resigned to her fate.

And as he watched, they drained the last of it, the little blue mermaid included. A swallow made him fight to hold back a shudder, before they smiled at him.

"They squirm so wonderfully on the way down."

And then, as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn't just swallowed a tiny person whole and alive, they refilled their glass before gesturing to him.

The implication was clear.

He lifted his glass and drank, trying to ignore the feeling of the little pink mermaid brushing against his lips.

It was good wine, a light, sweet Riesling. He'd expected a fishy aftertaste, but no—either she didn't taste like fish (a thought that disgusted him, to be pondering what an apparently fully aware person tasted like), or it was managing to cover it.

Suddenly far too aware of his own body, he swallowed. Tried not to think about what a tiny form would feel like slipping down his throat with the mouthful of wine.

"Doctor-"

"We can discuss business in time. Please, feel free, enjoy my hospitality, Mister Juniper." They interrupted, leaning back in their chair and swirling their glass of wine.

He didn't miss the shudder that ran through the tiny mermaid's body. Or the surreptitious glance she gave him, dread clear to see on her face.

I'm sorry.

He wasn't sure if the little frightened noise he heard when he tipped the glass back was real or imagined, but it made him feel guilty regardless.

She didn't taste fishy—he hates that he's noticing this, it makes him feel sick—instead savory, a little sweet, with something almost smoky hidden in it. And she fit perfectly in his mouth, curled up and trembling as he carefully kept her away from his teeth.

And then, trying not to cringe, he tilted his head back and swallowed.

And God, the doctor wasn't lying. He could feel her wriggling, little delicate fins feeling almost like feathers as she's dragged down his throat. Fluttery, frantic movements, like nervous butterflies but more solid, more real, slipping down towards his stomach.

He let out a shuddering breath, empty hand pressing against his stomach as he felt the tiny, shimmery mermaid spill out of his throat inside him.

God. I'm so sorry. Just hold on, little one.

"Now, Mister Juniper. About my offer."