#REAME: Family Matters

[thegrimygrim]

I think I need to write my OC a formal apology for everything I've put him through as a result of years of my own trauma

I am so sorry Silvio but we're in this together and have been since 2019

fun fact btw he is 21 only 21

[phoenixcatch7]

Asdfghjkl Damian, if asked about the blood son thing: My Time Has Come

Poor b, running through the first three stages of grief in the half second it takes for Damian to open his mouth: you know what? Fine. Fine. Go ahead. By the time I die I'm going to be a mythical figure. Why not.

Actually, the idea was that B would be taken in his human body. His doll form would be left behind in the wreckage, carried back the manor and patched together under cover of darkness. The connection remains, hut it's paper thin.

Time stream Bruce trying to sync his down time to match up with the whispers he can just barely catch on the edge of his hearing so he can try and listen to his kids talking to his body 🥺.

But the dolls sometimes get impatient. When Dick claimed the Robin and then later the Nightwing dolls he was the one to venture down to the Tea Party and meet them.

The night the batman doll is repaired, he goes to bed late. He's staying in the manor again, to keep an eye on the newly arrived and half feral Damian, he's being pulled in all directions, he's got bludhaven to take care of, his job he's clinging to by his fingernails, he's got a kid raised in a death cult who's just lost his father, the family is unbalanced and acting out without their lynchpin (and main adult), Alfred is taking it badly, Tim is hyperfocusing and about to do himself an injury, the league is about to start sniffing around - well meaning concern and offered aid, sure, but the dolls are an impenetrable layer of privacy and security against the darkness of Gotham that unprepared heroes lack. He can't decide what to do.

He's half asleep out of sheer exhaustion when the lock on his bedroom door clicks. He freezes. Subtly cracks an eye.

There's a dark, looming shape in the now open doorway, eyes blank and glowing. Dick bolts upright, catches the glimpse of poisoned spikes and bared, metallic teeth.

He screams.

The hallway light clicks on, voices swarm, and he hears the exact instant they spot the figure by the way it goes absolutely silent.

Tim edges around the figure, eyes wide. He places a pale hand on the elbow of the Batman.

The doll doesn't move.

Tim shakes it slightly, as the others try to sneak around the huge shape without touching it. His eyes are glassy.

The doll is empty.

Jason quietly takes him aside, then, as Dick slides out of bed and pads closer. Everyone is gathered in the room then, even Damian and Alfred, and he's ignoring any glint of weapons he might see.

The doll appeared, on its own terms, in his room. He's never been creeped out by his adoptive father's blank eyes in this form, but now he has the distinct impression it's looking right back, even as the ears remain still and unmoving, empty of an occupant. It feels like there's something crawling up his spine.

He reaches out a hand, presses it against the engraved symbol on the chest.

The world goes white.

He opens his eyes, eight feet tall, and everyone is staring up at him in horror.

Wayne doll house: demon children.

Idea: each of the batkids is theorised to have a different origin.

Thing is, there's so many of them. The oldest is actually the youngest in body. It seems to be able to share memories with those who follow. It changes design right before a new bat appears.

The hero in the town over is definitely one of them, but what's it doing over there?? Asking just gets non-answers.

What happened to the ones that the Joker tried to destroy? One - the oldest and smallest - came back, but different, whereas the other - the purple and orange one - came back for a while and then vanished again for good.

None of them seem to age??

The first, smallest, oldest, it seemed to be some sort of circus performer? It gave its acrobatics to the blue one when it arrived, grew clever and defensive. It gave that to the skull headed red one, focused on technology and detective work after the Incident. Then again, and again, and one time even the bat changed along with it, but though the bat returned to normal the little Robin didn't, and now it's just as stabby and creative as it is small and creepy.

It's a good sort of creepy now, after over a decade of beating up bad guys and comforting victims, Gotham has gotten used to it, but outsiders don't much like it.

The justice league have a different opinion.

They know, or at least can observe, that the... Souls? Brains? Programs? Switch around, that it's not memories but persons that bring the new bats to life.

They just don't know where batman gets them. The new one, especially, is very circumspect.

For all this talk of the blood son, all the bats calling it demon child with varying levels of fondness, the way batman doesn't deny the claims...

Thing is the bat doesn't have blood. Everyone's well aware of this by now. Whatever sulpheric black tar he and the bats leak probably-certainly isn't blood, or at least... Not anything with dna.

So... What blood?? If not the bat's, why does it tie the newest mind of Robin to him?

Captain marvel is the first to think of an idea.

A blood child of a demon for a blood ritual for a demon.

Constantine and Zatanna second the notion - it's perfectly possible. Reasonable, even. The bat admitted himself he had no way to procreate the way humans did, nor any interest in doing so. Wanting a legacy was perfectly normal.

Except he already had, what, seven, eight, nine kids? He loved all of them, it was clear, and he'd always seemed happy with them. He'd even sighed over how many he had, had rebuffed the teasing about getting more. The new Robin mind had been a surprise to everyone, and the old one in a new body had been a little salty about it.

So the new theory was that batman hadn't decided to get a new Robin. Maybe the old mind had been ejected unwillingly! It had happened at roughly the same time batman had gotten a new personality - maybe the incidents were related?

But if batman hadn't done the ritual... Who had?

Who would do something like that???

Cultists. Cultists would do something like that. But giving the bat a son unwillingly seemed... A very odd goal, even for that type.

So... Had they messed up? Had they tried to summon the bat with a blood sacrifice ritual, and summoned a demon instead? Had it partially worked? Was the bat susceptible to demon summonings?? Did the summoning damage his own mind/consciousness/soul in some way, and that led to the creation of the new demon child while the bat changed until he'd healed????

How kind of batman to take it in!

Tldr; the league thinks Robin V is a demon born/created through a failed summoning ritual involving blood sacrifice that made batman like puns until he healed. The truth is the canon events of Damian arriving at the manor only for b to get tossed into the time stream, becoming the Robin to nightwing-batman while Tim, who is much less annoyed about it than canon, focuses on getting him back. Lmao.

[madlori]

If the only thing you can lord over buddie is that bucktommy is canon, then you really didn't care at all about the ship.

7 seasons of being a family unit, being there for each other, having each other's back but hey! Here comes another underdeveloped love interest, but since it's a man this time, you don't care about Buck being stuck in the same hamster wheel, again, because he's kissing a man and that's hot 🙄

Also for all your doom and gloom about buddie not happening, do remember that Tommy/Eddie was an idea in Tim's mind at first, so Eddie can be read as queer, even if it's not in canon yet.

I guess you don't place much value on them being a family unit and always there for each other, and having each other's back...all of which is still true and will continue to BE true. But it's only important to you as a prelude to them kissing, right? It has no value in and of itself. I love their relationship. I love what they are to each other. But YOU are making me not want to see it, because every time they turn to each other, lean on each other, support each other, we have to listen to you shrieking BUDDIE CANON CONFIRMED or whatever, because to a certain genre of shipper (not all buddie shippers, etc) any interaction or feeling they have with each other exists only in service to the ship.

I swear to god, I'm gonna banish the phrase "hamster wheel" from y'all's mouths until I get an actual definition as to what you think it means, because from where I sit, to you it just means "he's with someone who's not Eddie." To me, it means that Buck continually fell bass-ackwards into relationships that weren't right for him, looking for something he wasn't even sure what it was. And heyyyyy, he's currently in a relationship that he actively chose and fought for, having learned something new and important about himself, with someone who makes him giddy and excited in a way we have never seen him be, who the people around him can see gives him contentment. But none of that matters, because it's not Eddie, and that is by definition his only appropriate partner, so he must still be on that hamster wheel. Also if we're going by creator intent here, Tim's said he wrote this relationship specifically to reflect Buck being off of it.

As for underdeveloped love interest? I wrote an entire ass essay about how MUCH we know about Tommy, and it's reams compared to anything we've ever known about Buck's girlfriends OR Eddie's current girlfriend who does not even have a last name. Tommy has been introduced in a way that integrates him with the 118, with multiple interests, a character arc of his own from his first appearance, a set of motivations and emotional arcs that are NOT about Buck, and something to actually offer in a relationship besides existing. Anyone saying he's underdeveloped is determined to read him as such, especially for the limited amount of time we've had him.

And I never said Eddie couldn't be read as queer. He can EASILY be read as queer. I said he WOULDN'T be. Those are two different things. If Tommy and Eddie had gotten together (which I give no more narrative weight to than Maddie and Eddie getting together, which was also a gleam in the eye at one point) I'd equally be saying that Buck would never be queer.

It's hilarious to me that I'm being accused of liking a ship because it's hot (it is, and I do, and that's...fine? there's nothing bad about that?) as if people enjoy Buddie because of the amorphous purity of it all and not at ALL because it's hot (it is and you should say so).

If my thoughts about this are so upsetting to you, just block me, dude. I promise I won't take it personally.

Also, just...learn to enjoy a ship whether it's canon or not. I've done it, we've all done it. It's not that hard, especially THIS ship, which has so much good stuff to it regardless of whether there's romance or not. Those of us who like Buck with Tommy are not taking away from you enjoying Buddie, or anyone doing so. It's not like...the State of Buddie will lose congressional representation if the population falls below a certain level. The existence of another ship does not affect yours.

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[timmyrx2000]

TEAMWORK Mabel and Pacifica Style!

Mabel and Pacifica proudly display their collaboration on the team's official Baseball Uniform Design. Art by @turquoisespace35

It's part of an AU where, during their free time, Dipper, Mabel, Pacifica, and Wendy form a baseball team to try and get Dipper and Pacifica out of their shells. Wendy and Mabel try to boost Dipper's confidence by getting him to give playing baseball a shot and Pacifica, now part of the gang, comes along for the ride.

Among the entire group, Mabel and Pacifica have the most history, with their start being...rocky at best. While Pacifica and Mabel are now together on their tiny Baseball Team with Wendy and Dipper, Pacifica still feels quite anxious around Mabel knowing how she's treated Mabel in the past. What surprises her though is how easily Mabel seems to have gotten over those times and just seems to enjoy having her as a new friend. Pacifica's not used to Mabel's optimistic and upbeat attitude on life, especially growing up with rich, snobbish, stuck-up family and friends where you just didn't let things slide, but you made sure you won at all costs.

Mabel, on the other hand, loves having Pacifica as a new friend but still feels she's still quite distant and apprehensive getting close to her. Mabel's always makes an effort to have a bit of fun with Pacifica but almost always, Pacifica responds rather awkwardly. Mabel knows its not about Pacifica not wanting to be friends, but she knows she's gotta break her out of her shell cause she knows there's a Pacifica in there that just wants to break-free and enjoy life to her fullest.

When Wendy pitches the idea of finally formalize the Baseball team into a real ream, complete with recruiting 9 Players, she says they'll need an official Baseball Team Uniform and what better people to come up with it than the queens of style and creativity right in the team: Pacifica and Mabel!

Both girls are excited at the prospect of making the official team uniform but they do have some doubts on if it can or will work. Mabel and Pacifica have 2 very different ideas of style and creativity. Pacifica, in particular, is even more nervous that if this ends in disaster, she may lose the only real friend her age she would have had. Mabel, however, dives right into the opportunity seeing it as the chance to finally hangout and get to know Pacifica more. But can opposites work together?

As they pitch ideas back and forth both Pacifica and Mabel gain more insight into each other's personality. They begin opening up to each other slowly but surely. Pacifica begins to admire Mabel's spice for life, her creativity, and her boldness in imagination. She admires how Mabel is so unapologetic for who she is and no matter how bad things get, Mabel still manages to find the bright side of life. Mabel, on the other hand, begins to admire Pacifica's fierce and strong personality and how she's unafraid to speak her mind. She sees in Pacifica someone who is brave enough to stand up for herself against anyone who'd try to put her down, and she sees in her someone who is unwilling to go back to the life she had living as a slave to her dad's bell.

Their new found respect and admiration for each other proves to be a great asset in their collaboration. They're not competing, but they complement each other. They form the perfect duo for the job, with Mabel inspiring Pacifica to be more ambitious and daring in her choices while Pacifica helps keep Mabel grounded and realistic. It culminates with the pair proudly presenting their work to Wendy and Dipper who are thoroughly impressed and proud of their new Team Uniform. 

But it doesn't just stop there!  Mabel and Pacifica both prove to be a force to be reckoned with on the field, both partnering up during the games to help out in forming strategies and executing plays. When times get tough, they have each other to lean on, no matter how difficult and complicated things get. Pacifica couldn't ask for a better friend than Mabel, and neither could Mabel ask for a better friend than Pacifica.

[doki-doki-imagines]

Fluff alphabet feat Tomas Vrbada

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them? Tomas likes to watch films together with his partner. Usually, he enjoys action movies that aren't too heavy on the gore side, but he will watch sappy movies too; the more cliché there are, the better it is. His kid self would cringe at the film he watches now, but Tomas grew up and embraced that side better. If you sneak a kiss in between the film, he'll gladly accept it (even if he is often the one doing the first step)

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them? Tomas is down bad. When he is in love, he can't find anything bad in his partner. Probably, he admires how you always have the right words to lift his spirit or how supportive you are. Also, Tomas appreciates your hands, for sure softer and smaller than his ones. He often finds himself kissing the palm of your hand.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.? Tomas has a steady mind. He isn't born with it, but he had to develop if you wanted to survive the Lin Kuei harsh rules. He isn't really good at supporting you during those times, but he wants you to learn the same tricks that helped him survive, so next time something bad happens, you won't feel that bad.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o? Tomas would love to retire and have a happy family. He doesn't desire fame and glory, but a quiet life with people he cherishes, possibly not too far away from Shirai Ryu tho.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive? Tomas is rather passive because he doesn't want to have arguments with his special one, but he can get stubborn on certain points and won't back down easily. In those cases, you can try to show him your view on the matter, but he often doesn't change his mind.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting? To get Tomas angry, his partner must have done something that hurt him deep. He may forgive, but for sure, he won't forget.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them? He is! Tomas reaction may be a bit over the top, so there are times when you think he is joking, but he isn't! He is just overjoyed that someone used their time to do something for him.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything? Yeah, Tomas tries to keep his job as secret as he can. Yeah, you know he is a ninja and all of that, but you'll never know anything about his missions in particular, at maximum where he is going.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems? Not change. Tomas is just more relaxed and overall happy. His partner probably learnt how to deal with dangerous situations and emotions better.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it? Tomas has extreme trust in his partner. It's all the other people that worry him! He won't say a word to you, but when the green monster eats him inside and fog his brain, one of his hand always find its place on your lower back, squeezing your hips enough to keep you close to him.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like? Good...let's say he has the right spirit! Tomas will gladly improve and mould his skill to his partner preference. That doesn't mean he always has the mind to kiss at his best. The first kiss was unexpected, a mission thay went well and a flurry of little pecks all over your face till his lips found yours; that for sure didn't turn out to be just a little peck.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o? It's all of a sudden, like when you rip the band-aid off in a single movement, plus it is at an unexpected moment, not romantic at all. Probably he brang something you both like and Tomas go "You know what else I like? You." and then just go on with his day. He is dying inside, tho, so pls tell him about your feelings; as cute as he is when blushing, it's best to avoid an aneurism.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like? Oh, Tomas would love to marry his special one. He'll totally be soft, proposing in the intimacy of your shared room. The marriage wouldn't be too extravagant, but he'd like to invite as many friends as possible.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o? Honey, darling, baby.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings? Tomas has a smile plastered on his face every time his crush gets close to him; and with close to him, I mean on the other side of the camp. He always tries to lean towards your body, just feeling the heath of your body makes his heart do triple jumps. Tomas would like to be more sneaky, but honestly, everyone knows about his crush on you; yourselves included. Better to tell him immediately how you feel about him, so he won't embarrass himself too much with his colleagues.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching? Tomas doesn't like kissing in public, but will for sure brag about his partner with others, even more if he is tipsy; Tomas just won't stop babbling about you. For sure, your relationship isn't a secret.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship. He can tell your feelings just by looking into your eyes. For sure, Tomas will understand you easier, but it also means that it's hard to keep secrets with him.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative? He likes cliché, exactly the same kinds that appear in the film you watch together. Don't expect Tomas to be creative, tho! That isn't his strong suit.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them? Absolutely yes! Not only Tomas will be really supportive, but he'll gladly give you a hand if you need more than encouraging words to reach your goal.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine? Tomas prefers routine, it is more comfortable and makes you both overall happy. Doesn't mind if you want to spice up the relationship, but you'll have to make the first step.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic? Extremely good, maybe too good, as I said before. Not too much empathetic, tho. He understands how his partner feels, but doesn't mean he will feel the same way you do.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life? Really important, but not more than Shirai Ryu. Tomas has a mission, a goal that won't let go no matter how much he loves his partner

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon. He likes to kiss your fingers, delicate butterfly ones, maybe while you're in bed together cuddling.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle? Yes, but just behind closed doors. Tomas' hands never leave your body, and his lips always find peace on your skin. Not all cuddles end up in sex, but...he wouldn't be opposed to that.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner? He likes to watch photos of you two together or just yours. It's not unusual for his head to wander in dangerous places.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of? It depends, does it hurt you or him? Then he won't do it. Will it be a danger for Shirai Ryu? Absolutely won't do it. Is it something that doesn't do any damage to his "safe paradise"? Tomas will gladly do that.

[sugarandspicewriting]

Lyney fluff Alphabet

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Lyney likes to demo his new magic tricks for you! He might practice them in front of Lynette fist just so he can impress you. I also feel like he’d enjoy watching/ helping you bake if that’s something you’re into.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

On himself he likes his hands. It’s where all the magic happens.

On you he likes your eyes. The voice-line was a diversion to get your mind off your questions, but all the best lies have some truth mixed in.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

If you’re close enough to him to be in a relationship, he considers you family and hates to see you sad. The first time around he might try to distract you with tricks or letting you pet his cat, but it all you really need is a shoulder to cry on and to have someone listen all the cards and magic will be saved for another time.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He doesn’t like to think about the far future so much, as he knows that he will have to take over for “Father” some day. But he will do everything he can to keep you and his family in his life.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

At the start of the relationship he tends to take on a more dominant role, because he’s still learning how to let his guard down. As it progresses, he’ll mellow out and become more passive.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He hates fighting. He runs from confrontation and it is difficult to have hard discussions with him unless you put him in a corner (sometimes literally)

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is very grateful for his s/o. Especially if they know about his involvement in the Fatui and are willing to stay with him anyway. He knows that would be a dealbreaker for a lot of people.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

LOTS of secrets especially when your relationship is new. The traveler still doesn’t know everything about him. Although I do imagine he’d like to reach a point of full transparency with you someday. All in good time.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Lyney clearly has some trust issues. I think the thing that would really change him would be to see you getting along with Lynette and Freminet. Loving you is one thing but having his family love you is another. Sees you talking to Freminet about Pers and encouraging his naïve beliefs and he’s ready to propose on the spot.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He does get jealous easily but doesn’t show it. Especially if you don’t know about his dealing with the Fatui. He feels like he’s not good enough and that you can do better. Goes through a cycle of isolating himself and then showering you with attention. But he can switch from one thing to the other in a matter of hours so it can be hard to catch. If you get the sense that his spiraling some words of affirmation is usually enough to get him back on track

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

With all that smooth talk he’s bound to have used that mouth for something else.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

He would want to do something big and grand in front of people but luckily Lynette gets to him first and convinces him that the first I love you should be something just between the two of you. But if he gets the green light from you for grand gestures in the future… nothings off the table.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He does want to get married in his heart but he’s still unsure of his future in the house of hearth and if he really wants to get you involved in that. I’ve seen this written in fics before but I like the idea that he’s doing a magic trick and he says all he’ll need is your hand and he pull the ring out of this hat. It’s cute and very him.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Would y’all gag if I said kitten. I also think he’d like to use dove, angel eyes, and variations of French pet names like mon Cheri etc. He also likes to use your name often, because he knows that using peoples names is a good way to get people to like you I’m not joking look it up.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Lynette and Freminet are So Tired. Especially if he’s in the pinning phase before the relationship someone save them.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Not shy not even a little bit. He loves to put on a show at any at all times. Right in front of Lynette’s salad? He will not ask before hand either so if you don’t like PDA you’re going to have a rude awakening at first. He’ll stop if you really want him to but he might ask even still once and a while.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He’s very good at reading people so he’ll know when you’re sad, and will learn quickly what displays of affection you like the most.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Dude. It’s sickeningly sweet at times like are you seriously sending doves over with a love letter. Just use the mail. It’s all to show he cares thought and if gestures like that are your thing you’ll be very happy with him. So corny.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Yes I believe he would support his s/o in their goals. If it’s something in the arts he would take a more hands on approach, but if it’s anything else that he didn’t have experience in he’d take a backseat approach. I see hcs of people saying he’d want you to be in his show. He likes it when he can pick you as a volunteer in his audience but if you want to be part of the show you’d have to put in WORK. He won’t let you off easy just because you’re his s/o.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

His life is so unpredictable as it is so I think he’d like to fall into a routine with you. But never so much so that either of you would get bored.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He prides himself on his ability to read people so I think he’d make it a point to know more about you than anyone else. He also strikes me as someone who is very empathetic, but he won’t always act on it, unless of course it’s you he’s worried about.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship with you is something he feels is pure and untainted by his past and the Fatui, so he values it a lot and wants to keep it sacred in that way. He knows that because of his involvement that his life could change in an instant but he’s determined to keep you by his side.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Hand👏🏻kisser👏🏻. I’m not taking notes on this argue with the wall. He thinks it’s romantic and he’s right!!!

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes! Other than Lynnette and Freminet he’s not very close to anyone and they’re not the cuddly type. He’s probably a little touch starved and would always be touching you in some way if he could. Big fan of laying on top of you and let’s face it he’s probably 100 pounds soaking wet so it’s not uncomfortable enough to push him off.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

The drama. Spare Lynette please and come back. He’s waxing poems and it’s been 3 hours. He’ll tone it down if Lynette looks like she’s about to strangle him but he’ll still be mopey just for the theatrics of it all. He’s very used to only having his sister but he’s never had someone like you in his life and wants to keep you around!

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Once you’re in a committed relationship there’s no telling what he’d be willing to do for you, especially after growing up around someone like Father and seeing what she could do. After the news gets out that he’s fatuus, no one wants to mess with you.

[tokiwarcube]

Pickles fluff alphabet? 💐😸pwease!

Strap in babe, this one's a doozy!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

It’s honestly pretty varied! Whether you’re taking over the biggest nightclub in the country together; gaming; watching some trippy TV show while blasted out of your minds; or going for a late night drive… it’s something new every day! Especially if you have the free time to match. Although I will admit… he’s rather partial to just lazing around Mordhaus with you.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Your patience, kindness, and resolve. I talk about this a lot in later letters, but your steady presence in his life is unlike anything he’s ever seen, much less had. On a more physical level though… thighs, calves, and hips. Lord God, he is insatiable.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

I talked a bit about this in his relationship headcanon post, but he is actually surprisingly good at comforting his partner despite never having received it much himself.

If you’re okay with being held in moments like these, he’ll sit you down and pull you towards him to place his lips to your temple. He murmurs the kindest words against the skin there, letting his hands soothe the stress of the moment. Although most often one ends up threaded through your hair, shielding you from the world as his thumb traces gentle patterns. You’re going to be okay. Everything always works out, I promise.

Alternatively, if you want to talk about it, he’s a great listener. You are more than welcome to pace around his room and rant for as long as you want. He might not offer solutions, but man, he makes you feel heard.

“Yeah babe, that’s fucking bullshit! Fuck that guy!”

He’s got a damn-good sense of humor that he rarely hesitates to invoke.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Honestly? After decades of drug-induced fogginess, dating you has finally taught him how to appreciate the moments as they come. The whole concept of “future” is one that he struggles to really attach himself to, since he just really loves what he has now. He just knows that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll be there together.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

I feel very wishy-washy giving this answer, but genuinely, it depends. On most things, he’s pretty passive! He’s content to let you take the lead on quite a bit, especially if it’s not something he feels super strongly about. But he can stand firm, make decisions, and lead when need be — especially if it concerns your health or well-being.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Fights, while rare, tend to revolve around one of two things. Either A.) His lifestyle choices, or B.) Family. Listen — he’s made progress with his family, but there’s still a piece of him that feels like he has to show up when they call (however rare that might be.) And when he does, he tends to be… touchier, afterwards. More likely to snap, and say shit that he doesn’t mean. He’s got a temper, and his family really brings out the worst in him. Especially if you press on it, even with the best of intentions.

Give him a bit of time — he always apologizes sincerely, and fights like these genuinely don’t happen often.

As for lifestyle… he’ll try to cut back on the drugs and alcohol if you ask, but it’s unfortunately become a keystone of his life. So any attacks on that feel like an attack on him.

But beyond that, Pickles is very easy to forgive after arguments — he really does value communication, and a sincere apology and a conversation is enough to bring him around again.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is immeasurably grateful for your presence in his life, both as a friend and as a lover. I don’t want to harp on it too much since I elaborate on it in some of the other letters, but for right now, just know that you are a key part of his life.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Nah, not really. There’s nothing really worth keeping secret, you know? He’s not doing anything that would really warrant that, and even the embarrassing shit is fun to share if it can get a laugh out of you. The most he really keeps “secret” is the extent of his insecurity, and even then, it’s a bit... obvious.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Both! You’ve definitely helped him grow as a person, in the sense that he’s not as horrifically anxious. He has his moments of course, but the love and security you bring to the relationship has helped him so, so much. Not to mention your help with regards to his family life — he cannot thank you enough for standing by his side when things get rough in that department, and just by sticking with him, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t need to tear himself apart to be loved. You’ve also shown him how to appreciate life as it comes — not just to enjoy the reprieve of thoughtlessness when the high of his drug of choice kicks in.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes and no. Maybe not so much with “regular dildos,” — under most conditions, he’s content to just tell them to fuck off. Even does it with a little smirk, the smug prick. But once they start actually hitting on you? All bets are off, and he’s liable to start swinging if they aren’t taking no for an answer.

He trusts you, he just doesn’t trust other people. It takes a little bit of conversation to get him to understand that if he really trusts you, then he’ll believe you when you say you’re not gonna get swept off your feet by some regular jackoff.

Seth is a separate deal entirely, though — it doesn’t take much to set him off when Seth is in the room, nevermind near you. Again, this man has taken everything from him, in his eyes. You can’t blame him too much for having a shorter fuse.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Oh, absolutely he’s a good kisser. Kissing Pickles is like a moment of peace in a world that never seems to shut up. Lazy, but sweet. Your first kiss was much of the same, his own lips upturning as you met in the middle.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It takes quite a while for him to work up the courage, honestly. He’s a complete dumbass in the crush phase, but once he remembers that you’re you and he knows you… it’s easy to fall into a relationship with him, but he needs the confirmation eventually.

Hell, you might have been under the impression that you were dating for months! But a night will come where you’re hanging out, just the two of you, and he’ll just… ask if you want to go out this weekend. It’s clear that this holds a whole hell of a lot more weight than your usual outings though, if his reddening ears and rapidly darting eyes are any clue.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

The whole thought of marriage stresses Pickles the fuck out, honestly. It’s been built up as this really big thing that he just doesn’t know how to handle. Churches, family, classy photos… he has this very stiff view of marriage that makes him queasy. In his mind, it’s everything he’s been trying to run from since he was 16.

It’s only once you two talk about it and he realizes he doesn’t have to conform to those rigid ideas that he really starts to think about it. You mean you can actually have fun with these things? And that getting married doesn’t automatically place him in some dead-end job in the suburbs? And that you can just do it because you love each other? Well, now you’ve got him thinking.

There does come a time when he realizes that he really, really wants to marry you. And sure, you’ve talked about it ad nauseam — you’ve said a million times that you’d marry him if he wanted to. Logically, there’s no reason for you to reject him… and yet the little box feels like a lead ball in his pocket, staying there for months before he finally works up the courage on a quiet night in.

As for the ceremony… it depends on how far he is with separating himself from his family, honestly. There’s a good chance that he might invite them (probably at the last second, weighed down with the guilt of “what-if”), which does nothing but give him the world’s longest anxiety attack for the bulk of the ceremony.

But you know, it’s fun anyways. He was adamant about wearing his nicest suit (the one you had absolutely fallen in love with a few years prior while out on one of your rarer, fancier date nights — he never forgot how you flustered, how your eyes dilated, how you were so quick to get out of prying eyes to get your hands on him… He knows it’s your favorite, and damn if that doesn’t give him a bit of a confidence boost,) but that’s just about where the formality ends.

The initial procession it’s its own form of magic, with harp versions of all your most meaningful songs ringing through the open air (their brutality masked by the serenity of the instrument, much to your shared amusement as his family exchange shocked glances with one another). His vows are sweet, and so undeniably him. He had considered rewriting them to be more “acceptable,” after inviting his parents, but after planning the wedding a bit more with you, he remembered — this is about the two of you. And sure, they scowled when he spoke, but your grin made everything feel right. This is where he’s meant to be. Fuck them.

And the kiss, oh the kiss. He can’t help but smile in the moment, hands cupping your face — he never thought he’d be here, nevermind with someone as incredible as you.

And once all is said and done? Controlled chaos as the festivities begin — like I said, it’s a fun wedding! It’s metal as fuck! And through it all, he never once leaves your side.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’s a “babe” kind of guy, plain and simple. When he’s tired, or just feeling a little whiny, he tends to drag out the “a” — the accent makes it more endearing than it should be. “Dude” is also completely fair game, sorry.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s painfully obvious, to everyone around him. Before you’re dating he gets all clammy and awkward, and does really stupid shit to try and impress you. Everyone knows, because the moment you walk in the room he becomes a bumbling idiot who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut… but hey, he pulls it together. Eventually. Once you’re dating and stable, it’s still pretty damn obvious that he’s completely whipped.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He has no shame about PDA. He’s not obscene in public with you (unlike some people), but in front of the guys? He has absolutely no qualms about it. Might even be a bit insufferable with it, if the boys have been getting on his nerves. He loves bragging about you too — you’ve gotta muzzle him if you want to keep your name out of the tabloids.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

He always knows when you’re gonna have a nightmare — some weird, preternatural sense that he chalks up to one too many bad trips and nightmares of his own.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s not romantic in the traditional sense — candlelit dinner dates are way too stuffy for him, and he’s never really seen the point of big bouquets. But he has his own little romantic quirks — dragging you out of too-noisy bars to gaze at the stars when he notices you getting antsy… innocent little touches that make your brain go fuzzy… murmured words of adoration when the lights are low… He’s not a romantic in the traditional sense, but damn if he doesn’t make your heart flutter anyways.

And he’d do damn-near anything to make you happy, you know. He’s pretty creative with actual date ideas! Even if his “favorites” are more casual, he’s damn creative when he actually wants to go out. I’ll say it a million times and then a million more, but it’s one of the many benefits of being 1/5th of the 7th most powerful economic force.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Fuck yes, absolutely. If you’ve got a dream, he’s doing as much as he can to make it a reality.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He’s a definite thrill seeker — again, it comes with the fame (and money.) He’s got the world at his disposal, and he wants to do everything he can with you. But he has his little subsections of routine that he clings to — you’ll be in partying in Berlin one night and in Dubai the next, but the mornings still belong to your well-crafted songs and dances.

It’s less about spicing up the relationship though, and more about wanting to live life to the fullest with you. The two of you could be getting blasted on the couch, or even just watching some god-awful old movie, and he would be just as happy. And oftentimes, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He thinks he knows you pretty well, and honestly? He does! It surprises you sometimes, just how observant he is. Hell, sometimes he knows what you’re feeling before you even realize it yourself!

(Do you want me to tell him to shut up? You’re doing that thing, the thing with your eyebro— No, yeah, you do. Babe. You know what I can just—)

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You’re just as much a part of his family as the rest of Dethklok — you’re such a cornerstone of his life, and honestly, he’s not sure what he would do without you. Your love and stability is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before — and sure, he loves the guys (don’t tell anyone he said that), but they don’t know how to get over themselves enough to just fucking talk sometimes. Things are natural with you. Safe.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

I mentioned this in the tags of his relationship headcanons, but I decided I need this to be known.

This man is pretty shit at taking care of himself. Always forgets his inhaler at home, never remembers to eat, etc. And you’ve noticed this over the time you’ve shared together, and have started preparing for those little things. Especially because he gets so damn cranky when his blood sugar is low.

You’ve been caught passing him so many Werther’s Originals in public that he now has an unwilling sponsorship with them. He hates it so fucking much, and because you think its hilarious, it’s the only candy you bring.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I’m just saying, his animal form is very fitting. That man would happily spend the rest of his days blasted out of his mind and cuddling with you.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He’s so unbelievably whiny, it’s unreal. If the two of you are in a situation where you can’t call, he’s the type to send little voice notes about his day, just so he can hear your response when you’re free. He gets a bit clingier with the rest of the band in the meantime… and drinks. Sorry.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

To the Doomstar and back again.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

At Autumn's End ~ Part 1

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

🍂Divorced Dad!Lucifer🍁Explicit~ 8.1k

🍂🍁🍃

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

Lucifer Morningstar stood on the deck of the family's chalet, breathing the crisp mountain air, determined to carry on this family tradition. Even if he was doing it alone. He'd do it for Charlie.

Blazing autumn leaves floated down from the towering oaks and caused ripples along the surface of the mirror lake below. Lucifer gripped to the rough hewn railing, grounding himself, determined to just be normal for once since the divorce.

The two-story cabin was the perfect place. With its walls mostly made of windows overlooking the last gasp of beautiful fall foliage, a fully stocked kitchen, fire pit, two hot tubs, and the smell of wood smoke still lingering from the fireplace he'd prepped.

Charlie had always loved their farewell to fall getaway. And Lucifer was ready for a relaxing weekend, bundled up in cozy sweaters with warm mugs of spiced cider.

And Charlie's new girlfriend would just make the merrier.

Sure, Lucifer had met her before, sure, he'd made a bit of a fool of himself trying so hard not to be awkward that he'd overdone the gracious host bit and come back around to painfully awkward again.

So, there was a lot riding on this relaxing weekend.

Lucifer jumped, catching his sweater on the balcony when he registered the sound of tires crunching their way up the gravel drive.

He hurried back into the main living room, grabbing up the last few things—throwing fluffy pillows back onto the loveseat and the two armchairs, making sure everything was perfect.

He paused at the wall of windows. Already grinning as he saw Charlie's tank of an old SUV made its way across the carpet of leaves. The front doors open, depositing his beaming daughter and her scowling girlfriend out into the autumn air. When one of the back doors opened, and a long pair of legs emerged.

Right. Charlie had asked to bring her roommate this year.

Look, call Lucifer old fashion—his daughter was bi and so was he—but he'd blanched when he heard his little girl had a male roommate. Thought the school was being way too modern when they changed the dorm policy to co-ed roommates.

But the young man before him was nothing like Lucifer pictured for a college roommate.

Alastor stood there, exuding a calm assurance that seemed almost out of place amidst the playful chaos of falling leaves.

His skin was a warm, rich brown, contrasting beautifully with the soft dark curls that framed his face. Round, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, framing bright hazel eyes. A well-tailored coat hugged his long and lean frame.

Despite the nip in the air, he looked impeccably comfortable, like the cold wouldn't dare touch him without permission.

A pretty gay twink if he'd ever seen one.

Not remotely Lucifer's type, not going to be‌ a problem.

With a deep breath, the short blonde turned away from the wall of windows, stealing himself to play the indulgent parent who just wanted his grown little girl to have a good weekend with her friends.

Alastor. The kid's name was Alastor. He remembered Charlie practically dancing on his heartstrings with how her roommate was facing his first school break without his mother.

Lucifer was pretty much incapable of refusing his daughter's wishes, divorced dad guilt, but how could he ever say no after that?

The chilled autumn air gusted in as Lucifer opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch--and right into the middle of a conversation.

"Yeah my family's been coming to this challette for years." Charlie was saying gleefully.

"Chalet, my dear." Alastor interjected in a voice that was shockingly smooth as velvet. "It's pronounced shal-ay,"

"Whatever," Charlie shrugged, unfazed by the correction, like it happened all the time.

"Yeah, whatever." Vaggie echoed emphatically, shooting a glare at Alastor over Charlie's shoulder. "Not like it matters."

Alastor's eyes rolled from the picturesque scenery towards the short woman with long black hair and tawny skin. A silent glare passed between them.

"Hey Dad!" Charlie called out, lighting up like a sunset as she bounded towards him. Her laugh was like wind chimes and her smile was playful.

Warming Lucifer right to his core.

"Hey Char-Char!" He barely had time to brace himself before Charlie collided with him full-force, her energy and arms wrapping around him. Hugging him without an ounce of holding back.

God, he missed this.

The mountains were already working their magic. 

"Whoa, careful there." Lucifer laughed, his heart swelling happily. "Missed you so much kiddo."

"Missed you too, dad." Charlie set him back on his feet with a grin.

Vaggie was right at her side, just behind, loyal and stern-faced as ever. Alastor lingered further behind.

Lucifer turned to his daughter's girlfriend, unsure if he should go for a handshake before he extended his arms and gave what was a slightly more restrained hug.

Okay, so it was stiff and awkward, but he was trying.

Vaggie reciprocated politely, though the discomfort lingered between them like an unwanted guest.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Moringstar,"

"Please, call me Lucifer." He reminded her gently, trying to bridge a little of the gap formality put between them.

Vaggie gave a brief nod—but hey, it was a start.

Lucifer then shifted his attention to Alastor ‌and before he could worry about making his terrible first impression—it was like the swirling red and gold leaves all went still.

The air went from brisk to sharply cold, biting into Lucifer's exposed skin and turning his face pink.

From a distance, through the window, he'd imagined Alastor was a sweet little harmless gay boy.

But now, Lucifer's assumptions were crumbling under the reality of Alastor's silently overwhelming presence.

Alastor stood there, the little smile playing on his lips, exuding an undeniable aura of dominance and control.

Those hazel eyes that looked soft and inviting through the window now pinned him like a butterfly with his precise gaze.

It was like staring down a damn mountain lion, a graceful creature that was only staying still while it suited him.

Lucifer questioned every ounce of gaydar he'd ever had.

And then, the hazel eyes locked on his. And Lucifer felt like the mountain was about to slip out from under his feet.

Those eyes weren't as remotely soft as he imagined. And it was like they could see right through the thick knit of his cozy sweater. To everything that Lucifer would rather hide.

Here he was, recently divorced, depressed, an insomniac who soothed his emotions and stilled his mind by making fool meals at midnight, being looked at like that.

His self-esteem still hadn't recovered from the end of his relationship with Lilith, and he was utterly unprepared for such an intense, self-assured man--who was half his age!

Then, the corners of Alastor's lips curled into a smile--and even the suggestion that he liked what he saw, sent heat rushing into Lucifer's cheeks.

"Oh, Alastor." Charlie seemed to appear suddenly, breaking the moment like a twig snapping underfoot. She stepped forward, grabbing the younger man's arm with the kind of graceless enthusiasm that only his daughter could pull off. "This is my dad, Lucifer."

Alastor gave a chuckle that made Lucifer forget there was a chill in the air.

"Mr.Morningstar." Alastor replied smoothly, extending a hand towards the blonde.

Who had to get over the fact that his charm cast an instant spell and were wrapping around Lucifer like silk.

Lucifer extended his hand on instinct, about to give the same reminder as he gave Vaggie about using his first name, hoping that it would dispel some of the swirling tension simmering in the air between them.

But, before Lucifer could form the words, he felt his h and enveloped in Alastor's.

The dark-haired man's grasp was firm as iron. As if that weren't enough to knock Lucifer off balance, Alastor's other hand came to clasp his wrist, pulling him in with a silent force that sent his heart racing into his throat.

It was a dominant, decisive gesture that left no room for his intentions to be misunderstood.

Lucifer stumbled over his words and nearly over his own feet, leaves crunching under his boots.

"The pleasure's all yours, isn't it?" Alastor's voice was all smoothness and certainty.

"Uh, yeah." Lucifer managed to reply, realizing that his voice came out like a breathless murmur.

He really hoped that his flamed cheeks would be counted to the chilly wind nipping at his exposed skin--not the fluttering spark he was promptly smothering.

Lucifer finally remembered to release Alastor's hand, and fully retreat back into the role of host.

"Let me help with the back—bags." The words tumbled out quickly as he hurried around Charlie's old SUV. Anything to redirect his focus from this heat rising inside him.

Busying himself helping Charlie and Vaggie, and ignoring the young man next to him also moving to help, with that silent smirk.

Lucifer went to grab a suitcase that he recognized belonged to his daughter—which he should have realized was over-packed as always—and nearly fell from the trunk onto him.

Alastor's hand shot out, catching the bag by the handle, and setting it neatly on its wheels.

"Careful," he teased lightly, in that ringing velvet voice of his. "Not to bite off more than you can chew."

Lucifer swallowed, refusing to let his mind lean into the implication of those words.

"I can handle it." Lucifer huffed, grabbing the suitcase stubbornly.

Alastor gave a smirk and a shrug.

Lucifer hurried up the front porch into the chalet, realizing how severely he'd underestimated Alastor's slender frame and fastidious dressing.

There was nothing twink about Alastor.

He was a commanding presence wrapped in charm and elegance. And everything Lucifer found attractive.

That thought nearly stopped the man dead in his tracks.

Sure, he was recently divorced from Lilith. And he'd been in a dry spell ever since—but he quickly banished the entire stupid notion. There were only a million reasons why it wasn't even worth a thought.

He was a recently divorced dad, not so much rocking the dad bod as falling into it one midnight snack at a time. He'd never been confident enough to approach anyone without Lilith. There was no way he would be interested in Lucifer. Alastor was young, gorgeous, and obviously charismatic.

Besides, the kid was half his age.

Lucifer shook the thought from his head.

This weekend was about reconnecting with Charlie, a growing bond with Vaggie, hopefully. And fully restarting this family tradition.

Not a tryst with a pretty boy half his age.

🍂🍁🍃

Lucifer lead the way up the wide staircase to the second floor of the chalet.

This part of the house was mostly loft. Another comfortable seating area that looked down over the living room and fireplace. But it was where most of the bedrooms were in the cabin.

Charlie and Vaggie were talking animatedly all the way up and past the seating area towards the bedrooms. Talking about the beautiful scenic views and the winding road that had gotten them up the mountain.

But Lucifer's attention kept wandering right back to Alastor. Who wasn't doing anything but carrying the girls' extra bags and lingering behind and being silent and cryptic.

"Here we are," Lucifer announced, pushing open the door to Charlie's room with his elbow.

It was quaint, really, but he'd redecorated a bit since Charlie had grown up. And he really hoped he hadn't overdone it. Charlie had liked it bright and colorful when she was a kid, except for that one emo phase.

But now, there were simple flower curtains and soft plush carpeting. Overlooking the towering forest outside.

"I made the room up for two, you know, obviously, because you're grown now." Lucifer said, meaning to sound supportive, though he saw Charlie's cheeks get as pink as his were outside. And Vaggie looking anywhere but at him. "Which, I understand and I'm not judging because obviously...you're an adult and—" Lucifer trailed off, painfully awkward—

Before Charlie thankfully but gracelessly interrupted. "Thanks, Dad! The room looks great."

Alastor chuckled softly, stepping into the girl's room only long enough to drop off the two bags he was holding. Before stepping back over the threshold neatly.

Like a gentleman wouldn't be standing too long in a lady's room.

Except a gentleman wouldn't look at him like he would devour him like he was going to devour him the first time they met. Or, like, right now, in his daughter's room.

Vaggie and Charlie went into their room. Leaving Lucifer to find himself alone in the hallway. With Alastor.

"Uh, yours is over there." Lucifer quickly gestured across the hall, trying to make sure his voice cut through the thick tension.

"Thank you." Alastor said simply, with what must be his polite smile—and not his I'm about to undress you with my eyes smile.

The younger man stepped alertly inside, dropping off only a simple weekend bag and a leather school bag.

Lucifer turned, only to see Alastor leaning over the doorway towards him. And he suddenly felt like he was standing too close to a roaring fire.

"Where is your room, Mr. Morningstar?" Alastor's voice cut through the quiet, smooth and spiked with something that made Lucifer's pulse quicken. It was pointed and almost suggestive.

"Not up here." Lucifer blurted around the tumultuous flutter in his chest. He realized it came out almost, defensive. That he was nearly snapping at this stranger for this thing that was mostly going on in his head.

Though the way Alastor arched his eyebrow, Lucifer seriously doubted it was all in his head.

"Downstairs. I mean," Lucifer said, trying to smooth his little outburst over.His mind raced, trying to think of anything to fill this charged silence between them.

"Dad has the master bedroom downstairs," Charlie chirped, her sudden reappearance in the hallway breaking the spell. Her eyes were bright and sparkling with something. "It even has its own hot tub!"

Lucifer swallowed, thickly.

"How interesting." Alastor murmured, a crooked smile tugging onto the corner of his lips. Fucking suggestive again.

"It's not, all that interesting." Lucifer said, too quickly jumping on this irrational urge to stifle whatever idea had taken hold. "And you won't be seeing it, anyway."

He muttered under his breath, languishing in that same stretching silence, before Lucifer forced a hollow chuckle to break it.

"So, I'm sure you kids had a long drive from school up the mountain." Lucifer fumbled the words a little bit, swinging his arms as he stepped back towards the stairs. "So I made an early dinner. Fall favorites I know Char-Char loves."

"That sounds amazing, sir," Vaggie said, strolling through whatever moment of silent communication Alastor and Charlie were having between them.

"Yeah, long drive, mountain, food." He gestured down the stairs, grateful to move down towards them.

"Food sounds amazing right about now." Charlie declared, following after him, passing him on the stairs in her enthusiasm to get down to the kitchen.

Lucifer grabbed the railing, pausing halfway down the curved staircase—realizing he knew and missed the feeling of the weight of Alastor's gaze on his back.

Neither Alastor or Vaggie had moved.

She had stepped into his line of sight, her stance firm and uncompromising, with her hands planted on her hips. Like she was daring Alastor to make another move.

The much taller man was meeting Vaggie's sternness with a little bemused look behind his round glasses. Lucifer felt like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation.

But before the tension could escalate further, Alastor inclined his head, and gestured gracefully for Vaggie to walk ahead of him.

The woman, three times as fierce as she was tall, gave a short, satisfied nod, and headed for the stairs behind Lucifer.

***

The kitchen was his realm.

It was his studio and his sanctuary where Lucifer could control and create whatever he wanted. And the smell of roasted butternut squash and cinnamon scented the air and made everything feel warm and fuzzy.

"Here we are." Lucifer murmured to himself, rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease.

He could move through this space with confidence, arranging platers with finesse.

Pumpkin soup simmered gently on the stove, its rich color a warm promise. He'd also made an arugula salad with pecans and cranberries, will the apple tart was cooling on the counter, ready for dessert.

Charlie bounded into the kitchen, her eyes widening with delight that soothed every ache in Lucifer's old soul.

"You really outdid yourself, Dad!"

"Oh, thanks, sweetie."

The clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation filled the cozy dining room, casting a warm glow over the table as the sun set beyond the wall of windows.

Lucifer sat happily at the head of the small but polished mahogany table, just enjoying the company. His eyes flitting between emptying dishes and the easy conversation flowing in peaks and valleys.

"Midterms were killer." Charlie groaned.

Vaggie put her hand on Charlie's, drawing Lucifer's eyes to the movement. And it warmed his heart too. "You did great hon, I know you rocked the performing arts major."

"Well, someone has to keep politicians honest, like you're going to, Vaggie."

Sure, it was cute, sweet talk, but really Lucifer didn't mind. He was glad his daughter had this. That the girls seemed to take such good care of each other. And support each other.

"Performing arts is hard, but it's worth every second."

Lucifer nodded along. Offering an occasional chuckle or hum of agreement.

He wasn't exactly sure what he could add to the conversation, but he knew he had to keep focused on anything but the magnetic pull towards Alastor's seat at the table.

The gorgeous brunette younger man sat across the table from him, muted but present, like a shadow cast by candlelight.

"Oh, Al," Charlie started, startling her father. Wondering if she had read his wandering mind—but also wondering if anyone but charlie would dare to call Alastor a nickname.

"You haven't been talking much. Did you tell Dad your major?"

The brunette lifted his eyes, making Lucifer's breath catch, before he gave a casual shrug as he stirred his soup.

"I'm a double major." He said, his eyes catching Lucifer's. And the older man's breath. "in performing arts and forensic science."

Though the answer made his own brow raise. "Wow, that's...an unusual combination."

Alastor smiled like he had a secret everyone else wanted to know.

"I've been told I have...eclectic tastes." He said, smoothly, leaning back in his chair like he commanded all the air in the room. "But, I know exactly what I like, and where my talents are."

The words hung in the air, a subtle challenge that was sending another one of those damn shivers down Lucifer's spine.

Before the heat could rise back into his cheeks, Lucifer stood. "I think it's time for dessert," he announced, retreating to the safety of the kitchen.

When he returned, with a tray of apple tart and ice cream, his gaze involuntarily flickered over towards Alastor.

The younger man was leaned back in his chair, his hands rested on the arms, his posture open wide...and inviting.

"Who wants whipped cream?" Lucifer said quickly, only to wince at how easy that would be to twist around.

He heard Alastor chuckle low as both girls asked for ice cream, shaking his head gently. Like he knew it would be too easy, too.

Lucifer kept his eyes on slicing and scooping as he served.

He gave Charlie a generous portion, and Vaggie. Swallowing and trying to steal himself as he turned to Alastor.

"Ice cream?" He offered.

The younger man smirked. "Just the whipped cream." Alastor said, and it was thankfully the most normal and unsuggestive tone he had ever used and Lucifer was grateful.

Until the younger scooped up a spoonful of tart, and shot Lucifer another one of those smirks. "I don't like sweets, usually."

Lucifer huffed, turning to his own tart. "Well, then, you won't like much I make." turning back to his own portion. And nearly burying it in whipped cream.

But he swore he heard Alastor say. "We'll see."

***

As Lucifer straightened up from adding the logs to the fire, the warmth of the flames now a comforting presence against the chill of the mountain night, he caught sight of Alastor's gaze.

The younger man's eyes were unapologetically fixed on him, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. Which made Lucifer realize that Alastor had been watching him bent over the fireplace—and there wasn’t even a hint of embarrassment on his face for having been caught staring at the older man’s ass.

Instead, Alastor’s stare was steady, almost challenging, daring Lucifer to acknowledge it, to call him out.

For a moment, the short blonde felt suspended—But he didn't say anything. He couldn't. The admonition seemed to lodge in his throat, and he turned back to the crackling fire to distract him.

"Here we go," Charlie said brightly, breaking the tension as she settled back onto the sofa next to Vaggie. She picked up the remote and began flicking through the movie options. "Perfect end to a long day."

"Definitely," Vaggie agreed, leaning into her girlfriend, their shared warmth evident.

Alastor sat in one of the arm chairs, one knee bent as he leaned casually. Confident as a house cat surveying his domain, and eyeing the canary cage.

Lucifer hesitated for just a moment before sinking into the plush armchair directly across from Alastor. It was impossible not to be aware of how this arrangement placed them facing each other. His mind raced with thoughts of their earlier exchange.

But Alastor's attention was now focused on the flickering flames, the light casting shadows that danced across his face and glinting in his glasses, obscuring his expression.

The room filled with the soft sounds of the movie beginning, but Lucifer found his own focus wandering, drawn irresistibly back to the man opposite him.

"Hey, how about we switch to something more fun?" Charlie interrupted, a lighthearted suggestion as she picked up the remote once more. "Like a baking show!"

"Sounds good," Vaggie agreed, with a nod.

Lucifer watched as the screen flickered to life with images of powdered sugar and expertly piped frosting. The cheerful narration filled the room.

"Do you bake much, Lucifer?" Alastor asked suddenly, turning his head slightly, just enough to suggest that his attention had finally shifted from the flames.

"Here and there," Lucifer replied, trying to sound casual, though he was acutely aware of the younger man's focus now fixed on him. "I find it...relaxing."

"An outlet for creativity," Alastor remarked, his voice smooth, yet there was an undercurrent of something unspoken, something that tugged at the edge of Lucifer's curiosity.

"Exactly," Lucifer said, nodding, feeling encouraged by the easy warmth of the conversation. For a moment, he wondered what thoughts swirled beneath Alastor's composed exterior. 

The four of them fell into a comfortable rhythm, exchanging light banter about the basics of souffles and the perfect pie crust. But, Lucifer sensed Alastor's mind wandering, as if part of him was elsewhere.

Without warning, Alastor stood. "I think I'll turn in for the night," he announced, his tone polite but distant. "Goodnight, everyone."

"Night, Al," Charlie chimed. While Vaggie didn’t give much more than a nod in his direction.

"Goodnight," Lucifer added, watching as Alastor made his way toward the stairs, leaving behind an air of unresolved tension.

As the sound of his door closing echoed from above, Vaggie leaned closer to Charlie, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Something’s off with him."

"Vaggie, he’s just not super social." Charlie assured, though concern was knitting her brow.

Lucifer listened quietly. There was an undeniable pull toward Alastor, a desire to unravel the mystery he presented.But uncertainty lingered as well, like the shadows cast by the embers floating from the logs burning low in the hearth.

"He's been through a lot," Charlie's voice broke through his thoughts, tender and resolute. Her gaze was fixed on the fireplace, but her words were directed at Vaggie. "He misses his mother. And he never mentions his dad. It's been almost a year since she passed."

Lucifer felt a tug at his heartstrings. He knew what it was like to be lonely. He’d felt rudderless since his divorce, drifting on the open ocean—most times, he felt like he was fighting just to tread water. Looking for anything to anchor to.

"That makes sense, I guess," Vaggie murmured, her brow furrowing with concern.

Charlie nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah. He’s a sweet guy, deep down, just a bit…aloof."

Vaggie shot her girlfriend a look, but Lucifer

"Poor guy," Lucifer said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "I should—" He hesitated. "—go finish cleaning up after dinner," he finally decided, rising from his seat. It was easier to focus on tasks, to keep his hands busy while his mind wandered.

“Charlie,” Vaggie said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the baking show contestants panicking about their ovens. “Are you sure it was a good idea to bring him here?”

"I’m pretty sure,” Charlie said brightly, her eyes still on the screen—like she was hiding something. "I think Dad and Alastor might have more in common than you think."

“What?” Vaggie blanched.

"Just…they’re both kind of old souls, you know." Charlie shrugged, a knowing smile playing on her lips that she was failing to hide. "Sometimes, those kinds of people connect on a different level."

"Charlie," Vaggie interjected skeptically, her arms crossed over her chest. "Is that really a good idea."

"I know Alastor better than you do, Vaggie. Trust me on this."

"Sure," Vaggie replied, though doubt lingered in her tone. "If you say so."

🍂🍁🍃

The chalet was silent, save for the quiet padding of Lucifer’s bare feet on the cool wooden floor. Shadows danced across the walls as he slipped into the kitchen, the moonlight filtering through the large window and casting an ethereal glow over the room.

 The oversized sweater he wore hung loosely, its stretched neck drooping off one shoulder, baring the ridge of his collarbone to the cool air. And his duckie pajama bottoms hung loosely from his hips.

Lucifer let out a sigh, and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the stillness envelop him. 

Insomnia had become his only bedfellow these days. And tonight, he was being lured back into the kitchen by the promise of a snack—something sweet but that he could pretend was still healthy.

His gaze fell upon the bowl of green apples he had picked up from a market. Nice and tart, and would go perfectly with the jar of local honey sitting invitingly on the counter.

 A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached for a cutting board and knife, setting about slicing the apples with methodical precision. Each thin slice landed in the bowl with a soft thud, and Lucifer’s mind settled into the repetitive motions and sounds.

Lucifer drizzled a generous amount of honey over the top. He watched as it pooled around the edges and seeped into the spaces between the slices.

For these few moments, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the quiet comfort of apples and honey in the dimly lit kitchen.

With the bowl of apple slices balanced in one hand, Lucifer stepped up onto a small wooden stool and hoisted himself onto the cool marble surface of the kitchen island. He let his legs dangle over the edge. 

His gaze was drawn to the large picture window that dominated the far wall. Outside, the night was alive with movement. 

The wind sent leaves skittering across the ground, twisting them into a chaotic dance. Beyond, in the inky darkness, thick clusters of snowflakes began swirling lazily before pressing against the glass and falling away. 

There had been whispers of a storm earlier in the week, but he'd dismissed them, thinking it was still too early for a proper snowfall.

The thought of being snowed in with his daughter and her girlfriend brought a smile to his lips.  A chance to huddle together by the fire, sharing stories and laughter. But the smile faltered as another realization crept in—Alastor would be stuck here too..

"Hello, Mr. Morningstar." The voice was smooth and rich, like velvet draped over a midnight sky.

 The sound of it sent a jolt through Lucifer, startling him from his thoughts. He nearly dropped the bowl as he twisted around, like thinking his damn name had summoned him. 

There stood Alastor, as real as the snowflakes that continued to fall outside. His presence filled the doorway, clad in pajamas of a lurid red satin that caught the light with every subtle shift. 

Lucifer's heart gave an errant thump, a guilty awareness settling in his chest.

"Hey, Alastor," Lucifer managed, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in his throat. 

The younger man's unexpected appearance left him grappling against emotions he couldn't name or tame.

Lucifer cleared his throat, the sound rough and awkward in the kitchen's quiet. He could feel the sticky sweetness of apple and honey clinging to his tongue.

"You know, you don’t have to call me that." he forced a semblance of nonchalance into his tone.

"Yes, sir," Alastor replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, stepping further into the room. 

Lucifer shifted on the counter, trying to focus on anything other than the allure of Alastor's presence. 

"What’s got you up at this hour?" he asked, aiming for casual curiosity, but knowing it probably fell short.

"Couldn't sleep," Alastor said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be wandering around someone else's kitchen at midnight.

"Ah well," Lucifer nodded, hesitating for a moment before offering, " Can I get you anything?"

Alastor's hazel eyes glinted with amusement, a mischievous smirk playing at the edges of his lips, as if he had just been handed an opportunity too delicious to pass up. 

"To eat," Lucifer clarified hurriedly. "Can I fix you anything to eat?" He steered back to safer ground.

Alastor leaned casually against the opposite counter, his long fingers splayed out across the surface–he should play the piano, Lucifer thought, distractedly. 

The kitchen was spacious enough to keep so distance between them, but even so, Alastor's presence seemed to reach across the tiled floor, making Lucifer's skin tingle.

"Well," Alastor drawled, his tone dripping with suggestion, "I must say, I like what you've been offering so far."

Lucifer fought the urge to roll his eyes. He lifted the small bowl toward the younger man. "I'm having apples and honey," he announced, plucking a thin slice for himself, feeling the crispness break beneath his teeth.

Alastor’s eyes glinted in the low light as he took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. 

“I’m not really one for sweets,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, “except on special occasions.”

Lucifer watched, spellbound, as Alastor moved closer still, until he was within arm's reach. The younger man’s gaze dropped briefly to Lucifer’s mouth before returning to his eyes, the suggestion unmistakable.

Then, with a gentle but assertive grip, Alastor wrapped his fingers around Lucifer’s wrist.

 The contact sent an unexpected jolt up Lucifer’s arm, his pulse quickening in response. He barely had time to process before Alastor brought Lucifer’s hand to his own lips, slowly taking the apple slice from his fingers with a playful nip.

"Look, kid," Lucifer started, the words escaping him more breathlessly than intended, "You don’t know what tree you’re barking up here. "

Alastor chuckled softly, pushing the bowl in Lucifer’s hand aside as he leaned forward, his hands finding purchase on the counter on either side of the blonde’s knees. The move was deliberate, enclosing Lucifer in a space that felt suddenly intimate. 

“I’ve been of age for years, you know” Alastor assured him, his tone a blend of amusement and something darker. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Lucifer swallowed hard, trying to maintain some semblance of composure even as the heat of Alastor’s proximity made his skin prickle and his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

Alastor's weight was a palpable presence against Lucifer's legs, the counter beneath him suddenly feeling like a precarious perch. 

The young man's hands remained planted on either side of him, as if to emphasize the space he was claiming.

"Alright," Lucifer said, his voice low as he conceded. "You're not a teenager, sure, but you don't know who you're trying to flirt with." His eyes flickered over Alastor's shoulder, seeking a distraction in the darkness beyond the window, even as he felt the heat creeping up his neck. "I mean, I get you're a horny college kid and all, but just think about it."

The snort that escaped Alastor was rich with amusement. It tugged at the corners of Lucifer's mouth despite himself, though he fought to keep his composure.

"But I'm Charlie's dad," he added, the words carrying an undercurrent of warning. 

 Alastor leaned further into him, pressing softly, insistently, until Lucifer’s knees began to yield to the pressure.

"Yes, Charlie's single dad," Alastor replied smoothly, his voice warm and teasing as he continued to focus only on Lucifer. "Who keeps looking at me like I'm going to eat him."

Lucifer could feel the flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, betraying him—he and Charlie had that in common–no damn poker face.

He turned his head slightly, breaking eye contact under the pretense of watching the snowflakes gathering outside—anything to avoid the intensity of Alastor's gaze that saw right through him.

Alastor's presence loomed closer, the air between them charged with an electric tension that hummed through Lucifer's veins. Alastor’s hands remained planted on the counter, framing Lucifer in a way that made escape feel both possible and pointless.

"Which," Alastor murmured, his voice a low, sultry purr that seemed to wrap around Lucifer’s senses, "I am happy to oblige…if you ask nicely."

The boldness of the words struck Lucifer like a physical force.His breath hitched, too loud in the stillness of the kitchen.

In that moment of hesitation, the resistance in Lucifer's legs faltered, and he found himself yielding to Alastor’s body moving between his thighs. The heat of the younger’s proximity seeped through the fabric of Lucifer's pajama bottoms, igniting his skin beneath the oversized sweater.

A soft chuckle escaped from Alastor, rich with triumph, as though he could sense the internal war waging within Lucifer—a battle already half-lost before it began.

Lucifer's hand trembled slightly as he pushed the bowl of apples into Alastor's chest, a feeble attempt to create a little distance between them.  A honeyed apple slice found its way into his mouth, the sweetness a distraction from the heat pooling low in his stomach.

"I’m too old for this shit," he muttered, the words barely coherent as they slipped past his lips.

The reprieve was short-lived. 

Alastor moved with feline grace, reaching past the bowl. Fingers brushed against Lucifer’s skin lightly, then cupped his chin and coax his face back toward the younger man.

"You aren't too old to be sweet for me, are you?" Alastor purred, his voice smooth like molten caramel.

Lucifer's mind blanked, the apple halted mid-chew as he blinked at Alastor.

The world beyond the kitchen faded into irrelevance, leaving Lucifer ensnared by the bewitching pull of Alastor’s gaze and the promise that lingered there.

Lucifer’s breath caught as Alastor hummed, a low sound of approval that vibrated through the air between them. The younger man leaned in, his eyes locked onto the slice of apple still perched on Lucifer's lips.

Alastor's mouth brushed against Lucifer's with a shock of warmth, the contact fleeting yet electrifying. In one swift motion, he bit through the apple slice. Their lips touched—just barely,  tantalizing—and then it was over, leaving Lucifer craving more.

Honey dripped from the corner of Lucifer's mouth, a golden trail tracing down his skin.

Alastor’s eyes followed its descent, watching intently as it slipped beneath the stretched neckline of Lucifer’s sweater.

Alastor tilted Lucifer’s head back. Then, deliberately and with a measured grace, he lowered his head, following the sticky trail with the tip of his tongue.

 The heat of Alastor’s mouth contrasted with the cool night air, igniting sparks that danced along his nerves.

Lucifer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to regain composure. The unexpected intimacy of Alastor’s tongue tracing the honey along his neck left him reeling.

"You…you said you didn’t like sweets."

Alastor's lips curved into a smirk against Lucifer’s skin, the vibration of his words sending shivers down Lucifer's spine

. “I do prefer giving bites over kisses,” Alastor murmured, his voice a silky caress. “But I’m willing to make an exception... if you ask nicely.”

The air was thick with a heavy tension that pressed in on all sides. Lucifer’s mind raced, battling against the flood of desire threatening to pull him under. They shouldn’t be doing this—he knew it. 

Alastor was so close now, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Lucifer could feel the warmth radiating from him, could see the promise in those hazel eyes.

Alastor was a force of nature that Lucifer found himself unable—or unwilling—to resist.

At that moment, Lucifer yearned to just give in. Let this man consume him, completely. 

"Please..." The word slipped from his lips. A surrender, and there would be no going back.

Alastor pulled him in at once, until their lips collided. It was the kind of kiss that wanted to unravel him, dissolving the walls of solitude and heartache.

The brunette was unrelenting, leaving Lucifer breathless.

Their mouths danced together, tasting sweet and tart.. Alastor took his time, teasingly plucking the forgotten slice of apple from Lucifer’s lips.

Lucifer surrendered, letting himself be swept away by the sensation of being thoroughly, deliciously dominated. Given over entirely to Alastor’s whims.

As the kiss broke,  Lucifer instinctively reached out, fingers wanting to curl into the silken fabric of Alastor's red satin pajama top. But Alastor leaned back slightly and tutted softly, amusement lacing his voice.

"Ah-ah," Alastor chided gently, a playful smirk curving his lips. "You will not get my clothes sticky."

Chastened, Lucifer withdrew his hands. Honey still clung to his fingertips.Instead he curled them on his thighs, falling into the familiar role of a practiced submissive—one he hadn’t embraced in a damn long time.

"Good boy," Alastor murmured, his voice low and smooth.

Leaving the blonde fluttering with the praise.

Alastor's fingers danced lightly along Lucifer's jaw, a touch both gentle and possessive. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Lucifer's ear as he asked softly, "Can I bite you?"

"Yes," He swallowed hard, the remnants of honey sweet on his lips as he nodded, daring to trust Alastor. "Just... nowhere, it'll show."

"Of course," Alastor agreed smoothly, his tone carrying a promise that was both reassuring and thrilling. His hands were confident as they settled on either side of Lucifer's neck, guiding him with an insistent but tender pressure.

Lucifer allowed himself to be maneuvered, tilting his head obediently as Alastor exposed the bare curve of his shoulder where the oversized sweater had slipped away. 

"Say ‘red’ if you want me to stop," Alastor instructed, his voice steady and calm, eyes meeting Lucifer’s.

"Yellow means slow down." Lucifer replied, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. The familiarity of those words brought a sense of comfort, grounding him.

"Good," Alastor chuckled. “I thought I would have to teach you the rules.”

Lucifer could feel Alastor's approval like a physical caress, knowing that in this moment, he was safe, understood, and about to be marked in a way he craved.

Alastor's lips moved with deliberate slowness, tracing a path down Lucifer's neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss seemed to linger longer than the last, as if savoring the taste of skin beneath them. Lucifer's pulse quickened, his breath catching as anticipation coiled tightly within him.

When Alastor reached the crook of his shoulder, he paused, lips hovering above the exposed flesh. Then, he latched onto the skin, drawing it into his mouth. 

A gasp escaped Lucifer's lips as Alastor increased the pressure gradually, teeth grazing his shoulder until they slowly sank in.

Alastor knew precisely how to apply force without crossing into discomfort, maintaining a delicate balance that made Lucifer's head spin.

But then, the pressure intensified, skirting the edge of pain. It was sharp, demanding acknowledgement. But Lucifer let himself be pushed further, wanting more, until he thought his skin might break. 

 "Yellow," Lucifer gasped, voice straining.

Instantly, Alastor eased off the bite.

The relief was immediate, and the lingering sting felt tingling and pleasant as Alastor's tongue swept over the imprint of his teeth. He lavished attention on the tender area.

Lucifer moaned softly, the sound involuntary as Alastor's lips continued their ministrations, easing pain back into pleasure. That simple act of care left him feeling cherished as the mark colored his pale skin.

Lucifer's breath came in ragged bursts as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Alastor's with an intensity that mirrored the chaos in his chest.

His lips sought Alastor's again, a desperate connection fueled by the heat still simmering beneath his skin. The kiss was fervent, almost bruising in its urgency, and when they broke apart, Lucifer's whispered words filled the space between them.

"Fuck, I thought you were going to draw blood."

Alastor's laughter was a low, rumbling sound . "I don’t bite to cause harm," he assured, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just to mark what’s mine."

The declaration wrapped around Lucifer like a silken thread; the sensation left him feeling exposed, and alive.

"Can I touch you?" Alastor's question was a soft murmur against his ear, each syllable enunciating a promise that made Lucifer's pulse quicken.

"Yes," the blonde breathed out, the single word filled with anticipation

"Good," Alastor hummed, a note of satisfaction lacing his tone. He paused those fingers curled on Lucifer’s inner thigh, a deliberate moment that held its own kind of tension. "If I touch you, I'm going to want to get my mouth on you. Not to bite, but to taste you. Is that alright?"

"Please," Lucifer repeated, the plea escaping him without hesitation.

Fingers fumbled with the waistband of his duckie pajamas. Why couldn’t he have worn something that was at least a little sexy? As if he could have known  he was going to be hooking up in his kitchen.

His hands felt clumsy and uncertain now.

Alastor watched him with a smirk that was both knowing and indulgent, the heat in his gaze searing through the dim light of the kitchen.

The blonde finally managing to shove the fabric down his thighs. He shifted awkwardly, trying not to focus on how exposed he felt, or how much he craved the younger man's attention. Alastor's eyes never left his, holding him captive with their unspoken promises.

"Relax," Alastor murmured, dipping his finger into the jar of honey nearby. The movement was fluid, almost hypnotic, as he coated the digit in the golden syrup.

 Then, with deliberate slowness, he dragged it along the length of Lucifer's aching cock.

Lucifer bit back a moan, his body tensing with anticipation, every nerve alight.

"How sweet," Alastor purred. He leaned in, his breath warm against Lucifer's skin, before his tongue flicked out to lap at the honey-coated length. The gentleness of Alastor's sharp teeth sent a shudder through Lucifer, the edge of danger driving him wild. .

"Fuck," Lucifer breathed. 

He squirmed under Alastor's ministrations, feeling like a damn teenager getting his first blowjob. 

 The urge to touch, to cling to Alastor and ground himself, was overwhelming. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs. .

"Easy," Alastor soothed, wrapping his hand around Lucifer's cock with a leisurely stroke that was both personal and possessive. "You do not have permission to come down my throat."

The words were a command wrapped in velvet, a reminder of the control Alastor had over him.

Lucifer nodded, swallowing hard.

Alastor's mouth enveloped him once more. He couldn't help the whine that escaped his lips, a sound of pure want that echoed in the quiet kitchen.

"Take off your sweater," Alastor commanded, pulling back slightly, his voice rough with desire. 

Lucifer hesitated, his fingers twitching towards the hem of his oversized top. The fabric hung comfortably but beneath it….he knew  had the body of a divorced dad. Even if he’d only seen Alastor covered from neck to wrist to ankle, he knew the younger man was slender and fit.

Lucifer was not. He was almost middle aged and his muscle was hidden under softness, from stress and snacking and stressing over snacking.

He’d hesitated long enough for Alastor to notice.

Those keen hazel eyes softened, understanding without judgment. "Then you'll just have to wash clothes," Alastor murmured, his tone gentle yet unyielding. His hand continued its purposeful rhythm, stroking Lucifer with a practiced grace that left no room for doubt or insecurity.

Lucifer nodded, swallowing his apprehension, surrendering to the moment. Alastor's words were a balm, soothing his frazzled nerves as he gave in to the younger man's control.

With each deliberate stroke, tension coiled tighter in Lucifer's core until it snapped, spilling come over the younger’s fist. His sweater bore the brunt of it, as Alastor watched with a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Good boy," Alastor praised, the words a whisper that sent warmth flooding through Lucifer.

Lucifer was left a panting mess, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he leaned back against the cool surface of the kitchen counter.

The world around him seemed to blur. It had been so long since anyone else had gotten him off, and even though it was just a hand job, it left him reeling.

He could feel the warm stickiness of his come trailing down from his chin, marking his sweater as evidence of their encounter.

Alastor tipped his head back, and  Lucifer's eyes fluttered open, meeting the younger man's hazel gaze that sparkled.

"Let me," Alastor murmured, voice rich and inviting. His tongue traced a languid path up his throat, collecting Lucifer’s come.

It shocked him that Alastor would even want to taste him. He barely registered the taste of himself on Alastor's lips before the younger man kissed him, lingering and turning tender, like Alastor knew, to ease him down.

 And Lucifer’s wits were coming back to him. Already thinking of how he would return the favor. 

Kitchen tile probably wasn’t going to be the best thing for his knees. And Lucifer hadn’t blown anyone in years, but it shouldn’t be too hard—not to get off a worked up college kid.

Just as resolve solidified in his mind, Alastor pulled away suddenly, leaving Lucifer blinking in surprise. A knowing smile playing on the younger’s lips.

 "Thanks for the snack," he said, voice smooth as velvet, a teasing lilt in his words. He turned to leave, languid and unhurried, dripping with an irritating amount of confidence.

Lucifer blinked, his bare ass still on his kitchen counter, the chill grounding him to the granite.

"Wait," the blonde blurted, his voice husky and uncertain. He shifted slightly, the oversized sweater slipping further down one shoulder. "Don't you…want me to do something for you?"

Alastor paused, tilting his head just enough to glance back over his shoulder, with a soft chuckle in the quiet kitchen. .

"I'm quite satisfied actually," Alastor hummed, casually waving off the suggestion. "Goodnight, Mr. Morningstar."

And with that, Alastor sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving Lucifer alone and a sticky mess.

The oversized sweater clung to him in places, sticky with traces of honey and the aftermath of He shifted slightly, wincing as the coolness of the counter reminded him of his current state of undress. His mind replayed the scene over and over, each repetition only deepening the gnawing inside him.

He’d eaten, and more, and yet...he was starving. 

For a moment, Lucifer considered following Alastor, demanding an explanation or an encore. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him with nothing but an empty ache and the soft patter of snow against the windowpane.

With a sigh, he reached for the discarded bowl of apples and honey, knowing they wouldn’t be nearly enough. 

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read my original fics on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

[pumpkinpot]

Dilf Sebastian pt. 3 Christmas drabble (stand alone but the series is cute)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

A/N: I gave youngin a name.. or rather a nickname? Ro. so when you see it that's why. No beta.

.

Sebastian wasn't really a Christmas creature. He found the whole event terribly troublesome and what reprieve there was to be found did not make up for the nuisance of it all.

Thankfully, you were simple. You'd found joy in the mundanity. He sometimes wondered if you did it for his sake but it wasn't his place to ask. Or maybe he didn't want to.

The season had officially exploded onto society. Not a single place could be seen without Santa impersonators or twinkling lights which meant it was soon to creep its way into your home.

Even so there was a level of decorum that was preserved in the home you'd built. where there would usually be string lights there was candles. where there was excess sugar was the in season fruits and warm ciders.

where there was belief in Santa there was myth books and fables. You'd never told Ro that Santa was or wasn't real but allowed them to view things through the means literature. Saint Nick, Joulupukki, Gryla and Krampus.

Ro had gotten in trouble for bringing a book about Krampus, their favorite Christmas figure into class for show and tell.

A qualm Sebastian quelled with a reaming of the school board for the lack of diverse winter holiday representation in school. They compromised by dropping Ro's suspension in favor that they not speak of the matter again and they be allowed to share their books at will.

If there were more complaints there was never any word of it.

Tonight's activity was one you loved most. Drying Oranges and cinnamon for garland. you'd spent near a half hour picking the perfect oranges and a bag of cinnamon sticks.

Sebastian was appalled when you'd put the cinnamon pinecones in the shopping cart. He took them out promptly.

Suddenly what was meant to be an hour project became a days side quest.

He drove you both out of the city right then. You had no idea where he was taking you, but it was usually best not to question his determined brow.

The roads became windy and buildings sparce. Trees rushed by in a blur or browns and greens. When he finally did pull off there wasn't a sign of civilization to be seen.

He bundles Ro up in his scarf, wrapping it once around their head and again around their neck. Next he stripes his coat drapping it over your shoulders.

The forest was too thick for the inches of snowfall, except in small patches but ice and chill still nipped at you.

"won't you get cold?" Ro asks.

"Are birds often cold in the winter?" He retorts, mostly kidding.

It was meant to bring back the conversation they'd had as a family when Ro revealed they knew he was a "Crow." but when he turned he wasn't met with the excited wonder and curiosity but inquisition and sadness.

"I don't know," they say, looking up into the trees. "I hope not."

Sebastian paused. What was it like in a body filled to the brim with empathy? it seemed so harrowing to experience. He couldn't even say that he knew if birds got cold because he hadn't ever wondered about the creatures.

"Birds that don't migrate in the winter puff out their feathers and store fat to keep themselves warm," you read from the google page on your phone.

"Sort of like bears," they ask.

"Sort of like bears," you agree.

The answer seems to satisfy them because they wander off immediately.

"Thank you," Sebastian whispers.

You hum. "birds might not get cold, but I do. What are we doing out here?"

He looks up at the trees. "we're collecting pinecones for the garland."

He showed you and Ro which were preferred and you all searched.

within the hour you had two bags of pinecones. Enough to conclude the search. On the way back to the car Ro darted between trees a flash of red from Sebastians scarf zooming around.

"Look!" Ro shouts, pointing just out of your sight.

As you and Sebastian get close Ro sprints to a pine tree just the size of themselves.

"It's me sized." Ro says.

"It is," you say with a sniff. both yours and Ro's nose had become bright and runny.

"can this be our Christmas tree?"

"No" you say just as Sebatian says. "I don't see why not."

the two of you look at one another. "we don't have a saw or a way to get it home."

He smiles. "Let me worry about that, here you take these pinecones and I'll meet you home."

you drive carefully home and when you pull into the driveway Sebastian opens the front door welcoming you back.

"How did you beat us here?" you ask.

"He flew here obviously." Ro says finitely.

There was nothing else to be said. you knew better than to press for a better explanation and Ro's was likely the closest there would be to one.

Inside was the tree you'd just seen in the woods, positioned perfectly on the corner of the living room.

Ro struts to it none the wiser of how amazing its appearance is. "It's perfect!" they say.

"You really are incredibly, you know that?" you whisper to him.

It was only in this decade could he be seen doing acts like this and be called incredible and not "Demon or witch."

He'd felt affection more in the last eight years than he had in the previous thousand. It overwhelmed him in uncomfortable ways so he hummed and took back his scarf and coat to hang next to the door.

The night was further spent with Sebastian teaching you and Ro how to make cinnamon pinecones and how to harvest pine nuts.

the tree was decorated with dried oranges, roasted cinnamon sticks and little white candles.

before bed during the nightly wind down you all made pesto flat bread with the aforementioned pine nuts and re read Ro's favorite version of the Krampus tale.

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Hey if you like this content there is more on my Master List

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Brass Balls. - OC Backstory.

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.7K~ cw: yelling, threats, roasting (not even that aggressive really)

At the meager age of 23, Kathleen Mary Moore had succeeded in doing something that no one before or after her could get ever away with: becoming an unofficial charge nurse at the military hospital in Tidworth Camp. 

And all thanks to one skill of hers: Conflict Resolution.

Well… more like… Resolution through Conflict.

Didn’t matter if the person that needed their arse reamed out was a patient, a family member or a commanding officer. She had enough sass to last her a lifetime and metaphorical balls big enough to look a superior in the eye and call them a gobshite.

In her case, being a charge nurse means little else than being a glorified enforcer. She’d be called in by anyone, in any department of the hospital, whenever there was a Difficult™️ situation to be solved. And solve them she did.

Maybe it was the Leo in her, maybe it was the Older Daughter blood in her veins. Who knows.

Nonetheless, it earned her an unfortunate nickname: Brass. 

Not just because, according to the other medical staff and even some low rank enlisted, she had “brass balls”... but also because she had the brass (the high-ranked officers) by the balls.

And that’s, unfortunately, the way she met John Price.

On March 28th, 2013, the Tidworth Hospital received an influx of 20 SAS soldiers that, although housed in the nearby Stirling Lines Garrison, didn’t have a proper hospital at the base, and so, were placed in Tidworth for emergency treatment.

By April 7th, 2013, only one soldier of the group of 20 stayed behind, a Sergeant Craig Wallcroft, the rest having returned to Credenhill. Wallcroft wasn’t under Kathleen’s care, being in a completely different department, but, eventually, she was forced to pick up his case.

Called to her nurse’s admin office by her Lieutenant-Colonel, Lieutenant Moore watched a small pile of paper being placed in front of her, 14 or so pages long.

“Sergeant Wallcroft’s superior, a ‘Captain Price’ has been very insistent in the release of his Sergeant…” Lieutenant-Colonel Margot Ward, a no-nonsense greying-brown-haired woman explained as she stood face-to-face with Kathleen.

“Insistent, you say?” Kathleen asked, dipping her head slightly at an angle, an eyebrow raising in a display of displeasure. “What’s he done?”

“Very.” Margot explained with a sigh. “He took to filing request after request for the release and clearance for combat… Then to filing transfer requests to the medical ward in Credenhill… To downright harrassing us with phone calls on the matter.” She revealed.

Kathleen’s eyebrows raised and her head pulled back at the chin in a look of utter surprise. To have someone abuse the online request system or maybe the email inbox of the department was one thing… But to downright shout down the phone line over this? 

Oh, Kathleen was not happy, her hands already trembling with the anticipation of putting this man in his place.

“And, now, he’s sent one of his Lieutenants to… pressure us into releasing his teammate. The man’s shouted at Lieutenant Byers in the nurse’s station already.” Margot added.

That did it. Hearing that someone raised their voice at one of her closest friends? She didn’t even want to imagine the state her friend Felicity was left in… the poor girl, always prone to tears.

“Leave it to me.” Kathleen said as she walked out of the room, marching away quickly.

-

The trip to Credenhill was quick. It took no convincing at all for the helicopter pilot, who was meant to transpo Wallcroft back to Credenhill, to turn the chopper around to deliver her, and this Lieutenant he sent for him, Lieutenant Cameron, back to Credenhill.

Cameron then lead her across the garrison in the lightly pouring rain, to the training gym where ‘Captain Price’ was bound to be.

Her brown eyes flittered over the room very quickly, surveying it, to try and locate Captain Price. Most of the men there were on the young end, handsome-ish, muscular and strong, wearing tight clothing while they grappled and tossed each other around.

Before Cameron could lead her further into the room, she took two fingers to her mouth and let out a sharp, deafening whistle, that stopped all the sparring (and observing) soldiers, in their tracks.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU GOBSHITES IS CAPTAIN PRICE?!” She barked at the top of her lungs, the silence in the room so loud that her voice bounced off the walls.

One of the men straightened up from where he was sparring with another of the soldiers and he stood tall and imposing, even from across the room. “That’d be me.” John said. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that’s sick and tired of your bullshit, Captain.” She told him directly. “Now, come over here, please.” She demanded as she beckoned him close with two fingers.

John approached with a certain swagger, confident steps and swaying hips, strong muscles wrapped by an army green t-shirt covered in sweat, beefy, burly and hairy forearms on display.

“Nurse Corps.” He acknowledged her uniform’s patches as he came to a stop before her, standing a bit below her, a few steps worth of a height difference, as she stood on a catwalk, and him on the gym floor. “You finally transferred my Sergeant?”

He was handsome. Bloody hell, he was handsome, stern blue eyes staring at her from below, stubble on his jaw that she knew would soon grow to be a thick shrub…

“No.” She replied as she set her hands on her hips. “Your Sergeant is still bed-bounded back in Tidworth, where he’ll stay for the foreseeable future because as you’ve been told many times by now, he’s not. fit. for. service.”

John looked at her blankly. “Is that what you came all this way for, little nurse?” He asked her with a cocked brow, his tone almost condescending. “This could’ve been a phone call.” He added and turned away. “Get back to work!” He shouted at his team.

Oh, how she hated being underestimated… And talked down to.

She lunged forward and grabbed John by the collar of his t-shirt like one would to a naughty child and tugged him back with an aggressive pull. “Get back here, you wanker.” She demanded.

John turned to look at her, eye-to-eye, faces mere inches apart, as she finally let go of him. “You’re gonna listen and listen good because I’m not bloody playing around and I have NO PROBLEM embarrassing you in front of your troops.” She gestured to the other soldiers in the room who had not heeded Price’s command to go back to work.

“You have no qualifications to decide what your soldiers need or do not need when it comes to their health. Hell, I wouldn’t trust you to tell your arse from your elbow considering the state of the First Aid that half of your soldiers came to Tidworth with.” She told him point blank, her hands now coming to rest on the railing of the catwalk that separated them.

Her voice grew louder with each word she spoke, venom slipping from her tongue as she continued her tirade. Her face had morphed into a wide-eyed, almost frantic look, her brows set low over her eyelids, and her jaw clenched tight.

“And even if you had qualifications, that gives you no right to talk down to me or my bloody staff. I’ve seen plenty of men like you in the last couple years and you all have one thing in common: hubris. You think that suddenly, what, cause you made Captain you can suddenly treat everyone as if they’re below you?” She confronted him as she leaned forward, getting right in his face.

“Just because your ego suddenly soared sky high thanks to your spiffy new title and shiny medals, it doesn’t mean that you can suddenly proceed as you fucking please. Your inability to fathom that your power over others is only in the scope of your immediate subordinates in the chain of command is not the Nurse and Medical Corps’ concern. We have better things to do than deal with little men with fragile little egos.” She shouted at him, pointing a finger right in his face, her teeth catching her lips as she spat pure vitriol at him.

“So you better hear me well and good-” She added and suddenly grabbed him by the front of the collar, tugging him close to her. “because I am not saying this again. If I hear so much as a PEEP about you, that you put in another request for Wallcroft’s clearance, or, God help you, that you called the nurse’s station and talked down on one of my sisters, again-” She warned him.

“I’ll print out the stack of over 30 requests you’ve already put in, come back here,” She pointed at the floor to mean Credenhill. “...roll ‘em up nice and tight and shove ‘em SO FAR UP YOUR ARSE that when I pull ‘em out your mouth, your teeth will work as a paper shredder. AM. I. CLEAR?!” Kathleen pointed her finger right in his face, almost poking him between the eyes with it.

John was dumbfounded. He had never been spoken to like this. Not since he became an adult. Even his mother wasn’t this intense as she reamed him out when he was younger, and there had been plenty of times where he had deserved it!

So, Price simply stared at her and blinked slowly, his breathing having hitched and his heart beating like a war drum in his chest. He swore he could hear his blood flowing inside his ears. His arms hung limply on either side of his body as he kept staring into the fiery woman’s brown eyes.

“AM. I. CLEAR?!” She repeated herself, eyes still wide, pupils blown, as she glared right into John’s blue eyes, his own pupils blown.

“Yes, ma’am.” John ended up saying and nodded imperceptibly.

Kathleen let go of his collar and leaned back. “That’s what I fucking thought.” She goaded in a vicious tone through her teeth.

Then, she turned around, facing Lieutenant Cameron and nodding at him before she marched off, forcing the lieutenant to rush after her to escort her back to the chopper, and leaving behind a stunned group of SAS soldiers… and her future husband.

[jeannereames]

Hello Dr. Reames I hope you’re doing well

I have a question. I was reading everything you’ve written on your blog about alexander and hephaistion and in a post you mentioned that as alex and hephaistion became older their relationship became more complicated. Could you expand more on what you mean by that? In what ways did it become complicated?

Why Alexander and Hephaistion as Lovers as Adults was “Complicated”

I’m not entirely sure whether the asker means the historical people, or the characters in my novel, so I’ll answer for both, as the answer is somewhat the same, but in the book, I can add more specificity. One must be more circumspect about the historical people.

First, if they were never lovers (the historical people), then the only complication would have been Alexander’s increasing power. No matter how much freedom Hephaistion had, the murder of Kleitos showed that a drunk, furious Alexander could do terrible things, even to people he considered like family. As ATG aged, he had more cause for anger, and he also drank more.* So there was that.

But returning to the question of whether they were lovers, my colleague Sabine Müller doesn’t think they were—largely because she believes they met as adults. And THAT gets to the heart of why—if they were lovers—their relationship would have become more complicated across time. They aged.

The Greeks placed homoerotic attachments among the stages of life. A preteen/young teen was the beloved, or pursued partner (eromenos). Once he got a beard, post 18-ish (e.g., ephebe age), then one became the lover, or pursuer (erastes). Any relationship one had previously enjoyed with an older lover was expected to transmute into very close friendship/affection. Then, around the late 20s/early 30s, one would settle down and get married. It was still all right to chase younger boys, but only for a little while. Doing it too long earned “dirty old man” status, although we have evidence of older (40+, even 50+) elite men doing just that. Also, males of any age could pursue affairs with hetairai and other prostitutes (male or female), as well as with slaves of any age.

Two adult men still “carrying on” as if they were teens/young men was considered unseemly. By the time both were past 20, and certainly past 25, they shouldn’t still be having sex with each other. Although if they’d been long-time lovers as youths, they might get nods for loyalty (v. the playwright Agathon and his long-time lover, Pausanias) … and friends didn’t ask what they did behind closed doors. But this was easier to pull off as a slightly counter-culture artist playwright than a king and his increasingly important marshal.

So that’s why Alexander and Hephaistion would have experienced complications as they aged—assuming they stayed lovers. And they may not have. Even if, as youths, they were lovers, as adults, they could each have moved on. Curtius names other youths (not just Bagoas) with whom Alexander might have had a fling. It’s subtle in the text, but the Latin word used could imply something. We don’t have similar attestations for Hephaistion, but I wouldn’t expect us to, so that’s meaningless. Remember, our histories are laser-focused on Alexander, with details about other marshals appearing only if/when they matter to the main story. So, we have the name of Philotas’ mistress only because she became Krateros’ source for dirt on what Philotas said about Alexander as pillow talk. If not for that, we wouldn’t even know he had a mistress. Ergo, we MUST assume there’s a lot of information about the men in high positions around Alexander that our sources simply don’t relate (and perhaps didn’t know).

Now, in terms of Dancing with the Lion, the age thing very much is the problem, as Hephaistion is the elder but Alexandros king. They can continue a relationship for a short while (a few years), but AS KING, Alexandros would be assumed to be the “active” partner (erastes), and that would damage Hephaistion’s reputation—because he’s older (and was originally the erastes). For an older male to accept the passive role (bottoming) was demeaning, making himself “like a woman.”

That’s why the penultimate scene in Dancing with the Lion: Rise is so important! Hephaistion “flips the script,” explaining why he considers bottoming the position of power—startling Alexandros, who never thought about it that way.

Going forward, their friends will ignore any continuation and not examine it too closely due to respect for their loyalty to each other. But this works only for a little while. After Granikos and leading up to Issos, the pressure is on for Alexandros to find a nice girl to make his mistress and move Hephaistion into the role of Older Friend (without benefits)—which he does with Barsine. Yet I don’t plan to have them entirely give up their romantic liaison, so that requires concealment for Hephaistion’s benefit. And it’s not fully successful. Some push back against Hephaistion by enemies does owe to disrespect for his “preferences.”

But keep in mind, I’m speaking now of the fictional characters, not necessarily the historical people. My Hephaistion is pretty high on the Kinsey Scale, in the 5-6 range. Keeping the respect needed to command successfully as his political star rises means he must wear a mask, or find a beard, to use slang. One of the (several) points behind my series is to show it wasn’t necessarily any easier to be gay in “tolerant” ancient Greece. It was just difficult in different ways.

———————

* Before anyone asks, no I don’t think Alexander was an alcoholic, even a “functional” one. There’s literally not enough evidence to say for sure, pace J. M. O’Brien (Alexander the Great and the Invisible Enemy). O’Brien may not call him an alcoholic, but he certainly implies it.

We have two complicating factors that make any sort of real determination difficult: first, the nature of banqueting at the Macedonian court, and second, the fact that historians record the exceptional, not the usual. Symposia (drinking parties) in the Greek world were already venues for both competition and display, and Macedonians didn’t customarily dilute their wine, unlike (many) Southern Greeks. The king was not only expected to keep up, but to excel in all things, including his ability to drink. So there’s that. Add to this the fact historians don’t tell you about the 56 times the king held a symposion where nothing exciting or out-of-the-way happened. They’ll tell you about that 57th when something bad DID happen.

Even in antiquity, there was debate about whether Alexander drank too much, with detractors and Roman-era rhetoricians using him as an exempla of Drinking is Bad (especially in rulers), while apologists (like Aristobulos) claimed he didn’t overdrink, he just liked conversation so he stayed late, lingering over his wine.

Hmmm. I’m going with Door Number Three: yes, sometimes he drank too much, especially as stresses piled up, but if he’d been an actual alcoholic, even a functional one, he probably couldn’t have accomplished everything he did. For one thing, availability of alcohol on the march would’ve been sporadic, so I suspect those famous drinking parties were what happened when they got their hands on some wine, in between long stretches where they probably didn’t have much, if any.

[ladywaffles]

calloused hands in soft hands + Icemav

thank you for playing! :)

calloused hands in soft hands

“Hey there, sailor, has it been a long tour?”

Six and a half months.

That’s how long it’s been since the President overturned Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

He is finally free to marry his partner, openly and within sight of their family, friends, and former flyboys.

“It’s worth it when the sea brings me back to you, lover,” Maverick replies with a lascivious grin.

Ice rolls his eyes, even as he stands to greet Mav. “I’ve changed my mind—the tides can have you. You’re terrible at this.”

“What, after all this time?” Maverick drops his pack in the foyer and winds his arms around Ice’s waist, sliding one of his hands into Ice’s back pocket. “When I can finally do this in public?”

“You know, you’re still technically not allowed to do that, I’m still a superior officer.”

“Yeah but—”

“Don’t even say it, Mitchell,” he cuts him off. “It’ll be cheesy and bad, and I’ll be looking to trade you in for the newer model by the end of the year if you do.”

“Trade me in?” Maverick asks incredulously. “After I finally got you house trained?”

“Got me house trained?”

“Breakfast for dinner is nice, dear, but it’s the only thing you can be relied upon to not burn when I ask you to cook,” Maverick replies.

“You’re just mad because the laundry always smells nicer when I do it no matter what you try.”

“And who was the one who had to stick his arm up the backside of the dryer because someone nearly set a lint fire?”

“There wouldn’t have been a fire, if you’d cleaned it out the first time like I asked—”

“You know you can go more than a week without washing your bedsheets, it’s not the end of the world—”

“—put a sticky note on the fridge and everything, reminded you before I left for D.C.—”

“—and if we’d switched to the other towels that don’t give off all that fluff, the lint wouldn’t have built up nearly as bad anyway—”

“—I told you, it was one list of things to do, a very simple list of three chores around the house, and you didn’t listen the first time or the second time, so third time’s the charm, right—”

“—and then you kept insisting we use dryer sheets when wool balls work just as well, better even—”

They cut themselves off and smile. Ice sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers until Maverick takes it.

“So. It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

Maverick laces their fingers together. “Yup.”

“Seven months.”

“Seven months, two weeks, and three days. But who’s counting?”

“Did you see the news?”

“I’ve heard a thing or two.”

Ice squeezes Maverick’s hand. It’s scarred and calloused from all the maintenance he does around the house, on his bikes, and on the Mustang they still haven’t made airworthy again. There’s a bump right where the stick sits between his thumb and his forefinger after hours sitting in the box, first in a Tomcat and then in a Hornet, and soon, maybe, in one of those fifth-gen stealth planes that go five times faster than Ice ever did.

His own scars from his days in the sky have long since been traded in for hardened ridges where his pen rests, reams of forms to fill out and files to read. There’s no flying for admirals, Viper had once warned him. Flying’s like riding a bike, but the memory of it starts to fade from your body faster than it does your mind.

Between the two of them, Maverick is much more the image of a pilot than Ice is, in his tailored suits and stars.

He runs his fingers over the back of Mav’s hand and presses their palms together.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Of what?”

“Now you’re just playing coy.”

“Well, Admiral Kazansky, if you’re asking little old me,” Maverick starts, “I think it’s about damn time.”

Ice grins. “See, I’d thought something of the same myself.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two wedding bands, made of newly minted gold.

“So, what do you think, Mitchell? Wanna get hitched?”

Maverick holds onto Ice’s hand tighter and drags him back towards the front door.

“Where are we going?”

“Where else do you think? We gotta go catch Slider before he gets too far from base and tell him to call up the boys, we’re getting married this weekend!”

send me a type of touch, a number, and a pairing!

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 29 (Final)

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Throws some fluffing feels in your face and then closes the door like a boss. 

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

My Mastlist        Series Masterlist

“Wearing a hole in the floor isn’t going to make the time go by any faster,” Y/N reminded Dean as she sat on the counter, nibbling on a saltine cracker, and watching her boyfriend literally pace the kitchen in front of her. 

“Sorry,” Dean grumbled as he forced himself to stop pacing, and after a brief moment of deliberation, decided to just take a seat at the kitchen table.

Not fifteen feet away, in the bathroom that adjoined the hallway, were two pregnancy tests sitting snugly under a box on top of the sink. The test took only three minutes to show the results, it had so far been exactly 1 minute and 34 seconds since she placed the boxes over the top of the test once she’d taken them, and honestly, it felt like it had been one year and 34  days instead. 

Especially to Dean. That much she could tell. He wasn’t exactly hiding it very well at the moment.

“Dean, don’t get your hopes up, okay? It could just be a stomach bug, and I don’t want you to get disappointed,” Y/N said as her gaze wandered back to the red reamed clock on the wall; checking the time for what felt like the hundredth time in about 40 seconds. 

It was true. All signs and symptoms pointed to pregnancy. They’d stopped all preventative measures that could deter conception, but that didn’t mean she’d gotten pregnant yet. She was prepared to have to try for quite a while to even get pregnant. She’d taken birth control for years, and only God knows how long it was going to take for her body to hormonally be ready to conceive. 

“Trust me sweetheart, my hopes aren’t up,” Dean assured her, reaching for her to come and sit down in his lap.

Carefully, she pushed down and off of her perch and made her way over to where he was sitting, slipping into his hold with ease. 

“It will happen when and if it’s meant to. This is kinda one of those things we have little control over. We can do things to help it along, and there are multiple avenues to try, but after everything in life we’ve been through, I’ve learned nothing ever comes easy, or right away; so I have no expectations, other than making sure you’re okay,” Dean continued, placing a kiss to the top of her forehead. 

She melted into the warmth that seemed to always radiate from Dean’s body. Home, no matter where they were in life, no matter where life would take them, this was it, Dean was home. Not a roof and four walls. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” Y/N admitted. “I’m sorry I scared you earlier.”

Dean’s grip tightened around her waist, attempting to hold her as close to him as humanly possible. “It’s okay, it’s my job to take care of you when you’re not feeling well. I just wish you would have told me you weren’t feeling great sooner; I would have never gone into work this morning. I didn’t know this was something that had been kinda going on for days. You’ve got to communicate with me sweetheart.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Y/N said, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 

Here she sat with the tables turned, what felt like not so long ago, she was the one telling him that HE needed to communicate with HER when he wasn’t feeling well. God they had come so far, especially Dean. 

Just since his accident, he’d proven not only friends, family, but doctors and even himself wrong. He’d far surpassed any expectation any of them set for him. He’d done the one thing Chuck and the universe had tried so fucking hard to not allow him to do -  he’d created a life for himself. He’d created a home. He was doing what it was he always wanted to do. He was happy. An ending he never thought he’d deserve, and one Y/N didn’t really feel that she deserved either, but here they were. He should be dead. By all rights, accounts and reasons, Dean should have never lived to see the outside of that barn, but here he was, alive and well. Scared, battered, broken in some ways, but still here. Still alive. 

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Y/N questioned, and Dean swallowed thickly above her. 

“No. No I didn’t. I thought I’d be dead by now. I never saw life the way it was not. It was just a distant dream. It still feels like a dream some days,” Dean admitted, and he wasn’t wrong, it did feel like a dream some days. If it weren’t for the hard days, the days that tested the both of them on every emotional and physical level, she’d think they were both dead and in heaven, just playing this thing out, but nope, this was real, this was their life. As fake as it felt, it was real. 

“Me either,” Y/N voiced after a moment. “I had given up on anything even remotely similar to this. Never even tried to achieve it.”

“Do you regret it?” Dean asked, his deep rumble barely above a whisper in the silence that hung heavy in the kitchen. “Do you regret giving up your life as a hunter for this? For me?”

Y/N sat up straight as he would allow her with his firm grip on her waist, and placed a gentle kiss to his lips before leaning her forehead against his own. “Not even for a second. I’d do it all over again, no matter how many times I had to live through everything we both went through, I’d do it with a smile on my face as long as it ended right here, right now.”

“Me too,” Dean agreed. “I’d walk right into that barn every time, go through every ounce of pain and suffering, just as long as we ended up right here in this kitchen at the end.”

The sound of her alarm going off seemed much louder than it was -coming from her phone in the  pocket of her sweat pants;  she’d have jumped off of Dean’s lap had he not been holding onto her. But as the shock of the sudden loud sound waned, the heaviness set in with a rock of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Here it was. The moment of truth. There were only two answers waiting on the other side of that door, but one would change their lives forever. Suddenly, she found herself too scared and nervous to move. 

“Do you want me to go and look for you?” Dean questioned when she didn’t move, just sat up ramrod straight in his lap. 

“No, no I wanna do it, just… stay here, okay?” 

Dean nodded as she stood on shaking legs, and even though she didn’t turn around to see him, she could feel his pale green gaze on every step she made towards the door. 

A million and a half memories flooded her mind as she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, looking at the boxes that were still set on top of the little tests. Memories of pain, so much pain. Pain of Dean never even noticing her. The undesirable pain she felt as she stood there and watched him stuck to that goddamn poll, his life quickly bleeding away. Pain as she watched him struggle to recover. The fear that he’d never be the same again, if he ever woke up at all. The pain of learning how to let him go, so that he could recover on his own, and move from caretaker to partner. The moment they moved in this house. Every step that they made that led them to this moment. She could still see it. It was all still so clear. A horrible ending that they had taken, and rewritten for the good. What could have been a disaster, now could possibly be the start of a whole new life. One that Dean had always wanted. One that she had always wanted. 

She felt as if she was having an out of body experience as she lifted the box off of the text, eyes closed; breath held, almost too afraid to open her eyes and see that they were negative, which she had convinced herself that they were. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. “It’s all gonna be okay. No matter what the results are, we’re gonna be okay.”

With every ounce of courage she had left in her body, Y/N forced her eyes open, and her focus to shift down to the counter, where the sticks were. 

At first, she thought she was hallucinating, surely she had to be, because one test stood proud and pink with two lines on the result screen, and the other the word YES + . She was pregnant. 

Subconsciously, her hand fluttered down to her stomach as shock quickly made way for disbelief, and disbelief to something that she could only describe as pure joy. She had a little life, a little piece of Dean Winchester, the man she loved more than her own life, growing right now inside of her. A piece of him that no matter what, she’d get to keep forever. 

Grabbing both tests, she quickly made her way out of the door, and back towards the kitchen, where Dean was still waiting at the table, his head buried in his hands.  

Most people would have probably wanted to ‘surprise’ him with something cute. Some way of telling him that he was gonna be a Dad, but not her. They’d waited long enough for this moment, and she wasn’t going to make him wait a minute longer for the sake of theatrics. 

Dean’s head lifted as he heard her footsteps approaching, and he was on his feet reaching for the test before she could even make it to him. His hand shook as he took the two test from her hand, and looked down at them. The same emotional turmoil running over his face as had hers only a moment ago, which sent a flood of emotions streaming down her face, or maybe it was the hormones?

“You’re pregnant?” he stated after a while-  as if he needed to say it to make it real. 

“You’re going to be a father, Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice choking with emotions, as he wrapped his arms around her squeezing her tightly as his own emotional dam broke, and years of pain, rejection, doubt, and fear of never having a life of his flooded down his own face, all while he clung on to her like she was his lifeline. She was honestly, and he was hers. 

Life as they knew it would never be the same. Things had forever changed. Dean had a family of his own now. A real family. This was the first day of their forever. 

Y/N’s eye’s lifted to the doorway of the kitchen, where had Dean not been holding her up, her feet would have given out from under her as the clear ghost of John Winchester and Mary Winchester stood, arm and arm watching the pair. Jack and Cas stood not far behind in the hallway, along with Bobby, beaming proudly at him. 

“All of Heaven had to come and see this moment,” Jack said as both stood there in shock at the faces of family and friends long gone. 

“We’re all so proud of you son, and when that boy of yours is born, he’s going to do great things,” John said, pride beaming from his face. “You did good.”

Just as suddenly as they had appeared, in a blink of an eye, they were all gone. Leaving nothing but an empty room, and the promise of a son that Dean had always wanted. She couldn’t think of a better, more fitting ending for Dean Winchester. The righteous man that might have saved the world on multiple occasions, and he saved her. He’d saved her in way’s she’d never stop thanking him for. He was her constant. Her comfort, and now, the father of her child, and the man he could finally call himself proud of. Scared. Battered. Bruised. Broken. But proud of the man, father, and one day husband he’d become. 

The End.

Forever:

@bubsonnobx​​​​​​​​

@britnwinchester​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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@stoneyggirl2​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@stixnstripesworld​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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[hocuspocusbabyy]

Cherry Wine: Eloise x Cressida. 🦢🕊️

Description: ‘Bridgerton Dynasty takes a blow as a 200 year old winery explodes in south London.’ (Modern AU.)

Pairing: Cressida Cowper and Eloise Bridgerton

Warning: Arguing, Biting, swearing.

“If this was the Mondrich’s, I will rain hellfire upon them.” Collin bellowed, clips of a former Bridgerton winery in the outskirts of London a blaze. Screaming commuters, the firefighters working to rescue them.

“We can’t just throw accusations at the Mondrich’s.” Kate countered, her arms crossed and tight against the arms of her suit jacket. Stood firmly behind Anthony’s chair. The oldest sibling simply taking in the facts and flips through a ream of papers.

“A lot hinges on whether we believe this is a mandated move from the Harper family or we believe it's something else. Right now our best plan of action is damage control, then pointing fingers.” Cressida sighed, hands flat and firm against Eloise’s desk.

“Who else would benefit so much from a move like this? We’re at the height of our industry.

The Mondrich’s want our place.” Colin argued.

“We can’t be sure of anything without an investigation.” Anthony voices, “I want mother as far away from this as possible.” Kate's hand falling to his shoulder in support. Which he gladly received, placing a kiss upon her palm.

“When it's Eloise, you have to be really fսcking sure.” The Blonde sneered, her fingers flexing upon the wood.

“You're getting divorced.” Penelope stated as a matter of fact. Frittering away with writing a media response about the incident.

“No, we're not.”

“Eloise says your marriage is over.” Colin tagged on, leaning down to read yet another article on the incident.

‘Bridgerton Dynasty takes a blow as a 200 year old winery explodes in south London.’

“Have you ever been married?” Cressida snapped, the sullen look upon her face akin to all other worldly horrors.

“What the fuck was that?” Eloise frowned, pushing the office doors harsh against their hinges. The slam of metal on concrete echoed and flinched at the skin of the lookers.

“An indiscretion.” Cressida wages, the only one to meet Eloise’s gaze only to shine beneath the wrath. A moon to planets which worshipped the sun. Unwavering, unforgiving, unforgettable.

“And what the hell am I to tell the press? Sorry My Wife snuck out and called the Mondrich’s? And then lied to me about it?” Eloise argued, the tension clear by the ridgid plains of her shoulders. The joints jostled up and down, grinding her will.

“Everyone really has to stop saying it's the Mondrich’s. It wasn't Mondrich’s.” Kate deadpanned, picking lightly at the name.

“Well who the hell was it then?”

Colin shrugged, “ask your Ex-Wife” there was an emphasis on the former.

Eloise could merely gape at the prospect, her rage simmering as the door creaked open - a polite yet unnecessary knock followed.

“Basset industries on line 4 for you El” Gregory states his head edged round the door - shielding.

Eloise worried her lip, fingers drumming against the bones of their hips and gaze settling upon the telephone. Most importantly the bright red light that indicated someone waiting.

“Let it ring out.” Cressida deadpanned, as though she didn’t give a damn if Eloise listened to her or not.

“I can’t just—-“

“Don’t pick up Eloise.” Cressida ordered, Anthony’s hand coming to grab Eloise’s placing down the phone as she scowled at the blonde.

“Sister, Simon will walk, back nothing.”

Anthony stated, capturing Eloise’s attention. “If you're concerned, I urge you to speak with Daphne, she clearly has a great deal of influence over our benefactor.”

“Finally someone with a helpful insight, thank you brother.” Eloise stated, head and palms turned to the ceiling as though finding a religion could have them now. She couldn’t help but feel envious of those with a faith, gods, planets, partners… just something to lay trust in, to soften the blow. Her hands worked down to land at the waist. “Let's just try our best to spin this shit show, thank you everybody.”

“Excellent, I’ll have Gregory call Simon first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll call Daphne before then.” Eloise promised, her eyes turned in frustration towards Cressida; a silent demand that they stay put as everyone shuffled papers and took their leave around them.

“I’ll write to Francesca, see how our position in Scotland is farring. Benedict is on the first flight back from Paris tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you Pen.” Eloise sighed, exasperated as her old friend moved around the table. A comforting hug to her right shoulder as Colin held the door for them.

“Good evening everyone.” Kate bid her farewell, grasping Anthony’s hand as everyone else left the room.

The door was barely closed when they spoke again. “As soon as this shit is over, get on some plane and not be here.” Eloise demanded, simply too tired to argue further. That’s all they seemed to do now, argue with one another.

“You’re looking good. Darling.” Cressida complimented charmingly, a hand finding rest within her back pocket as she poured a glass of vodka across the room.

Eloise rolled their eyes flopping down in a chair, “That's because nobody here lets me eat a carbohydrate.”

“Well, it's working.” The other woman smirked, leaning back against the bar cart observing.

“I'd rather be dead.” Eloise complained lifting her legs onto another chair, flexing her feet within the heels.

“I will bring you soup tomorrow.” Cressida started walking towards them, handing off the vodka before gently lifting their legs into her lap and sitting down.

“Cressida.” Eloise warned as the other woman gently eased the heels off.

“Shhh.” Cressida hummed, her thumbs working at the soles of Eloise’s feet.

“Jesus Christ.” Eloise groaned, attempting to pull her foot away, only to give up frustratedly when Cressida refused to let go. Her hand wrapped tightly around Eloise’s ankle.

“You have so thoroughly fսckеd with my head, I can't do my job if you are within a 100-mile radius.” Eloise flopped back, a hand dragging up across her head, taking to fallen pieces of hair between their fingers.

“I don’t see how you being unable to do your job is my problem, dear.” Cressida shrugged innocently, kissing the metatarsals of Eloise’s foot.

“You called the press Cress, you got a target list. It's not a panic move. It was a premeditated dіck move.” Eloise argued.

“It was effective.” She mumbled against Eloise’s skin.

“Making our ally look like a fuckwad in front of his boss is not the only way out. Is it really the first thing you tried?” Eloise asked leaning forward to nudge Cressida with the glass.

“It was like the 80th.” The blonde stated, retrieving vodka and taking a sip.

“And if it doesn't work?”

“You have a plan.”

“This was a move. It's not the final destination.” Eloise argued, allowing the older woman to tip the glass against her lips.

“My father is thinking of resigning.” Cressida sighed, using her thumb to catch a fallen droplet at the side of Eloise’s mouth before leaning back her hand running up and down their legs soothingly.

“God you’re like a bad fucking penny.” Eloise groaned, stretching out further, her skirt sitting in the most awkward position but she was comfortable.

“They want you to replace him.”

“What?” Eloise asked in horror, jerking her legs towards herself.

“He's a big boy. He dropped the ball. You picked it up.” Cressida defended her hand held up as the brunette began pacing the room.

“You did this” Eloise accused, the stress visibly crawling down from her shoulders and she twisted miserably. “All your meddling, you were making problems because you knew I’d feel compelled to fix it!”

“I made him look like an idiot. It was a dіck move. Was it the wrong dіck move? I lack experience.”

“No, you don't. I lack experience in this role, I panicked and did what you would do because it's the first thing that popped into my head.” Eloise argued, crouching over to grasp her knees. “I’m going to be sick.”

Cressida sighed, leaning down from her chair to meet Eloise’s gaze, “have you eaten anything today?”

“No.” Eloise grumbled, Cressida's gentle hand upon her back being an irritating comfort.

“Come on. Up.” The older woman demanded, tugging Eloise’s waist. “Come on baby.”

“I just need, like, a yoghurt. She argued weakly, leaning back against her wife… ex wife?

“I'm not getting you a fսcking yoghurt.” Cressida laughed, guiding her towards the staff kitchen. “Okay.” The blonde breathed, as she opened up the fridge. Pulling Eloise up close to look in too. “fսck, look at them tarts.” She swore appreciatively.

“Is it cheese?” Eloise asked, reaching forward to grab the treat.

“No, no.” Cressida barked smacking Eloise’s hand gently before passing her a different tart, “Atleast get one that's already started.

“This one's started.” Eloise mumbled as she took a massive bite.

“Unbelievable.” Cressida whispered, shaking her head as she bent down and took a bite of the same tart. “Mm! Oh, my God.”

“Right?” Eloise grinned, brushing the crumbs of pastry from Cressida’s shirt.

“fսck. I'll grab some cheese.” Cressida stated as Eloise walked around the island to find some wine.

“Get some of that spinach stuff too.” Eloise shouted bent to get the vintage she wanted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Did you get it?” Eloise asked as she walked back towards the older woman, Cressida’s arms piled with food.

They moved effortlessly in the kitchen, one passing items to the other, cleaning each other’s mess. All those years of friendship and intimacy were clear as fresh water.

Eloise ached for it.

“You know the wine cellars in this house are older than some nations” Cressida smirked, reading the label of the wine as Eloise offered it up to her for a decision.

“I didn't.” The other woman smiled simply enjoying the inner workings of Eloise’s mind, full of random facts and observations.

“Bottled history. Some are rancid,” Eloise jokes, Cressida snatching the bottle from her and walking away from the kitchen.

“Make yourself useful and bring the stemware.” She shouted back over her shoulder.

They made it back into Eloise’s office, Cressida waltzing ahead with their hoard and laying it out on the coffee table. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of her shirt and removing her jacket to roll the sleeves, meticulously filling the wine glasses as Eloise flopped down on the couch.

It was times like this, Eloise struggled to distinguish between the two. The Cressida she married and the one she’d dealt with the last six months, the tyrant, meddling… work Cressida.

Cressida Cowper. Not Bridgerton.

They were separated. They worked together.

“So listen.” Cressida started clearing her throat and handing her a glass. “I threw you under the bus, but I think it worked.”

“I'm so relieved, oh mighty saviour!” Eloise rolled her eyes, “how ever can I repay you?”

“You gotta fսcking get over it Lou. We're a great team. You may not see that right now, but I do. We are great together. Shit, don’t look at me like that. I'm trying to say something, so let me. I don't know how you're gonna take it and I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. You don't have to... What I'm trying to say is, I need you.”

“I know. I feel it too.” There’s a sickening look of hope thrown Eloise’s way, the kind she’d so often fallen prey to. “But I can't think when you're in the same room, Cress. I can barely breathe, us working together just proves time and time again we can’t do both. This isn't something that we can act on. Today was the perfect example, you’re too defensive, you interfere. I can’t do my job properly when you’re already two steps ahead paving the way… I’ve… I’ve got to do it alone. You can’t always save me.”

“We can salvage this.” Cressida admits grasping Eloise’s hand within her own.”Buttonhole Basset as soon as he arrives and you talk him out of the lunch with the Mondrich’s. At the very least out of the photo op with him and Will side by side like some dark acid flashback of the road to Mondrich’s.”

“You need to leave.” Eloise groaned, the grip on her skin, burning.

“Eat something. You've been bottoming out.”

“You made an inappropriate outreach to the press and accused a family with whom we have no diplomatic relations. You made an investigation exponentially more difficult. You still have clothes in my closet and I... I can't think straight or analyse information or provide objective counsel. I am begging you Cressida. Go.” Eloise argued, cheese tart crumbling at the side of her mouth.

“Eloise. Lou. Let's talk about it.”

“We’ve done enough talking Cress, Jesus Christ, eight months in therapy and we still ended up here. If we talk any more surely we’ll run out of syllables.”

“I can't leave. I'm so sorry Eloise.”

“I don't want to hear this shit anymore!” Eloise frowned, brushing off her skirt.

“You can't divorce me.” Cressida declared as Eloise stood to pour herself a glass of water, the wine seemingly already clouding her head.

“Oh get a bloody grip! We decided that months ago.”

“Eloise, my father is going to resign. They want you to replace him. We can't be divorced.”

“Close your mouth.” Eloise whispered, unable to meet the other woman’s gaze.

“Turn your head.” Cressida counted, her warmth suddenly against Eloise’s back and grasping her hand. “This is it, the empire we have always dreamed of. Bridgerton and Cowper… together.”

It had been a long time since they held hands. Eloise remembered the beginning, Cressida’s powerful, warm hands swallowing hers up, kissing her knuckles when no one was looking.
 They held hands when they were married, that afternoon in the courthouse, a clandestine ceremony weeks before they told anyone. But somewhere along the lines they stopped. Before she decided they'd divorce, before Cressida had lied.

Now they held hands again, palms pressed together, fingers intertwined and locked in place.

“That’s it,” Cressida cooed, “That’s a good girl, Lou, just let me take care of you.”

Over the years they’d come to know one another’s bodies intimately, yet it still felt horrifically vulnerable that Cressida could make her fall apart so quickly and easily. Cressida was well studied in human nature, and Eloise was her favourite subject.

“You get wound to tight without a regular fucking baby,” Cressida said, between kisses pressed to the curve of her throat. Eloise's back flush against her as she mumbled in their ear. “Remember what I said? My new role? It could be like this all the time, I work for you, I worship you… no meddling, no lying.”

“And you’ll do the Industry Expo speech?” Eloise asked, breathless yet cunning in her mind. As arousal slowly started to cloud her. If she was going to let this happen, she’d rather get a leg up from it.

Cressida gasped at the question, aware of the trap, the firm curve of the brunette leaving little room for complaint.

“Okay, maybe you can bribe me into the speech," Cressida sighed. Her breaths sounded loud in her own ears as Eloise leaned back on her, a hand creeping into the locks of her hair: she could smell her deodorant and sweat and shampoo, her heart sped up.

There was always something so purely indulgent about Cressida’s scent. Heady and beguiling.

Cressida wasn't used to this anymore. She would have thought that sleeping in the same bed with Eloise, having sex again and eating breakfast with you would be enough at least for a while, but obviously she would have been wrong. One night wasn't enough, or else she was still too aware of the imminent threat of losing her forever.

"If you don't want to wear the blue dress at the gala," Cressida said, glancing over at her garment bag that hung on Eloise’s office door, "Maybe you could try it on here...? See what it does for your--"

Before the sokovian could finish the sentence, Eloise had slapped her.

Cressida’s eyes flew open and her cheek stung. The pain was a relief, here, in private, with Eloise’s body facing her, pressed into her through flimsy shirts. They had done this before, on purpose, but it had been months or years; long before Eloise started talking about divorce. Maybe that was why she couldn't get over things anymore, because they hadn’t stopped.

"You want to finish that sentence?" said Eloise. Her voice was low and studious, as though talking to a child. Cressida could never figure out if the fact that she could do it on purpose in bed meant it was intentional the rest of the time, too.

Cressida smiled at her. "For your tits," she lingers, her lips so close to Eloise’s, she could practically taste them, it wasn't a surprise when she slapped her again.

Cressida’s hand flying up to capture Eloise’s.

“Play nice,” she whispered, but as soon as the final syllable had fallen from her lips Eloise had occupied her mouth with her tongue, kissing her fiercely, backing Cressida into the desk with such intensity that she knocked a pile of letters to the floor.

“I hate you,” Eloise said, between kisses, the smile on Cressida’s face, seemingly oblivious to Eloise’s irritation. She tasted bitter and smoky, the thick, fragrant tang of spirits, and when she raised her hand to clasp Eloise’s cheek she did so with a ferocious intensity; it felt more like a slap than a caress. She winced.

“Still want me on that plane?” She said, as her other hand ran over Eloise’s shirtfront, tweaking Eloise’s nipple through the fabric. Grinding herself into Eloise, the desk skidding backwards with each thrust. Eloise tried to maintain her austere expression, but a chuckle was bubbling in her throat and Cressida’s hands had already made their way to her backside.

“You always have questions,” Eloise slurred against the older woman’s lips. "You want to be partners," she said. "You don't want to be my trophy wife. Fine. However I believe some practice in obedience would do you good.”

"To love, honour and obey, Mrs Bridgerton.”

"Uh-uh Cowper-Bridgerton," Eloise Whispered. "You can start trusting me - and not trying to run the show behind my back. Right now though, you can close your eyes and stay still.” The last was punctuated with a firm placing of Cressida's hands upon the desk. Eloise’s nails glued to the flesh of her wrists, her fingers flexing against the grain before being forced flat.

Cressida couldn’t help but crave her like this, the flush of colour anger brought to Eloise’s face, the tousled hair, and the way the skewed shirt showed a hint of Eloise’s chest.

"Keep your hands still" Eloise ordered, breathing hot against the brunette's ear as she pressed a kiss to it.

"Mmm," Cressida smirked, squeezing her eyes shut harder as Eloise raked her nails up the seam of the Sokovian’s thighs. Groaning as Eloise buried her face into Cressida’s neck.

"Fuck, you are going to kill me one of these days.” All rosy and lips flecked with an odd purple hue, glaring at the ceiling as if it had offended her, Eloise’s lips paving over the edge of her throat.

She bit her. Unforgiving and cranial, the flesh lurking beneath the brunette's teeth.

Cressida groaned, disorientated by the conflicting sensations. “You’re a brute,” Cressida said as Eloise lapped across the wound and across her chest.

“And you’re a pain in my arse.” She debuted before sinking her teeth into the bulk of the blonde's shoulder. Cressida felt the skin split with a sear, as she cried out, wrenching Eloise’s head from her shoulder. Something gripping her jaw so tightly anyone would have thought it might crack, but that only seemed to spur Eloise on. As she went back for another mouthful, daring her to stop them with all the might in her hands. A harsh red blush encapsulating them.

“You moved your hands.” Eloise whispered teasingly, nails firm against Cressida’s neck as she curled the strands of hair around their fingers.

“Oh shut up.” Cressida ordered before knocking Eloise flat on her back.

Eloise let out a gasp as Cressida perched atop of her on the floor, her body crawling across Eloise’s bones, the invisible force pressing her down as she observed them. Lips swollen and smeared with her blood.

Cressida giggled, her face hovering above as her tongue etched across the outline of Eloise’s mouth, falling into place as she sucked upon their bottom lip. As though she were a drought and her the rain. She took Eloise for all that she had, and still yearned for her. The red hue falted around them, Eloise’s hands racing to grasp the back of the older woman’s head.

They kissed, for longer than any two species should remain connected without air. Only pulling away when their vision began darkening.

They stared at each other for a moment, chests heaving, two sets of fierce eyes latched together, the dark side of twin moons relieved to have a break from relentless sunlight, and Cressida felt her chest constrict.

“Eloise - ” she started, but she placed a hot palm over her mouth.

“Don’t speak,” Eloise begged, thumb drawing across her wife’s top lip, pulling at the inking of conjoined saliva before licking it from her cupid’s bow. “Don’t - don’t speak, just— show me.”

Cressida shot upwards, taking Eloise in her arms and sucking the rest of her blood from her tongue, both moaning, the sweet iron droplets coating mouths as though sunlight and salt water, all other worldly things they’d grown to miss about one another.

“Let me stay,” Cressida said, and the glare she sent her way was a poor cover for what Eloise felt. The older woman pushed the hair back from her face and scratched lightly at the crown, studying her, pupils frantic and pleading, begging her to pull the wool over both their eyes.

She bent down and pressed kisses along Eloise’s jaw, her hands secure as she knelt with Eloise on top of her. She couldn’t help but nuzzle into the size of her wife’s face nibbling at her cheek.

“I really do love you, you know,” Cressida sighed, after a beat. Her nose flat against Eloise’s neck breathing her in, the tension seeping out of their conjoined limbs, Eloise’s lips stung where they had split, bruised and battered skin pressed flush together on the floor of her office.

“I love you too.”

[coffeeandbatboys]

I'm completely new here but could you do one with selfcontrol by Laura branigan. If not the uptown girl both with howzer. If that's possible

Welcome! Sorry this took so long 😅

Warnings: fluff. Howzer is adorable. Mentions of alcohol. Family problems.

Uptown Girl (Howzer x Royalty!Reader)

The first time you laid eyes on Howzer, you fell. Literally. You’d tripped, but his strong arms caught you before you hit the ground.

Despite his scars he was an absolutely stunning man. Though your family had noticed your longing gazes towards the captain, they didn’t approve, saying that you should choose someone of better social standing.

You, of course, defied their wishes.

Howzer adored you with all of his heart, loving you deep into the night when no one would know.

And that’s why you’re currently sneaking out of the family estate to meet your love.

You’ve been able to pull off a secret relationship by having him around as a ‘bodyguard’ of sorts. Your parents think that you’re still in the ‘crush’ stage, blissfully unaware of the full-fledged romance behind closed doors.

You round the corner of your neighbor’s wall and slam straight into Howzer himself. Your eyes go wide with panic until you register the scars and love-drunk smile.

“Good evening Mesh’la.” He whispers and you surge forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“Very good evening,” you answer, your lips still brushing against his.

He takes your arm as the two of you walk in the moonslight.

“How was your day?” You ask, leaning against his broad shoulder. He smiles softly.

“Uneventful, at least. We didn’t have to turn anyone in today.”

Something has been unsettled inside you ever since the new empire was announced. You feel bad for Howzer as his men are starting to question their orders and being punished for doing so.

“And how about you, ner Cyar’ika?” His question brings you back to the present.

“Ah yes. Another day of sitting around, being waited on and doing nothing. I’m sick of it and I want out.”

A deep laugh rumbles through his chest. “You’ll always be royalty to me. Whether you denounce it or not.”

You smile and sigh. “You’re sweet.”

You hadn’t noticed where the two of you had been walking until the flicker of lanterns caught your eye. A blanket was spread out underneath a tree, with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and some mouthwatering food sat carefully atop it.

You stop and gasp, looking up at your lover.

“Howzer….I-“

“You deserve only the best, Cyar’ika. I know it’s not perfect but I hope that you’ll keep me around for a little while longer.” He says, a small chuckle falling from his lips with the last few words.

Your eyes well up a little. “Howzer it is perfect! And of course I’m keeping you around no matter what.” You smack his chest playfully, earning another chuckle.

The rest of the night is absolutely beautiful. At the end, as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, you’re resting in his arms as he talks softly about the constellations above Ryloth.

You might get reamed put by your family tomorrow, but you’re a grown adult.

Nobody can keep you from the love of your life.