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dhampling · 3 months

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oh, mother fem!reader, 3.3k

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau. The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. - It's the mummy fic. cw: lactation, breeding mentions, age regression (?), smut, astarion as a content warning, humping, feeding, afab reader, MUMMY, dadstarion, cockwarming w/c: 3.3k

Astarion looks over his shoulder from the homespun carpet, book limp in hand.

Like the written word could hold any comparable weight whilst you’re there decalescent and milk-swollen above him.

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau.

The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. The way he strokes something so very gentle at your swollen shin, head stirring as he searches for purchase atop an aching thigh.

Your eyes leisurely as they cut between the infant latched to your heavy breast and the restless chit by your legs on the ground.

“Hm?”

The youngling gurgles in sleepy succour.

Astarion rolls his head forward with a lazy smile, saccharine in holding his tongue between teeth.

“This. All of this. Dreamy, isn’t it?”

His voice is silken against the low crackle of the fire. The shallow suckling breaths at your chest.

“Mhm.”

Your fatigue is wholly joyous in its maudlin haze, your agreement a free and light hum.

The man at your heel, the child he gave you; the wonder as he watches on - her little face scrunching as she swallows, the hint of a cough as you lightly adjust where she lies in the crook of your arm. A small coo.

There’s a strange look in his eye. Not the reverent fatherly gaze you’d come to expect from your husband in the months since you’d become a mother. Instead he seems fallible.

Round-eyed, gentle;-

Lamblike. The restless sheepling. Marvelling and timid.

“You’re a vision.”

Your eyes meet and you dare him to hold the stare in his yielding state.

You’ve become somewhat of a recluse in spending time with your daughter, and she certainly isn’t begrudging of the tangle of hair atop your head, nor the span of your torso kept so soft and warm on which for her to lie. The heavy swell of your breasts, the intermittent spotting where milk bleeds through your tailored house clothes.

It’s not that you necessarily feel any certain way about your physical attributes at present but you’ve definitely felt cleaner. Been better presented.

Mother.

Astarion’s face is pure butter, muddled and waxen as his brows draw together. Quietly roused in a moment of recondite.

Whatever runs through his head is new.

Lashings of fresh rain hammer the windowpane. The claw of winter, dark streets; seeping stone. The umber flickers of the fire on the wall. Heat licks the side of your face closest.

Glowing.

She groans a gentle burble. Her lips smack together softly as she finishes and you lift her from your chest, tucking your breast back into your slip and bringing her into the crook of your arm.

There’s a moment where his head tilts as if to speak.

“She’s tired.” You whisper whilst running a finger along her cheek. Small eyes of glimmering ruby, lids lulling open and closed. More quiet gurgling as she fidgets.

“I’ll take her. Rest, love.’

Astarion stands from crossed legs, twirling around to lean over the little one; over you. Runs his wiggling fingers over her small frame in little taps.

‘My darling girl! Princess of the Kingdom Sleep.’

Large hands lift her from your chest into his. A gentle rock as he does so.

‘This simply won’t do, will it? Let’s take you upstairs.”

He taps her nose on ‘you’. She sneezes violently.

You watch them both from the lounger as he steps through the arch and round the corner, up the spiral staircase and padding softly to your shared chamber. Balmy quiet. More rain.

Your first Lover’s Day as three feels poignant.

Despite keeping from the sun - and therefore sleeping the actual day away - in the stormy night your home brims sweet with ardour. A bubble of somnolence; a barge at sea.

A year of calm. Stillness. Establishing yourselves in your respective newfound freedoms and figuring out who you are; both alone and together. A conscious effort and one rewarded just months earlier with her.

“You’re so… soft with her.’

You don’t hear him reenter the room as he comes behind you and closes the door to the den with two chalices in hand, a bottle in the other. He doesn’t miss the brow quirk.

‘Dealcholised. Don’t worry’

The top uncorked.

‘I fail to see the fun in it myself, but ‘needs must’ and all that.”

A hint of the player’s tone. You laze back as he returns to his place at your heel, handing you a glass of honey mead.

“I’m her mother. Of course I’m soft with her.”

You take a large sip and recline.

Astarion snakes an arm around your leg, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to the flushed skin.

“You. Her mother.’

He takes a large gulp and swills the sweet tincture around his teeth.

‘I still can’t quite believe it. The baby part, that is -’

A shake of his head. A brief grimace, puzzled yet pleased. Wholly adorative and you can see the retrospective of recent memories fly through his head.

‘You as a mother on the other hand. As if it were meant -’

Kiss.

‘To’

Kiss.

‘Be.”

His lips close on your shin, habitual breath fanning cool over the hot flesh.

“Mhm?”

He looks up at you with those big round eyes once more, a reticent smile. Head tilting to you coyly.

“You. You’re a vision. An absolute vision.”

“You like it?”

“It’s-’

He falters in that moment of recondite from before. Seeks avail.

‘I watch you care for her and it makes me weak at the knees. Your little love.’

The last words whispered in fond awe. His hands wave around his face in a considered manner.

‘You provide for her, hells. Nurture her. Hold her close to you in this beautiful, unconditional love; no matter the hour.’

Your love for him. He wonders if it will stretch to the words on the tip of his tongue, but he’d be a fool not to try.

‘And I-”

“You think you might want it too?”

He sags. Still round-eyed, but the corners of his mouth noticeably dip.

“Yes. I- I suppose I do.”

You’re not surprised, though you’re impressed that he voices it so plainly. In your mind every instance he’s retreated into you plays in vivid colour. Each time he’s held you close, so innocently; as a child may a parent. Not often. Not boldly. But the want is there.

Maybe it’s the taste of the mead, despite the lack of alcohol. Fizzy and heady.

But no. You want this. You want to show him you care in the most innate way you’re able; unearthed in the way you care for her.

Your darling. The Rogue of the Gate. Brittle-boned and weak following years on years of isolation and hurt but here; eyes aflame, wide open at your heel and healing.

He runs his hand absentmindedly up and down your leg as you ponder.

“What do you want, my love? Tell me.”

Your voice is pure honey as you keen into his touch a little further. Yielding. Relishing the pads of his cool fingers; a salve to your inflamed limbs.

The whine from earlier. You remember it. The bridled snare of his tense coil, watching you mothering his child and aching for you to cosset him too. The soft mindless touches. The way you feed her from your breast as you do him from your neck. His knee-jerk rutting against your leg.

He sits in sullen silence for a moment.

Then, his eyes meet yours once more. A wary hand slips up to your thigh; deft fingers circling the doughy inner skin. You part your legs at his touch.

“It’s okay, darling boy.’

You lean forward from your slouch and hold his head in your hands, legs open; back arched as your thighs remain open. Low and soft as you bring your mouth down.

‘It’s okay. What do you need?’

Astarion shivers. Guttural. Frozen in sheer terror. Lust as you cradle his head close to your aching breasts. Real, unfettered lust. Every sprawling emotion, each moment spent searching for someone to see him with comfort in their eyes in those early hours two hundred years ago.

He sometimes forgets he’s allowed to feel anything remotely desirable when he’s like this. Forgets he’s with you. Forgets he can covet you and still keep you past dawn.

Old habits die hard.

‘Come back to me now, sweetheart.’ You whisper, tongue ghosting over the outer contour of his ear as he continues his ministrations at the inner skin of your thigh. Tips flushed red.

‘Come to mummy.”

The groan spilling from his lips is inhuman. The hesitant hand diving between your legs turns to an iron grasp in record time.

Pliable. Ass pert on the sofa cushions.

“Can I?” He whispers, clutching feverishly at the pillowy skin.

“Use your words, Astarion. Come on.”

His ear is his soft spot. Tender, sensitive; flushed with blood from waking bites.

“Can I?”

Your eyes are featherlight as they roll into your skull. Burning cheek, thighs strong.

“Please.’

His head lifts from the crease of your knee as he braces himself to stand - eyes meeting yours in a sheer devotion that wracks every inch of your scalding frame.

‘Come to me.”

You shuffle so there’s room for him atop the cushions, and he crawls into the space between you legs as you hold his arms. Your angel. Forlorn with a lack of direction akin to that on his face when you first met. His eyes weary; heavy in their low-lidded gaze.

The parting of your legs once more. The way he inhales.

“Mother. Mother.”

“I’m here, love. My darling. I’m here.”

Astarion queries the break in your thighs once more with a desperate hand. Leans in closer with a small choked sob.

“What do you need, my love? What can I give you?”

Your ability to provide for him. Enough to make him hard each time - the fact you offer it freely in his home, atop his embroidered cushions; the primal need to comfort him with your body. He resonates with it. Yearns for it. Freely given and given free.

“Can I touch you, please?”

Thighs part as bullrushes in wading season. You think about his pale prick, standing alert in his trousers.

“Come here.”

You expect his hand to resume the agonising crawl up your thigh, but instead it moves to palm at your wetness quicker than you think. His leaky bride. He searches for evidence of your desire and he finds it in abundance through the cloth of your undergarments, and instead of the typical smarmy response you’d come to anticipate-

He simply gasps.

Mouth heavy with spit. Thick with joy, lust; ripe having seen the proof of your need for him. To take care of his ruined body and learning mind.

Your hands move to your chest as he looms over you, peeling the slip down from your breasts so you can relieve the ache that wracks them. Heavy. Painful in their retention, nipples distended as wholly engorged with milk.

“Fuck.”

“Swearing in front of mummy? Rather unbecoming, no?”

His eyes roll back into his skull, this time from jovial relief. He’s still in there. No disassociation, no hurt as you sigh, as your hands move to relieve the ache from your teats; rolling your nipples in practised tandem and riding the air with the subsequent high.

He groans once more. Straddles your lap as his hips move to hump the air by your soft belly. Desperate thrusts. Wanting. Needing more and more of your validation.

It’s not until your aching nipples do something most unexpected that you moan alongside him. Longing. Your lover - his face now spattered with your drips. Forehead, cheekbones; the space between his nose and lips; all adrip with the sweetest fluid he’s ever been baptised with. Milk dribbles from each of your teats and flows into the one neat pearl hanging from each.

Astarion’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment you feel it deep in your abdomen.

“You want to taste?’

A meek nod. A solemn promise. Those lips of a charlatan.

“Can I do something first? Please?”

You wonder how many silken lies have spilled from that tongue in some desperate sense of bravado over the years. How the performance has no audience here any longer.

“Tell me. What do you want?”

You struggle against the moan desperate to spill from your lips. You want nothing more than to become clay in his capable hands, and yet you know you must remain as you are. Stoic. Liberal with a chiding tongue should he need it.

“Will you warm me while I do?”

“Are you hard, my love?”

“Please, mother.’

He lifts your wrist from your chest to the apex of his thighs, manoeuvring your palm by the back of your hand so it presses deep on his aching cock. Hard. Pulsing. Searching for somewhere to bury deep inside and be warm in comfort.

‘Mummy. Please.”

His use of ‘mummy’ throws you a million miles off course on a wayward comet of pure desire, hurtling through a new sky in hearing it in his downy timbre. A mere whisper. You see for a brief moment the small elven boy he once was as he seeks comfort in you, ears out at a point, eyes folded something crestfallen.

Your tits ache as you reach down to free your cunt, rolling the linen down your legs in a sweat-laden stupor and throwing the piece aside as Astarion strokes his cock.

“Fill me, sweet one. Let me look after you.”

Whatever remaining crumbs of resolve he has dissipate at the sound of your voice, rolling to pull you onto his lap and holding you in a hover above his fat head, slit leaking clear as it rests against his shirt.

There’s a moment where you look at him fondly, as an equal.

Then as you sink onto the pointedly hard length of his weeping cock you see the softening of his face and you want nothing more in all the realms than to baby him like he wants of you. To hold him close, soothe his aching need for your body; for your guidance and wit, for your humour and want. For the way you smell warm, like domestic heaven; so much like someone who cares for him as if he were born directly from you.

A part of him was. The part of him now alive and breathing, asleep upstairs in the cot beside your shared bed.

This part of him however now feels it close. Feels the way your spongy walls yield to him. The way you want to please him and be pleased.

You allow yourself one roll of your hips as you shift to accommodate his sharp length, holding a moan in the back of your throat and wriggling so you sit comfortably above him. This isn’t about the fervent dance to reach a peak. It’s for him.

Leaking teats now at eye level, large droplets of milk freed in your shifting. He pulses inside you as he asks with big round eyes. A taste - and who are you to deny your favourite boy?

With a nod from you, his lids flutter shut and his tongue brushes sharp fangs to lick softly at your nipple. The sweet cloud of nectar dissipates on the surface and his whimper rocks you straight to your core, the brief wince as you feel the kick of his cock inside you.

Hungry. The only way you can describe the sound biting at his throat.

“So good! So good.”

He nods softly at your encouragement, looking to you once more; seeking permission to take a wholly distended nipple into his waiting mouth.

You arch forward in response. A gentle ‘yes’.

The veiny flesh of your breast forms a lightning-visceral halo of blues and greens around his soft curls as you look down. Wet kitten licks, soft suckling; coaxing the warmth from within as you card a steady hand through his hair.

His hips begin to roll a little. Your other hand moves to anchor him.

“Ah-ah. Rest now. My beautiful boy. You’re doing so well. You don’t need to move, do you?”

He shakes his head frantically around your nipple. A furious refute.

“Good. Good boy. Do this for you.”

There’s a moment where he loses himself fully in the taste of you. The sheer mass of your newly-fattened nipples, the way they feel as he pushes against; over them with his cool wet tongue. Soft yet aching. Rubbery. Abundant. Listens to the rain hammering the window.

Then a hand reaches out. Grabs at your clothed waist, palm basking in the body heat; lifting your skirt just a little further up your thighs to gain access to the bud of your swollen clit and smooth the hood up and over. Exposed. Curious as to how far he can go.

When he starts to circle the white-hot flesh you know you have to focus.

This isn’t about you.

And yet he murmurs something under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard properly at first.

“Want to feel you cum around me.”

Astarion can’t meet your eyes as he says it. All sense of grandiloquence he’s ever shown anyone lost behind flush cheeks. Vulnerability.

“Say it again.”

“I want to give to you.”

“You want to give to me, or you want me to give it to you?”

He stops. Looks at you with a bewildered furrow.

“I want you to stop touching me and focus on yourself. Use me, sweetheart. Take your pleasure.”

The furrow remains for a moment or two as he stews in blank thought.

“Talk to me. I can do it, I’m so close already.” He laughs shyly with an eager pulse of his cock.

“You want to spill in me again? Make mummy round once more, sweet one?’

A brisk nod. Desperation deep set as he looks you over.

“It’s okay! You’re allowed to want this, to take it.’ You lean in to his ear once more and bite calmly at the tip.

His eyes screw shut and his lips purse together.

‘I want you to do this.”

And he cums. Hard.

Tries to bounce you on his lap in order to gain some friction in the waves of brutal frustration biting at his core, grunting and wailing as he grabs at whatever of you he can. Hips, ass, thighs; terse and hot.

And you simply coo.

Refusing to let him move you, nor take solace in the friction you so willingly often provide. His abdomen tenses something staccato as he takes what little purchase he can and tries to push into you further.

And then, he begins to weep.

Your hand moves to his hair once more, bringing him in to your chest as he attempts to hump you through his climax.

“There now. Good boy.”

Tears as he finishes. Cold-heavy sobs. Mouth absentmindedly searching for the soft of your neck in the rolling haze and biting. Gnawing. Looking for the pulse point now permanently marked by two bloody spots.

He feels the nod you so freely give and sinks his fangs deep past the skin.

Ruts up with his now softened cock, suckles like a small lamb. The sluice of his spend pooling on his pelvis.

“Good boy. Take what you need, always. I’ve got you.”

The haze passes with each sip from you, blood puddling under his tongue and down his perfect throat. The frustration melts into sheer joy as he hugs you close in small peals of laughter.

“Gods. That was -’

He pauses for one last sip before tilting his head to look at yours.

‘That was phenomenal, love.’

You take a moment to look him over for any signs of discomfort, anything that might indicate he’s putting on a front for you; and there’s nothing. No veil. His eyes are empty in post-orgasmic bliss and he looks so incredibly beautiful in such joy.

‘I’m wholly spent. I really am.”

You laugh at his breathy shakes.

“Mummy is here whenever the urge should strike, darling. You know this.”

He rolls his eyes and grins.

“Oh mother. How could I forget?”

#my writing #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #dadstarion #nsft

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some-bunniii · 1 month

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— self indulgence time, say howdy to my hellaverse oc! [+ a fic]

Kokabiel, one of Hell’s original celebrities and fashion icons [art by mamma_hisa]

I have a 6k word fic that’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile, and i worked long enough on it so i think it deserves some sunlight

i wrote the first chapter to a lucifer x oc story in an AU where Lilith leaves when Charlie is a baby and Kokabiel accidentally becomes her maternal figure, and it was going to be long but then I never touched it again ☠️ she was made originally made for the fic but she’s so gorgeous and mommy i spent days fleshing her out as my main bbyg.

working on a few things so take this for now to get a taste of her and some morningstar love! no romance, just introductions.

“Charlie, please go to sleep” The pearlescent figure next to the small bed begged the toddler, who was trying to scramble out of his grip and away from the covers that were wrapped around her waist.

The man’s platinum-blonde hair was disheveled, dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep that was quite evident on his features as he tiredly pulled the girl back onto the bed, holding her still as she whined against his hands.

His mouth opened in a wide yawn, his shark-like teeth glinting in the soft light that emanated from the bedside lamp next to him. He blinked slowly, trying to rid himself of the exhaustion that was trying to overtake him, his eyelids beginning to droop even as he continued to wrestle his daughter.

Charlie shot her father a nasty glare, brows furrowed as she frowned deeply. The bright red spots that graced the chub of her cheeks lowered as her lips curled downward. They were one of the many features she shared with the pale man before her, including those soft, sun-kissed locks and snow-bathed skin.

She also shared the same tired eyes that met hers sternly, but her mind was too active to allow her body those much-needed hours of rest.

The rest her father, Lucifer Morningstar, also needed.

“I know you’re sleepy, sweetheart! Just lay still so daddy can get some shut-eye too, hm?”

“No!” Charlie whined, lips puckered in distraught as her strength began to wane. Why would she sleep when she could be playing with her stuffed goats instead?! It just wasn’t fair!

“Yes!” Lucifer commanded, before he growled softly and lifted a finger towards the small child, a glint of golden light lit on the tip of his claw as he pressed it softly against Charlie’s forehead.

For a moment it flickered against her pale skin, and Lucifer removed his finger as Charlie froze at the sudden tingling sensation.

Her mouth was in the shape of a small o as she tried to get a look at whatever her father had placed on her, but the only clue in her vision was the twinkle of aurum light. A warmth began to seep into her skin, emanating from the magic blooming across her face.

Like a firework launching into the night sky, the tiny orb shot from her forehead up towards the ceiling, before it burst into a flurry of sparks that glimmered in the darkness, casting the walls with their vibrant hues.

The golden light danced above Charlie’s head, her eyes wide and in awe as the golden sparks began to melt into rippling waves that spiraled across the ceiling.

Lucifer flicked off the bedside light, the room darkening slightly as the magic above basked the room in a subtle warm glow as it pulsed rhythmically.

He still sat beside the bed, hand resting limply against Charlie’s chest as the interest in her eyes soon turned to sleepiness, and her eyelids began to droop.

Lucifer watched with a small smile as a magical display began to lull Charlie into sleep, and it only took a few more minutes before her face relaxed into a peaceful expression and her breathing swallowed.

Roughling rubbing a hand down his face with a sigh, Lucifer stood from the floor. His fuzzy pink robe drooped from his shoulders just enough to expose his bare, finely chiseled chest.

Quietly, he tip-toed across the bedroom, stepping over dolls, stuffed animals, and other trinkets that littered the floor. As long as he was careful, he wouldn’t risk waking the child.

Lucifer’s fingers wrapped around the door handle, before he waved his hand in the air, and the golden light dispersed, showering the room in shadows once more.

Cracking open the door just a tad, he slipped into the hallway. Lucifer’s back hit the door’s solid, oak frame as he exhaled a sigh of relief. The fallen angel felt like he could slide down onto the plush red carpet and hibernate right there, but he was the King of Hell, he had too much self-respect for that.

Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, Lucifer began to drag his feet down the hall, fatigue gnawing at his mind as he passed by the large paintings that hung upon the dark red walls, a perfect backdrop to the fair-skinned figures that posed elegantly inside the gold-framed portraits.

A man, his apple-red cheeks practically brushing against the edges of his face as he smiled brightly. A woman stood tall beside him, a dark purple dress hugging her curved figure as she posed regally. Her fingers entwined with her counterpart, their intimacy evident.

Lucifer would take that down, eventually. It only ever reminded him of painful memories, of that violet, sultry gaze through which she would send him as they basked in the warmth of the large fireplace in the large lounge in their castle.

Wine glasses emptied again and again as the King listened to her gentle humming, her fingers laced with his as she pulled him closer. Her lips left wet, sloppy kisses against his chin. The faint trail of black lipstick as her mouth connected with his in a passionate embrace of body and soul, intertwined.

Lilith, the previous Queen of Hell. Lucifer’s ex-wife, Charlie’s mother.

How long had she been gone now? Lucifer knew the exact day, he practically memorized the minute and hour when she left. When Lilith had sent him one last look from the open front door, her gaze unreadable through the black shades on her face, her honey-colored hair flowing like water around her figure as the two lovers locked eyes for the final time.

“Goodbye, Lou,” Lilith had whispered, her voice like silk against his ears even in such an anguished moment. Strands of hair covered her features as she spoke, shielding her expression as she turned her head, her back facing the fallen angel as she stepped through the threshold.

Out of his home, out of his world.

And, Charlie’s too. It’s hard explaining to a child that their mommy went on a very, very long vacation. He’d have the courage to tell her… eventually. Except, that meant she might one day blame him, too.

What could Lilith have been feeling, happiness, sorrow, anger? Lucifer would never know, he had tried so desperately to even understand why she had left in the first place. Had there been signs? An argument of some kind he had forgotten? What had he done wrong, that his first love and the mother of his child, would leave him to care for Charlie and the realm, all alone?

It was Lilith who held most of the influence when it came to the lower-classed demons, her words and songs enlightening the residents of Hell, cultivating the realm like a garden as she watered the needy and uprooted those with dark intentions like invasive weeds.

To the people of Hell, Lucifer was the epitome of complete, ultimate power. The embodiment of pride, and the reminder of who would always have control.

He was rarely seen in public, especially in his own Ring, full of the very demons he despised the most. Sure, he had his covers on magazines and face plastered all over LuLu World, but that was where it ended.

Instead, the King kept his duties strictly to those most loyal and most powerful. The rest of the Deadly Sins, the Ars Goetia family, and once in a while joining on an overlord meeting.

As long as they understood who not to cross, the safety and security of his family would never be at risk, if one could even try and pose any threat to one of the first creations. The Morningstar that shone before Lilith, before Earth, before everything.

In all honesty, Lucifer didn’t really do… anything, when it came to his subjects.

It was Lilith whose appearance was imprinted into the minds of her subjects through her many concerts and powerful political influence. It was she who had given them the confidence to defy Heaven, to stand against their exterminations that plagued the Pride Ring once a year.

Now, Lucifer was left to hold up face, to keep the realm from divulging into chaos, as the stability of the hierarchy of Hell slipped slowly and slowly through his fingers. No matter how many demons he could smite with the snap of his fingers, the sinful on Earth would always be sent to him as punishment, for the both of them.

He needed to keep them all in line, as respectfully as possible.

Which meant Lucifer was alone to take care of Charlie, who was insanely active and needy for attention, like any demon her age. She couldn’t stay out of trouble, and Lucifer had to juggle her, his own volatile emotions that had been causing him to skip more and more meals, and the piling events that always filled his days this time of the year.

The annual gatherings with the Ars Goetia that he had to attend symbiotically to keep their unwavering loyalty, the meetings to make sure the rest of the Sins were keeping their rings afloat, and flaunting a little bit of his power to the Overlords in Pentagram City that liked to stir trouble in his own ring.

Hell needed a future so that his daughter would have something to rule over when she came of age and wisdom. No matter how he tried to push the thoughts of his little girl growing up and leaving him, sooner or later, the fledgling would have to leave the nest.

Lucifer could see it, clear as day, his spirit and creative spark deep in her gaze when she listened to his many ideas and visions of what could have been and what surely will be. The way she giggled quietly as he presented her toys of his creation, her soft gaze looking at each little trinket with adoration and inspiration.

If she was anything like the man Lucifer used to be, that meant she would no doubt rebel against his views of Hell and his subjects, and that scared the King.

Lucifer continued to pass more portraits, dimly lit by the warm glow of the wall lamps dotting the hallway. Pictures of his daughter, the other Sins, and the grand opening of LuLu World. The final portrait next to his bedroom door was a small painting, an almost-perfect recreation of the only Heavenly creation he still held close to his heart.

The Morning Star.

The large ball of bright, white light illuminated against the oily-black backdrop that was also speckled with smaller, glittering stars. Some shone in vibrant, multi-colored hues that lit the painted night sky with a soft celestial light.

Except, none of those stars shone as bright as his star, the star specifically created for him by a face whose familiarity had been long lost in time. A face that still gnawed at the edge of his mind every time he stared at that painting, those long-buried memories slowly crawling from the depths of his soul.

Maybe, one day, he’d have the strength to remember.

When the door to his room was pushed open softly, Lucifer’s eyes hit the digital clock on his nightstand. It was one in the afternoon, and Charlie would only nap for a few hours before she awakened with renewed energy.

The toddler has grown restless lately, anxious to see a new face, to take a peek outside of the confines of their large home. No matter how many magical displays Lucifer presented the child, she always grew bored, and that frown was becoming more permanent on her lips as the days passed.

It must be tiring waking up and practically seeing your reflection almost every minute of your day.

There was no one Lucifer could trust in the presence of his daughter, though. No one he could see fit enough to care for her, not even himself. He struggled, being a father, for his little apple pie.

Parenting was not easy, especially when you had no idea what you were doing. It was especially hard when you were too afraid to upset your daughter with stern words and an authoritative voice, which meant the toddler ran the house.

The most powerful being in Hell would have to put his foot down to his little girl… eventually. After this quick nap, maybe.

The large bed, much too big for only one person, beckoned Lucifer with an irresistible invitation. His legs moved with renewed strength before he fell face flat into the soft, cool duvet that welcomed him kindly. His muscles relaxed instantly, his feet dangling limply from the end of the bed as he finally opened his mind to the idea of sleep.

Slowly, Lucifer’s consciousness began to ebb, and his snores echoed around the room as his mind stilled into blackness.

What he wasn’t aware of, as the fallen angel sunk deeper into the plush, red blankets, was that the small bed on the opposite side of the hall was empty. Its previous inhabitant was currently tottling towards the door to his workshop that had been slightly ajar just across from her bedroom.

With wide eyes, Charlie scanned the room as she poked her head through the crack in the doorway, her little button nose twitching as she drank in all the little knick-knacks and prototypes of fantastical ideas that would never see the light of day.

It was dimly lit, save for the faint red glow pouring in from the large circular window above the desk across the room. There was nothing of interest on its smooth, wooden surface to the tiny awe-struck eyes. Instead, it was the soft, chromatic light that caught her gaze on a low shelf right next door.

Floating elegantly above a short, circular pedestal were seven glowing rings, stacked above each other a few inches apart with zero gravity. Each held a unique hue, from green to pink, as they lured Charlie with their ethereal glow. If she could lift her little body just slightly onto the chair against the desk, she could reach them.

What could they be, so pretty just floating like that? They looked just like glow-stick necklaces! Would Daddy think she was pretty if she put them on and showed him?

With a large smile and slightly unsteady steps, Charlie crossed the room, her tiny feet pitter-pattering against the soft carpet as she beelined for the colorful display. When she reached the wooden chair, her chin barely grazed against the cushioned seating as she placed her palms gingerly against its plush surface.

With a mighty heave and a sharp inhale of breath, the toddler began kicking her legs wildly as she tried gaining momentum to hoist herself onto the chair.

Charlie sputtered for breath as her grip loosened due to her sweaty palms, but then her leg hooked onto the seat railing, which gave her momentarily support to pull herself farther up until her knee grazed the top of the cushion.

Placing one arm underneath her for support, the toddler reached the other out towards the ring. Her fingers splayed out, the whites of her eyes glowing red as they reflected the ring’s vibrant hue.

Charlie held her breath, beginning to tip over just as her index finger grazed the very edge of the ring’s surface. Red energy shot down her spine, sending her hair to stick out with static

The girl barely got a squeak in before she vanished in a burst of lightning that barely resonated a sound as it zapped her away.

The red ring flickered once, faltering above the rest for only a moment, before it stilled into place.

And the room was empty once more.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀🤍🤍🤍

On the outskirts of the Pride Ring was a small, white villa nestled against a rocky cliff face, surrounded by tall, black fencing that ended in sharp, spiked ends. Purple magic sizzled off of the tips, a clear warning to anyone who wanted to enter: They would not be welcome.

Inside the powerful barrier, was a large garden filled with a surreal combination of beauty and decay. Vibrant flowers bloomed amidst twisted, blackened trees that seemed to reach out with gnarled branches like skeletal fingers.

The floral scent that wafted from the blossoms permeated the air, mixed with the slight tinge of sulfur of Hell’s odor.

Nestled among the dark purple bushes and other hellish flora, were tall snow-white sculptures of men and women, their stone eyes staring lifelessly across the garden’s expanse.

A diverse cast of figures, short and brawny, too tall and lanky. Each unique from the rest.

Except, for their facial expressions, in which they each held a similar look of terror. As if they had been frozen in place during a time of anguish, of a terrifying encounter that left them to rot inside their pretty stone casks.

They were positioned across the lawn in a perfect, meticulous manner. As if someone spent day in and day out holed up inside the black fencing, with nothing to do but continuously cultivate their blooming garden.

One particular statue, which held the image of a goat-like man, staring up at the sky as if in one final prayer, was currently being inspected by a gracefully poised woman standing before it. Painted on his frozen cheek, was a small black lipstick-stained kiss.

From a distance, you’d think she was human. The silky, black dress that hugged her curves was reminiscent of ancient Greek fashion. Her shoulders were fully exposed, garment held up by a high neckline that tickled at her throat as she leisured, a glass of alcohol in her hand.

Her rich, deep brown skin stood out among the pearlescent, marble statues. Practically shimmering against the red hues that basked her home with the midday light.

An ethereal radiance seemed to seep from her skin, giving her silhouette a faint, golden glow that made her skin shimmer like light on morning dew.

Her hairstyle was similar to a ponytail, a partial updo that sat at the top of her head like a bun, before the long, white locs cascaded down her back.Along with two large strands that framed the sides of her angled face.

The big differential between her and a woman strolling down the street? The horns that graced the top of her head. They curved to end just above her forehead, a black crown that cemented her place as another resident of Hell.

Travel a bit farther down her figure, and you’d find those large, white tendrils of hair that swished as she turned slightly had a funny texture to them that most would mistake for thick braids.

Except, braids aren’t made of scales, are they?

At her ankles, a multitude of snakeheads stuck out their tongues, tasting the air as their beady red eyes scanned across the grassy scape.

They twisted around each other, curling into themselves to keep a tighter form as they wriggled against the woman’s back, interest peaked at their surroundings as their tongues flicked in and out.

Once in a while, a head would spot some small, hellish critter skittering across the yard looking for food. And, before one could blink, its jaws would open wide as it shot forward, pulling slightly at the woman’s scalp as it clamped its maw around the tiny creature.

It would slink back near her ankles, trying to gulp down the tasty delicacy as the other snakes around it poked and prodded for a taste. They hissed and snapped at one another, fighting for a morsel.

The woman turned her head, shooting the reptilian mass a glare as they wrapped around her legs. Milky white pools met multiple red, glowing eyes as they slunk back slightly at her scolding, giving time for the one snake to finish gobbling up his snack without fuss.

The two smaller serpents that framed her face weren’t as long as the rest of their siblings, instead reaching to her breasts as they lazily rested on the fabric of her dress.

Tenderly, the woman lifted an arm, and her shorter serpent curled delicately around her hand, until its head rested gingerly on her palm.

Gently, she brushed a thumb along its snout, and it hissed softly with pleasure, its eyes closing shut as it nestled farther into her warm skin.

“Jameson, another margarita, please.”

“Yes, Lady Kokabiel,” a small imp butler bowed, his cropped, curly white hair bouncing slightly as he lowered his head.

Turning, the imp trotted towards a shaded area underneath a weeping willow tree, its low-hanging branches that grazed against his shoulders were dark red, shielding the large mixture of alcohol from the heat of the day as he poured another glass of the blue liquid.

When Jameson returned, Kokabiel handed him the empty glass before plucking the margarita from his grasp. She sent him an appreciative smile, her white freckles sparkling like starlight as they curved with her lips.

She swirled the alcohol in the glass, watching the small vortex for a few moments, before lifting it to her lips and taking a sip.

That’s how Kokabiel spent most of her days in Hell, nowadays. Getting a buzz off of fruity liquor and fawning over her snakes, as she lounged in her garden with no one to bother her.

It had been a long time since she left the spotlight, previously a fashion and sex icon, Kokabiel had flaunted her good looks and curves to promote all kinds of products and events, dominating the biggest runways. She even starred in a couple of A-list movies, growing her until she reached the peak of stardom.

Kokabiel had earned her place at the top of the pyramid, right next to many older, successful celebrities in the industry. Lilith was a big name, even bigger than Koko’s with how beautiful of a singer she was, pulling in fans like a siren with her honeyed voice.

Even with such cutthroat competition, Kokabiel never felt that she was fading out of the audience’s vision with how fast her mailbox would fill with writings from her fans

Fanart, declarations of love written in sparkly pink ink, and invitations to large parties and prestigious events. Even now, she still received fan mail here or there, although they were usually left unanswered.

She had never wanted to retire in the first place, her plans for the future only confining to grow bigger by the day. Until one night, during a party hosted by the overlords of the city, was Kokabiel confronted with an ultimatum.

“I know your secret,” he had smiled devilishly. That flat-faced, know-it-all smirk the man sent her one evening, as he confronted her in the darkness of a hallway.

“What secret?” Kokabiel laughed dryly, shooting him a question glare.

“Oh, you know,” his pixelated eyes lifted to the darkened sky through the ceiling-high windows nearby, Heaven’s white glow cascading through the panes, “The one about where you really came from, not the Lust Ring lie you like to spin to the audience.”

The alcoholic buzz in Kokabiel’s system faded in an instant, and her snakes coiled against her back, hissing loudly as she shot him a deathly glare. It had seemed he had chosen to give the news from a safe distance, too far for her snakes to reach. A smart man.

How did he find out, and what did he plan to do with that information?

That smile of his had only widened further, giddy at the fact he had her in his grasp. He could pull the strings, keep her away from his industry. This secret, that he had only stumbled upon accidently, was going to make sure she stayed gone.

Kokabiel had never caused trouble, never flaunted her power to rise up Hell’s hierarchy, never made any public displays of how easily she could rip demon’s souls out of their bodies if they got too close.

Nor did any demon claim to be owned by her, as they were too busy being decorative pieces to tell their tale.

Kokabiel’s presence was a mystery to her powerful counterparts. Her aura was too clean, too ethereal to be a sinner or an average hellborn. But, she had never actually said the words ‘Yes, I’m from Heaven.’

She didn’t need to, anymore. After that little conversation, the talking TV had made a deal. Keep that pretty face away from the cameras, and his lips were sealed for eternity.

Kokabiel had announced her retirement a day later, not answering a single question about why or where she was going. Those cameras and microphones that had gotten shoved in her face received no words as received hurried into her limo.

How could Kokabiel, someone whose face was once plastered onto entire sides of buildings, fall so hard because of some up-and-coming overlord with the intent to control the masses? She’d had bigger spats with the paparazzi on the side of the street than this!

Now, she didn’t have to worry about those annoying flies anymore, with their constant flashes that always anguished her snakes and the peppering of questions.

Finally away from any prying eyes and those awful, bright flashes that plagued every step Kokabiel took out in public. Here, she could do and say anything, without someone waiting to jump at the opportunity to sell a shitty, non-contextual picture to the highest tabloid bidder.

Solitude gets boring, though. Even with her snakes to crawl over and her garden to tend, one could only vent to the marble figures for so long before they felt their sanity slipping.

That was until an imp had squeezed his way through the thick pickets of her fence, those short white curls singed at the tips from the magic that stung him.

Whatever was chasing the small man was more dangerous as he continued to beeline toward the bushes that could shelter him.

The imp had turned his head, catching the sight of his pursuers as they reached the fence. Three burly, tall shark demons roared as his tiny frame sped off.

That only led him to meet horns first into the stomach of the owner of the fence, and the land he was currently trespassing on. With an oomph he landed on hit, gaze darting at the being standing above him.

Kokabiel had quirked a brow, unamused as she wiped the dirt from the front of her dress. It wasn’t until one shark demon rammed into the fence, did she lifted her head and a dark frown played on her lips.

He had seen it, the power behind her gaze, when the loan sharks blew up one of her favorite rose bushes as they broke through the gates.

“How dare you,” she had hissed, her white gaze boring into the thugs, glowing with a much fiercer intensity as she bared her teeth, “Get out!”

The imp had flinched, but Kokabiel’s anger was not directed at him as she stepped right above his quivering body, and he could feel the soft grazing of scales against his raised arms before he turned to watch the woman continue to meet the loan sharks halfway.

“Not without our little friend there,” one sneered, his teeth glinting as he gave the woman a silent warning of his strength.

“Unfortunate that you aren’t the one making the demands,” she retorted, putting herself between the sharks and their prey.

With a loud, collective hiss, the bodies of her snakes lifted, encircling her head, and they opened their maws with extended fangs, displaying their own grim warning with bright red eyes.

The aggressor didn’t like that so much, as he opened he pulled out a large, glowing steel-laced ax and charged right for the duo. The imp squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the killing blow.

The Kokabiel’s pupils shifted from that starlit glint into black pools of emptiness, and the air sizzled with a powerful energy right as the shark-faced man swung his weapon to connect with her shoulder. At the last moment, the fallen angel ducked and backpedaled, right as one of her snakes lashed forward, jaw wide to reveal twin, deadly fangs and struck the demon right in the eye.

The scales of her snakes pulsed with a golden shimmer, and the demon’s mouth opened in a painful scream as his feet took on an ivory color, hardening to stone.

The other sharks near him tensed, the rage on their faces instantly draining as their comrade's feet cemented to the ground, that stone plague creeping farther up his waist as he writhed in place, clutching his eye as black blood seeped from the large gash.

They took a step back, then another, and another as the only blubber left on the struggling man was his large head. His teeth gnashed in mixture of anger and pain, but his good eye only showed fear, right as it was glazed over by white stone.

After that, the rest of the loan sharks had fled, huffing and puffing as they tumbled through the broken fence.

Then, the snake that had bit the demon began to convulse, writhing with an open maw like it had something stuck in its throat as black blood from its victim landed on the grass below.

Like some hellish form of mitosis, the scales of the serpent began to stretch and split, revealing a mirrored version of the reptile that began to take form and separate from its twin.

With wide eyes, the imp watched the two snakes finally , this new, fresh face shaking its head in confusion, before the rest of the scaly follicles began to surround and inspect their new friend with flicking tongues.

Kokabiel only watched the demons scurry off, before she sighed and adjusted her dress. Pivoting, she turned to face the imp, her arms crossed as she regarded him curiously.

The scrawny demon gulped as he stared wide-eyed. Was he next?

“What’s your name?”

“W-what?” The imp replied hoarsely.

“Your name. You have one, don’t you?”

“it’s… Jameson, madam,”

“Thank you, and I assume they’ll kill you if you try and go back into the city?”

Jameson nodded slowly, rising tentatively from the ground to look up at the woman.

“Well, it seems you are out of options, Jameson,” Kokabeil had quirked a brow, a small smile on her lips, “but, it appears I’m in need of a butler. What do you say to free room and board in exchange for your services? I’ll let you keep your soul, I promise.”

He had looked at her, suspicion in his gaze as his eyes darted to the snakes that coiled around her, shooting him hungry glares. How could someone with power like that be so… nice? If it were any overlord back in the city, they’d have taken his soul and his free will.

But, the offer didn’t sound too bad, and she didn’t look crazy. Just… lonely. Maybe, staying here would be so bad.

That’s how Jameson had begun working for the retired celebrity he now called master. Weirdly, he didn’t do many things a butler would do.

Sure, he cleaned and was at her beck and call most of the time, but Kokabiel did most of the things on her own. She cooked, tended to her garden which was slowly growing by the day, and kept up on the juicy rumors that circled the city.

Usually, Jameson spent the day as entertainment for her. As an ex-clown in the circus, Jameson had a few tricks up his sleeve he’d showcase for the fallen angel, and she seemed to eat it up with amusement.

Kokabiel’s thoughts towards him? He wasn’t exactly sure. Obviously, she was much kinder to him than anyone else he’d worked for, but her zipped lips on anything related to her past or what kind of demon she was made him unsure.

There were times she got… sad. That was the best way to put it. Jameson never saw her cry or have a tantrum, but sometimes she’d get so sullen even her snakes seemed rather depressed.

And, once a year there was a day that Kokabiel would lock herself away in her room, and would not call for him at all the entire day. Not even for food to feed her snakes. What could make her so depressed for that one day? A lost loved one? Her death day, perhaps?

She rarely mentioned her influential era as one of the largest fashion icons and models Hell had seen, although she didn’t need to with her collection of the seductive, sultry gazes she on the many ripped out pages of magazine covers she had framed on her walls.

The few times he did go into the city, heavily disguised to run errands for Kokabiel, he’d pick up the newest tabloids or fill her ears with the latest gossip circling the entertainment industry.

“That’s what that old fart is up to now?” She had chuckled about an old acquaintance as she moisturized her snakes with a scale-safe lotion, “He used to be an A-list actor, and now he’s selling retinol cream? Ha!”

The snakes had hissed with a chuckle-like sound, mirroring their mother as she coddled them. They still made Jameson nervous, even after all these years, they had a mind of their own, each individual one it appeared. But, they all seemed to have the same thoughts when it came to him: hungry.

Watching the snake finish its snack made Jameson a little uneasy as Kokabiel turned away from the statue and she took another sip of her drink.

“I’m getting tired, Jameson. I think I'm going to go inside, maybe take a nice, warm bath to relax.”

“Would you like me to get the water heated?”

“No, thanks. I can do it myself.” She said, beginning to walk towards the patio doors.

Jameson’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, at the very moment the statue began to sizzle with a powerful energy that even made his curls stand on end.

Red sparks erupted from the front of the statue, right on the pedestal it was standing on which raised a few feet in the air. Jameson could only stare in disbelief as the sparks began to swirl like a vortex, until they burst and sprayed like confetti and a figure materialized an inch off the marble surface.

The tiny stranger landed with a quiet oomf, before she stood on her feet with a slight wobble, her little hands held out in front of her for balance.

Jameson’s eyes flew open at the sight. It was a child! Her platinum-blonde hair disheveled, and her large eyes were darting around the area with confusion and fear.

When her eyes landed on him, she took a tiny step back, her eyes growing wide as she stared nervously at the new face.

“M-m-madam!” Jameson finally croaked, his finger pointed towards the girl with a slight quiver as he tried to get the words out.

“What..?” Kokabiel quirked an eyebrow at his stammering figure. Jameson’s eyes never left the strange girl, and she slowly followed his gaze to the statue.

The toddler and the fallen angel locked eyes, before Kokabiel’s mouth fell open and she stood there silently for a few moments. Charlie’s eyes widened, and she pulled her arms to herself in comfort at the shocked faces.

“What…. is this?” Kokabiel finally spoke slowly, eyes trained on the little being standing awkwardly on the statue. Her snakes lifted their heads slightly, tongues flicking the air as they tried to get a scent of the girl.

“It’s a child, madam,” Jameson whispered.

“I know that! But, how did it get here? What’s the point of having a magical fence if everybody can just walk right through it?!”

“She didn’t get through the fence, madam!” Jameson squeaked, shaking his head furiously as he explained, “She just… appeared here, like out of thin air! I saw it all!”

How could that be possible? There’s no way a child could harness such strong magic. It must be some kind of illusion, trickery by a powerful demon trying to use her empathy to get the best of her!

“You!” Kokabiel pointed an accusatory finger at Charlie, taking a small step forward “How did you get in my garden?”

“Um…” Charlie started, but her words—of what little she had—died in her throat. She only took a step backward, trying to escape from the attention

“You’re trespassing on private property!” Kokabiel continued to stalk forward, she was only a few feet away now, her snakes becoming antsy as they curled around her, hissing softly.

“Oh…”

“Who are you?”

Charlie took another step back, her hair grazing the leg of the marble figure. Where was she?

“…Char—eep!”

Charlie’s heel hit the foot of the statue, and she tripped, her back hitting its leg as she slid awkwardly sideways. Her tiny fingers grasped desperately at the smooth, white stone, but to no avail, as she tumbled right off the edge of the pedestal.

Jameson squeaked in terror, before throwing his hands over his eyes to protect him from any grisly sight. He heard Kokabiel gasp, but no sickening thump or terrible crack of bones meeting the firm ground.

Slowly, he splayed his fingers and lowered his hands, his eyes widening. He stood there gobsmacked at the scene, mouth agape in silence.

Yes, Charlie had been unable to save herself, falling helplessly in the air…. right into the arms of a shocked Kokabiel.

Kokabiel stared wide-eyed at her own reaction to the split second of instinct that propelled her to catch the child. Charlie was tightly secured in her hands, being held at arm's-length as far as possible.

Charlie blinked, before her eyes met those glowing white pupils with a slowly growing smile. She had one hand wrapped around the wrist of the taller woman, as she lifted up her free hand and sent a small, shy wave.

“Hi!”

[art i commissioned for the chapter by ruspettaa]

woahhh nice little(ha!) introduction to my oc, with some cute art of charlie! If I were to ever continue writing this fic, the relationship would be more focused on charlies than lucifers, at least at first. Slow-burn/co-parenting kinda thing bc Koko can def exist without being a relationship with our handsome king. she’s sipping margaritas free as a bird rn.

kokabiel is a loosely based version of the biblical figure with the same name who created the stars and constellations. One of the reasons she fell was for teaching humanity astronomy. A few others fell with her too, but she instead melded into demon society instead of her heavenly counterparts.

the only people that know of her true identity are Hell’s royalty, and Stolas probably has a signed autograph of hers somewhere around his office seeing as his duties are closely bound with her creations.

she’s a business woman too, though i am trying to figure out whether she sells snake-skinned accessories as a fashion line or diluted venom that’s a psychedelic drug which makes you feel all euphoric and stuff. l

I also have no idea who her voice claim is 😭 i imagine it being smooth and buttery like Beyoncé, but i’m sure there’s other voices similar to hers that I haven’t found yet.

i’ve got a comm [by wkyarts51243] in the works that will be styled closer to the show, so here’s a sneak peak i guess ☠️ I’d say her height is slightly shorter than charlie (not counting her horns lol), but I haven’t settled yet.

i have more art (one of her and luci hehe), which i might share either. but you can have the full version of the first art pic, with an extra piece from the same artist 🤭

also making this post so i can cement her backstory and stop changing it up ☠️ it’s its writing officially now yall

anyway, enough rambling, back to writing!! have a great weekend 🤍

#kokabiel 🤍#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #helluva boss oc #look at her so yummy #a literal goddess #hazbin hotel au #hellaverse #lucifer morningstar x oc #that one fic forgot #yes her snakes are souls #they have the same personality as before but cuter

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yarnandink · 2 months

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Okay! Ten Twelve Stitch Twist baby blanket is bound off, woven in, washed and now drying, and I'm very proud of it and very happy to have it finished.

Changes to the pattern in this version:

cast on 12 stitches instead of 10

used a Backward Loop cast-on instead of Long Tail, because that’s a bit stretchier for me

worked two extra ridges for each pie wedge for the starting circle (e.g. worked the w&t after 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 stitches, then back down)

worked an extra “k2, w&t, k2” ridge after completing the last/eighth pie wedge, and before knitting the full row

used a Lace bind-off, instead of the normal pass over bind-off, because again it’s stretchier for me

bound off to the last two stitches, because I’m working a selvedge stitch and wanted to keep that consistent

therefore skipped the knit front and back ridge from the pattern

worked a w&t ridge after each increase to an even number of stitches from 4 stitches onward (so the next ridge after increasing to 4, 6, 8, and 10 stitches)

increased back to 12 stitches instead of 10

used ssk instead of k2tog for the decrease in the final spiral arm.

I was mildly tempted to work an i-cord border, but ultimately decided not to because a) I'd already used much more yarn than I'd planned, and b) I wanted this blanket done and ready to gift to the colleague I knit it for, before she goes on maternity leave.

(Also c) it would have taken ages and been boring and fiddly and not worth the effort.)

Yarn is Multicoloured Sock by Bendigo Woollen Mills, in the Blue Jeans colourway. I knit the thing on 3mm needles.

The finished fabric is light, soft and drapey, but beautifully warm (I overheated a couple of times with this project on my lap, especially during our late summer heat waves), and I hope will serve the mother and kiddo for many years!

#knitting #knitterlyfe #finished object #my knitting #pattern by frankie brown

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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Two Lines, Two Idiots Chapter Five: Will We Ever Learn? We've Been Here Before

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Twin Brother JJ! x Maybank! Reader, rafe Cameron! x maybank!reader (all over 18)

TW:pregnancy, mild violence, mention of a gun, Ward being Ward, angst

Summary: Ward is willing to take things further than you thought, and it sends Rafe spiraling.

Word Count:2.4k

Two weeks later, you're standing in a local boutique eying racks of maternity clothes. Despite only being thirteen weeks, carrying twins is already proving difficult and your jeans have started leaving indents in your belly.

Rafe gave you his credit card and sent you on your merry way, insisting that you have a day of relaxation filled with shopping and a manicure. You'd resisted at first, but as you browse the jean section with freshly painted nails and a Starbucks drink in hand, you're glad you agreed.

It's the most chill you've been in weeks, and the reality of your pregnancy is finally setting in as you pick up a pair of ripped skinny jeans with a large spandex waist meant to grow with you through the different stages.

However, all that comes crashing down when you hear someone clear their throat and turn around to see none other than Ward Cameron standing a few feet behind you. Your feet instinctively carry you backward, your mouth setting into a hard line as you feel the tension reclaim its place in your shoulders.

"What do you want?"

Your voice is cold as you stare him down, and you can't help but wonder whether this is a coincidence or if he sought you out. The look in his eyes leads you to believe it's the latter, and you stand up a little straighter.

"I just want to talk."

You scoff and roll your eyes and turn back to what you were doing, ready to be done with the conversation.

"You never want to just talk, Ward. If that was the case then you wouldn't wait until Rafe isn't around."

You see him tense at the venom dripping from your words and suppress the urge to smirk in his face, satisfied that you're able to get under his skin so easily.

"I wanted to propose a solution to our little…problem."

He chooses his words carefully, but as soon as they hit your ears your entire body freezes and you slowly turn back to him.

"Excuse me? We don't have a problem. Rafe and I are together and having a baby. That doesn't concern you in the slightest."

Your eyes darken as you take a menacing step forward, all semblance of civility washed down the drain. How dare he?

"I think we both know it does, Y/N. I know it's too late for my preferred method, so instead I'll propose another solution. I give you enough money to take care of the two of you for life, and you disappear."

Your eyes narrow into thin slits as you laugh humorlessly, and Ward remains steadfast in his place.

"You think Rafe would ever allow that?"

He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest, barking out a short laugh.

"You won't be telling him."

You purse your lips and nod, noting how Ward seems to think he's winning.

"You're right because there won't be anything to tell. Go fuck yourself."

You spin on your heel, ready to just go home, and Ward's hand grabs your wrist with bruising force. Your eyes dart down to where he's touching you before slowly raising back up to look him in the eyes.

"Let go of me."

His grip only tightens and you manage to hide the small wince it causes.

"Y/N, you don't want to fuck with me."

You snatch your hand away and take a stride forward, now nearly nose-to-nose with the man.

"Is that a threat? Does it piss you off that you're gonna be related to a Mayba-"

You're cut off with a harsh slap, your head snapping to the side at the force of the impact. You turn your head to face him slowly, a wicked smirk overtaking your features as you laugh in his face.

"You hit like a bitch."

You storm off before he can do anything else, on a war path to find Rafe. Ward has wrongly assumed that you won't tell him, but he has another thing coming. His little stunt proves that he's clearly underestimated you, and you can't wait to show him just who he's messing with.

Much to your dismay, your boyfriend is busy working for the next couple of hours and you have to wait to fill him in. When you finally reach the chateau, everybody is sitting outside laughing and you take a moment to compose yourself.

Somewhere along the way, you started crying; the weight of what just happened really hitting you. When you're satisfied, you climb out and start toward the house only to be stopped by John B calling your name.

"Sunshine! Come sit with us!"

You sigh heavily, resigning yourself to your fate as you clamber over toward your best friend. He notices your swollen eyes and splotchy cheeks immediately, leaping to his feet to meet you halfway. JJ follows suit, stopping right beside him as they both stand in front of you and take in your appearance.

"What the hell happened?"

JJ's voice is a combination of concern and rage, and your eyes study a blade of freshly cut grass. It doesn't occur to you that there's a crimson imprint of a hand on your face until your brother grabs your chin and turns your head to the side to get a better look.

"Who did this to you?"

His voice is almost unrecognizable as he asks, and it sends you into another fit of tears. They lead you over to a chair and sit beside you, staring intently while they wait for an explanation.

You give it to them, telling them all about your altercation with Ward through a tight throat and occasional hiccups. Their faces are beet red by the time you finish speaking, and you know the only thing on their mind is murder.

For your sake, they don't say anything about it; instead offering up hugs and reassurances that everything is going to be okay. You all know it's empty promises; even if they don't do anything you're well aware that Rafe will.

By the time he shows up, they've managed to get you giggling and have taken your mind off the events of the day. When JJ sees Rafe, he excuses himself and all but runs over to him. Your boyfriend is clearly confused with pinched brows and a skeptical gleam in his eyes as your brother approaches him.

"We need to talk."

That catches his attention, the grave tone of JJ's voice sending a chill up his spine. His mind immediately assumes the worst and his eyes glance over the blonde's shoulder to land on your figure.

"What's going on? Is she okay?"

JJ nods his head to the side and steps out of earshot with Rafe following hot on his tail.

"We need to do something about your dad."

Rafe's scowl only deepens at the sudden statement, and JJ can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"My dad?"

JJ nods, his hand coming up to fidget with the bill of his backward cap.

"He threatened Y/N, and he-"

Your brother cuts himself off, almost unable to bring himself to say the words. They taste like acid on his tongue, and he knows as soon as he tells Rafe that he's going to set something into motion that he can't stop.

"He what?"

Rafe is already fuming at the mere idea that his father even talked to you, let alone threatened you. He has no idea what JJ is going to say next, but he has an inkling it's going to bring out that dark side he tries so hard to control.

"He slapped her. Hard. She had a handprint on her face when she got home. He tried to offer her money to leave, and when she said no he hit her."

Now, JJ has seen the violent side of Rafe on more than one occasion and it never elicited any type of fear. However, as he watches your boyfriend's pupils dilate until they consume his irises and sees his jaw clench hard enough to break teeth, he finds himself moving a couple of feet backward.

He's never seen Rafe this furious, and he wonders if telling him was the right move.

He eyes your boyfriend wearily as he stares off into space, his face turning a deep shade of red as his hands clench at his sides. Rafe turns around and races to his truck with heavy footsteps, and JJ calls out after him.

"Bro, where are you going?"

Rafe doesn't falter as he rips open the car door and leaps inside, responding just before he speeds off.

"To handle this."

The entire drive to Tannyhill Rafe is seeing red in a whole new manner, his rage burning his veins and consuming every single thought. He's gotten into it with his dad over a lot of things in the past; knockdown drag-out fights with the man are nothing new to him.

However, this time it has to do with you. Not only your safety, but the safety of his children, and he doesn't plan on giving Ward the chance to explain. His tires squeal as he skids to a stop in the driveway, and he reaches into the glove box.

His hands find the cool metal of the weapon he was after and he grabs it before jumping down and stalking toward the front door. He doesn't bother tucking it into his pants the way he normally would; he sees no point in hiding it.

Rose jumps when the door crashes open to reveal a murderous Rafe and dread fills her body. She tried to stop Ward; she really did. She isn't any happier about the situation than he is, but she would never go as far as he did.

She doesn't say anything as Rafe blows past her on a mission; she just leans her head down on her hands and prays.

Your boyfriend finds his father with ease, his feet carrying him directly to the man's office that he's always in. Ward's eyes meet his as soon as he steps across the threshold and he moves to stand.

He freezes halfway out of his seat when he realizes he's staring down the barrel of a gun, and Rafe makes a motion for him to sit.

"Stay there. We're going to have a little chat."

Ward does as he's told; he may be headstrong, but he's not stupid. Rafe is a wild card on a good day, but after what he pulled earlier he knows his son will pull the trigger.

He had honestly believed you would be too afraid to tell Rafe and he's learning the hard way that you're a force to be reckoned with just the same as him.

"I don't want to hear what you have to say. You're going to sit there silently and fucking listen."

Rafe screams the last two words and Ward involuntary flinches at the sheer volume.

"You're not going to come anywhere near my girlfriend or my child again, or I swear to god I will put a bullet right between your eyes. I will not allow you to terrorize them the way you did me. You're so hellbent on keeping the Cameron name pure, that you would lay your hands on a pregnant woman. As if having that name is a badge of honor. As if carrying that title doesn't make you prone to being a piece of shit."

Rafe's voice is eerily calm, and that scares Ward even more as he continues.

"I don't want my child to carry the burden of being a part of this family. God forbid they turn out like we did, all because of a stupid fucking legacy you made up. I'm going to be a better father than you could ever dream of being, and if they turn out like you then I've failed. I'm only going to say this once. Stay the fuck away from my family."

Ward's eyes are wide as he listens to him vent, rage slowly building up as he hears his own son condemning him.

"Rafe-"

He tries to speak only to be interrupted by Rafe.

"No! You destroyed me. You turned me into a monster all so you could make money. You're everything I never wanted to be, and I'm done letting you dangle your love and approval over my head to get me to do your bidding. I don't need it anymore. I don't need you."

With a final seething glare, Rafe turns to leave, turning his back on a shocked Ward. Rose's heart aches as she watches her stepson walk out without so much a glance in her direction, and for the first time, she questions her husband's decisions.

When Rafe returns, he's calmed down significantly. Any negative emotion left swirling around in his chest disappears when he sees you with your head thrown back laughing by the bonfire, and a large smile splits his face.

He makes his way to you, drawn in by a magnetic force he can't explain and you smile brightly when you see him.

"Hey, where have you been? We missed you."

His heart swells at the use of the word we and he bends down to kiss the top of your head.

"I had something to take care of."

You frown at his statement, not missing the underlying emotion as he says it. You know better than to push though and pull him down next to you to curl into his side. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand rubs soothing circles on your arm and you relax into him.

He meets JJ's gaze across the fire, a silent conversation confirming that he dealt with the problem. Your brother half expects to wake up to a news story about Ward Cameron's murder in the morning, and if he did he wouldn't miss a wink of sleep.

"I'm worried about your dad. I know JJ told you what happened, and I don't know what to do."

Your voice is timid as you whisper in his ear and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

"You don't have to worry about him."

Little does he know, that one sentence confirmed your suspicions about where he was, but you don't tell him that. Instead, you allow yourself to get lost in his eyes and the honesty swimming in his ocean-blue irises puts you at ease. For the first time since all of this began, you truly believe him when he says there's nothing to worry about.

@i-love-rafe @itsmytimetoodream@brynley-a-xoxo@whore4drew@houseofperfecttaste@everythingmarveltopgun@f4ll-for-you@athenabarnes@antagonize-me-motherfucker@writtenwordslover@madsnxo @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starrystarkey93 @keylin1730 @fulla02 @loving-and-dreaming @evening-starlight @ibleedcalories @badasspizzalover @veescorneroftheworld @pinkpantheris @brooklynscherry-z

#Rafe Cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #rafe cameron imagine

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whorekneecentral · 1 year

Note

max baby fever is real actually… enemies to lovers hatefucking but you guys eventually become fwb and then BOOM suddenly youre married but the sexual tension never leaves and then you have a tiny baby lion

- 🐣

it’s the baby lion for me 🥺

working for red bull was no easy task. especially the weekend after weekend of scrutiny. surely, people had their reasons but its still a pain in the ass.

you were a press officer for the team, you covered the general press handlings; approving press releases, statements, team appearances etc. but recently, you were stuck working with max as his old press officer was on maternity leave.

max was the biggest pain in your side, you don’t think you’ve ever worked with a driver that was so irritating.

over the course of the season, things got better. max sort of mellowed out and only became a little tense during the last race. it was down to the wire between here and lewis as to who was going to win the championship.

the was exactly what the team had been looking for and the celebration was beyond anything you could imagine. the drinks were following and one by one, the cans stacked up.

you and max some how ended up in the same elevator after everything, the two of you had too many drinks and ended up all over each other. stumbling back to the room, hands all over each other and clothes all over the floor and you two spent the rest of the night in bed together.

from that night, it spiralled into more. you and max ended up going back and forth over the break, sneaking around together for a bit before the season started.

you two continued through the racing season; longing looks, hidden kisses and touches, the extra long hugs when he wins.

at some point after the summer break, his press officer returns from maternity leave, and you go back to your regular duties, which means now you can announce that you're dating without there being a conflict of interest.

the dates were like no other, how many women can say they get to travel the world with the person they love and go on dates around the world every other weekend?

you and max were in brazil this weekend, the season to last race when he rolled over in bed. “hey,” he whispers and you look over at him.

you were doing some work in bed, max was settling in for the night. he rested a little velvet box on your laptop and you looked at him, confused. “what's this?”

“open it.” he tells you, so you do. inside is a ring, a fat emerald cut diamond set on a slightly thick gold band.

“max,” you look over at him and he smiles. “I know you didn’t want a big proposal but I can still get on my knees if you want.”

you shook your head but he pulls the ring out, reaching for your hand. “will you marry me?”

“yeah,” you giggled, you can feel the tears when you lean over to kiss him, the cold band pressed to his cheek once it was on your finger.

your laptop and max going to sleep was long forgotten. a tangle of limbs, clothes all over the floor, the blankets were kicked to the end of the bed.

“I cannot wait to marry you,” he whispers to you, your legs wrapped around his waist. “might be the wrong time but just letting you know I'm keeping my last name.”

your wedding was nothing if not picture perfect, as was your honeymoon.

you two had a week to yourselves, a little villa on the amalfi coast. max was determined that you two would be starting your family sooner than later and that’s exactly was he was up too.

“gonna put a baby in you, pretty girl.”

“that’s my girl, take it so well. made just for me.”

“look so pretty full of me.”

and surely enough, about 3 months post honeymoon and you found out you were having a baby. you were both beyond ecstatic.

max was more into the baby planning, nursery thing that you were so you let him take charge.

turns out the little boy was getting a jungle themed nursery and in the centre of the mural painted on the wall was a lion, the king of the jungle.

the months roll by and now you’ve got your own little lion, most weekends it killed max to be away from you two but the little one was too little to travel so many miles, though you two did go to the monaco gp to surprise him.

most nights when he came in, he changed off and went straight to check on the little man, you got booted to second place.

more often than not, you find max sleeping in the rocking chair with your baby boy in his arms.

#this isn't really smutty but yeah #daddy max is so special to me #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #🐣 anon

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chikaras-garden · 8 months

Note

Lookin for a dick grayson prompt? How about dick going to his girlfriend for advice on how to give his brothers dating advice for Damian ? Idk i think it's a cute idea.

- fellow neighborhood anon

I spiraled.

“Damian’s getting older,” Dick says, seemingly out of the blue, but you know nothing’s ever out of the blue when it comes to him. Whatever’s on his mind has been there for a while.

You scoot over on the ledge of the building you’re sitting on, eyes still on the sunset before you even as Dick takes your hand and sits by your side.

“People do that,” you say. “Age.”

His lips quirk upward as he pulls the domino mask off, then holds it in his lap. “Yeah, but he’s talking about prom.”

Although getting older in Damian’s case is more obvious, what with him in the middle of puberty and dating being on your doorstep, you and Dick have gotten older, too. You’ve noticed smile lines from all the times you’ve made each other laugh. There’s a deeper thoughtfulness in his eyes—even on missions, and especially when children are involved. You’ve begun to appreciate every quiet sunset more than the rush of wind in your face.

But in every adrenaline-soaked memory and every calm vision of your future, Dick’s hand is always in yours.

“What would you tell him,” he whispers, “if you were me?”

Dick’s relationship with Damian has always been somewhere between older brother and father, and being Dick’s partner makes you an occasional maternal influence in the boy—no, the younger man’s—life. This family, the Bat family, your family is one where rules, expectations, and codes of honor weigh heavily on every choice you make.

Even, for example, who you take to prom.

The sun meanders through the sky as you think. You try to remember what you and Dick were like when you were seventeen, just before your relationship began. You were clumsy and unsure, more scared than either of you had any right to be—yet it was one of the most beautiful times of your life.

You give Dick’s fingers a squeeze. “I’d tell him that it’s okay not to have everything figured out. There’s a difference between being scared because you’re in danger and scared because you want something to work out. If he feels the second one?”

Pausing, you look at Dick until he looks back at you, and you smile at each other. His mind is on the same memories you’re feeling, so he finishes for you, “The second one’s a good thing.”

Softly, you add, “And tell him not to be so hard on himself.”

The corners of Dick’s mouth twitch upward before he lets out a breathy chuckle. His arm settles around your waist, drawing you close enough for him to press his lips against your temple. “Why do I feel like you’re not talking about Damian anymore?”

“I am,” you insist. As you lay a hand on his chest, your smile mirrors his, because no one can frown when Dick Grayson smiles like that. “Maybe you two are more alike than you think.”

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #🎈— ask games.#🌸— mine.#🌸— dick grayson.#💋— fellow neighborhood anon.#dick grayson fluff

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dairy-farmer · 2 months

Note

I call this the Highlander Au! >:Dc There can Be Only One! (Unless he REALLY enjoys the process and the world stops going to shit for like... FIVE god damned minutes!) (The second is sadly unlikely)

Tim? Fully Cis gendered male. Not terribly ATTACHED to this, physically, but certainly identifies as Male and has a male body.

Maybe it's been all the near misses. The "all my friends fuckin DIED on my and I mentally spiraled like you wouldn't believe". Could be him finally reclaiming his life. Or yet another horrible mental spiral. Who knows!

But he's decided.

He wants to be a Dad. *sound of various Bats choking and/or dropping things*

Is even seeing anybody? Nope. How the FUCK is he gonna get a baby?! Oh, normal, Bat Paranoid fashion. Cloning tube. Same way Damian happened. He just needs to figure out the maternal DNA and he's golden. Figure out where to hide his tech to stop Villainous Baby Snatching Plots.

Because that's a very real concern.

No you can't talk him out of this. Timmy want himself a baby. Is already designing a nursery and studying child development books. Parenting manuals, getting those little animal onsies, lazer death grids to ward of Ra's ninjas. The works.

Bruce is off to the side, quietly having an aneurysm and choking to death on his own spit. Baby boy? Fatherhood? OFFSPRING!? Alone and not going to LET HIM HELP!? But why would he help!? Bad idea! But. But he needs to BE THERE to TAKE CARE of TIM and the future BABY! Aaaaaaaaa-!!!!!

It's a... "Fun" time. Dick is nearing a nervous breakdown. Bruce not far behind. Damians having Feelings(tm).

Then! At a Wayne Charity Event(tm)? Small glowing child. Looks alien. Is getting upset. People backing away IN A HURRY because they just watched this child WARP REALITY to turn the nearest table into candy.

Tim is there as the face of the family. A hero. Already feeling generally Paternal. Upset baby is Bad. So he goes in, dispite clear protests. Gets low and talks soothing.

But the alien Wants Her MOMMY!

And? Oh. Well there goes the protective amulets JLA Dark made for him. Now he's in an alien dress and? Very much no longer Cis. Guess he would have and DID inherent from his dad's side of the family, no boobs. Tiny. At least he got his mom's killer legs.

And the kiddo isn't scared any more. Since he "looks like mommy".

Except not even remotely, because she warps into being an HOUR later, looking for her daughter and is made of pure light. Thanks him. Doesn't FIX anything. And just leaves. Gee, thanks lady.

There were REPORTERS there. Tim Drake has tits now. Front page news. Great. Ra's is GOING to know and get WEIRD about it.

Tim shrugs. Off to Leslie we go, though. Check up time!

Yep. Full lady bits action. And, hey! Shiny new spleen! So that's nice.

It DOES change his plan though. He didn't, you know, collect any "samples" yet. But? Does... does he NEED too? He COULD concoct a story of "rich person hires mystic to get penis back" after going and getting magiced back.... OR?

He could have someone put a baby in him! *simultaneous Bat Choking Noises*

MUCH easier to defend. THEN he could be changed back, after the baby is weaned. The problem is who to trust? Ra's is ABSOLUTELY going to do everything in his power to get his seed inside Tim new puss. So a seed bank is out. And-

*hands slam on the table*

Obviously! We can't trust anyone outside this house! Villian plots and Ra's specifically! Bat paranoia! W-we will just have to make this sacrifice for you!

.....Weirdly intense, but okay.

Objection! Says Tim's newly no longer Dead team mates. Tim tried to CLONE Kon! OBVIOUSLY it should be Kon! And Bart! Bro Threesome! Let nature decide! (Then kid number 2 is the other Bro, is only FAIR)

ALSO a good point. He did have that promise, if one of them ever got turned into a girl. And a Kon baby WOULD be nice...

Shit! Grayson pulls "last of my legacy and I have so much to make up for" cards!

Is betrayed by his OWN FATHER (Bruce! How COULD YOU!?) Who plays "you saved me from the time steam and nearly died for me, let me help(emotional)" to devastating effect!

Cheating! Howls the Speedster! You're CHEATING!!!

And Tim stands there... kinda confused but finding he's actually Really In To This as people argue over how much THEY want to be the one to put a baby in him? He's never felt this badly WANTED. Desired.

He may not want to go through the whole "actually carrying a baby for 9 months then pushing one out" thing more then once.... but the fighting over him thing? This might be awaking something.

And, well, Kon already made a good point. Why try to control it? Let nature decide~

Everyone can help.

The argument stops dead. For all of the seconds before "who goes first?" Occurs to everyone.

Sadly for THEM, Bruce is a bastard willing to play dirty to get what he wants. And his house his rules. He goes first. After all, he no doubt smirks, none of THEM have the... experience, to handle a virgin properly.

He refuses to allow Tim hurt on his watch.

Got it? Good talk. Tim, with him.

Which is what leads to Tim clawing at the bed and begging like his life depends on it, soaked in sweat, hours later. As Bruce STILL gently, teasingly, RUTHLESSLY eats him out. Puddles worth of lube ruining the sheets and easing his way, as he works calloused fingers DEEP to find spots Tim didn't know he had yet. As they rub and tease and fuck against those spots so relentlessly it feels like Tim's coming apart.

He didn't even know he could MAKE half these noises.

His hole is so wet and sloppy, it's like it's given up. Like his body can do nothing but quiver and twitch under Bruce's hands. Given how big he is? Probably the point. Because he crawls up to loom over Tim like a giant. Presses kisses to his whimpering, sweaty face. And rocks into his exhausted body, filling every inch of him.

It doesn't even hurt. Something that big probably SHOULD for his first time, but Bruce isn't a legendary playboy for nothing. And it just fills and Fills and FILLS. Rubs against everything in a way that makes his toes curl. Makes him want to gasp and cling, even though he's so exhausted.

Bruce just shooshes him. Pulls him close. He won't have to do a thing. He can just cling to Bruce and feel good. Bruce is here. He's got you.

And it's the best thing Tim's ever felt. Forget masturbation, sex is AMAZING. Bruce rocking then thrusting then pounding into his body. Holding tight like something precious. Hammering his good spots still he sees stars. Til he's nearly sobbing, hiccuping, from how good it feels to have his insides all messed up.

Bruce fills him up. All gooey and warm. Picks him up and carries him to a clean bed to get wiped down and tucked in. Cleans up then joins him. Fills him back up and tucks him close. He feels boneless and precious. Sleeps like the dead.

Discovers sex with a puss is AWESOME.

Next morning, he's barely out of Bruce's room before Dick is scooping him up and dragging him into his room. Almost franticly bending him in half as he presses him to the bed, kissing the air out of him. Holding his face as he whispers filthy praise into his lips. Hips relentless as they slam home, pounding at just the right angle.

Like he's trying to make for YEARS of mistakes by pouring it all into pleasure NOW. Clinging tight and trying to fry Tim's brain with how good he can make him feel. Dick buries his faces against Tim's neck and rutts like he's making up for lost time. Fucking Tim through orgasms, spilling again and again, like he's determined to drain his balls dry and wring every last bit of pleasure he CAN out of Tim's exhausted body.

Tim has to threaten to hit him with an alarm clock to let him up. Tim wants LUNCH damn it. They missed breakfast. By a LOT.

But then work calls. Damn it. So he has to get dressed. Double damn it. And he does it, but refuses to be pleased about it. Resolves things. Even gets ahead on work. Only for DAMIAN to walk stiffly into his office. Sus.

The gremlin hands him a frankly VERY well put together report on why he, Damian AL Ghul... should be allowed to fuck a baby into Tim. He has brought along a slide show and genealogical report.

.......Explain.

Damian does. He REALIZED some things about himself. When Tim was discussing becoming a Father. Using the same method as he, himself, was created. Went through a whole "go to the Kent farm and have a life change adventure" character growth arc, as you do. And? Now realizing that he potentially COULD be DIRECTLY involved in the Hypothetical Child's life instead of as an uncle?

He wants in. They could be glorious, combined. AND he firmly believes Tim will be a magnificent Mother. Let him Father your child.

It's a bad idea. Tim knows this. He literally JUST slept with Bruce yesterday and nothing good comes from sleeping with AL Ghul's. They Obsess. But? Fuck it. Maybe THIS is the thing that finally stops the Tim-Gremlin cold war and bring peace to house Wayne once and for all. He unbuckles his belt. Walks over to his resting room.

And Tim KNOWS, even as he's being urgently fucked into the fold out bed, that this is an AWFUL idea. No way in HELL, from the desperate and sloppy thrusts, clinging, panting and whines, is this NOT Damian's first time. He's utterly undone.

Pounding load after load into Tim because it feels too good to stop. All enthusiasm and no skill. Half the pleasure Tim's even GETTING is his own hand, relentlessly teasing his own clit. But? Oh. The feeling of being wanted so BADLY. Of cum, gushing and gushing into him. Knowing it's HIS hole that's so good, it's driving Damian incoherent.

He feels... sexy. It DEFINITELY does something for him. He may not be able to go back. Could see himself enjoying being a milf.

But of course. Business hours end. And he PROMISED! Is swept up by Bart for their threesome. Which, after several rounds and untold loads of near-no-refractary-period speedster cum dumped inside him? Is kinda spotty, in his memory.

All he knows for certain is he wakes up to his sheepish best friends, "Sorry we fucked you unconscious repeatedly" bribes, no voice, and a warm bath. He's also plugged up and FULL full of that premium speedster/half-kryptonian blend cum, because apparently his friend intend to WIN and nothing says victory like overwhelming odds. He'd call them fuckers, but they ARE and hold no remorse. He can't move.

Carry him you bastards.

When he asks where Cassie is, he learns she's apparently trying to harrass the magic users into a making her a temporary "turn me into a dude" amulet. Both as a gift AND so she can join the race for Father Of Tim's Baby. Huh. Interesting new options.

Obviously, throughout ALL of this, ninjas. Because Ra's has never wanted to smash so hard in his LIFE.

Instead, Tim is out here, on Jason's shitty couch. Getting lifted up and slammed down onto his cock. Called baby girl. Princess. Jason's never been harder. Already planning their kids graduation dinner and baby number three.

Tim feeling precious and taken care of and DESIRED. Like the young adult with a first shitty apartment he never got to be. Something so close to normal. Put a baby in him. Fuck him like you love him, like they do this every Saturday night, then eat pizza and watch trash TV. Fill him up.

And if course~ it's a VICIOUS game of Fuck The Tim keep away, up until one day he starts to show. Then Everyone is loving and coddling and in a "No I Am The Father" cold war. The birth is a nightmare, because Tim is slender and more scar tissue then not. But?

Adorable quarter-Kryptonian! With the biggest blue eyes and Tim's porcelain doll face.

Tim is NOT doing that again. Ffffffuck giving birth. And being pregnant! Granted, the EARLY part? He loved. He glowed. Getting pregnant was AWESOME. But later stages? God awful. Clone tube babies from here on out.

Absolute Devastation in the Tom Fucking Community. Babe no! You can't MEAN IT!

Woah, hey! He never said he'd STOP. "Getting Pregnant" is very, VERY enjoyable. He's just refusing to carry SHIT. Birth control for HIM. Scooping that slurry of "leave it up to Nature" out and storing it. Now... Kon stop being smug and hold your son.

-🐼🐼🐼

😭😭😭 tim getting everyone to come to dinner and they all think it was alfred and are like 'this was a great idea alfred! we should all get together like this more often' only for tim to cough and say well actually i called you all here, i figured you all deserved a heads up since i'm going to be undergoing some serious life changes. everyone's confused and then tim says he's going to have a baby.

immediate panic and some disappointment from bruce because he thinks this is a teen pregnancy and he expected better from tim only for tim to have to yell to interrupt everyone and say there is no 'girl', not yet anyway. he's just announcing that he's GOING to have a baby. they're not yet conceived and now the family is dealing with whiplash of how of course TIM would do something like this now they're sitting their listening to him talk about the ideal gene pool given tim's family has a history of mental issues and he's going into some very detailed things like nurseries and everyone just wants him to slow down because tim is still a kid!!! dick is older than him and even HE doesn't feel ready. so everyone is trying to talk tim out of it while tim insists he's ready, he's been going to a therapist for 11 months trying to deal with his issues so he COULD be ready to be a parent.

which of course baffles them even more because???? dick has been trying to get them all into therapist for years and tim just???? went??? on his own????

bruce is of course the least welcoming of tim's ideas of teen parenthood. because what about highschool, college? at least ONE of his kids has to go to college!

tim however says no, says his GED is more than enough.

bruce tries finding other angles, asking what if he just sets tim up with babysitting gigs? make him see kids aren't that great and tim just huffs and said he already did a bunch of babysitting and volunteering at the children's centers in gotham as part of his adoption application!

which ???? just stressed bruce out even more?! because tim had tried to adopt a baby first? but apparently got rejected because of his age, lack of partner, and lack of job which tim loudly says is unfair because bruce was in his 20s when he took in dick and HE hadn't had a partner or a job!

so the family is protesting, despertly trying to get tim to change his mind,,, then tim gets a womb and suddenly the protests die down VERY quick.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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lovejosephquinn · 10 months

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1️⃣

Plot: You become a little irritated arriving to your appointment to find out that your long term therapist has had to go on emergency maternity leave and somebody else has had to step in. When that certain somebody calls your name from the waiting room, your whole demeanour and mood changes drastically. It certainly was the pleasant surprise you were not expecting. Will professionalism hinder the inevitable, or will your feelings get the better of you?

a shout out and massive thank you @joejoequinnquinn for pitching this idea and helping me bring it to life 😘

Tag list: @eddiemunson-mylove @choke-me-eddie @whoscamila @almightywdm @shawnamae87 @josephquinnsgoddess @lovelyblueness @aol19 @babybatlover @tlclick73 @aysheashea @killing-my-soul @emilyslutface @avobabe87 @eddies-acousticguitar @queengirl56 @eddie-joe-munson @hollster88 @lunakitty2608 @figmentofquinn @live-love-be-unique @joeqnz @witchwolflea @mmunson86 @dreamliners @purplerain85 @kingdomkitten32 @harley1608 @demonsanddemogorgons @chickennug90

Word Count: 3.4k

Part One ✨ Part Two ✨ Part Three ✨ Part Four

This was a hefty part of your life, attending to the therapy appointments every fortnight to keep your mental health spiralling out of control. Yourself and your therapist Kate had maintained quite a healthy, professional friendship throughout the three years you had been seeing her, your paperwork now stacked full of the hours of conversations you had undertaken together.

At first, you had been quite susceptible to the idea of therapy, but your walls were broken fast by the female that helped bring out your demons, closing doors from dark paths and opening new ones which began to seem that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. You had made wonderful progress, but you had gotten quite used to the fact that she was around so it was never a question for you to be discharged from her, because you had found faith and trust in somebody that you hadn't felt for a long time.

Some sessions were not so deep, you would spend your time laughing with one another, making sarcastic digs towards your past and in turn, Kate would respond with a cleverly competent yet congenial reply. Your therapist was not just your therapist in a way, she had been your confidant, conscience and shadow in all things you.

Your appointment had ran over a week late on this particular month, to which you rushed out of the house very much behind schedule yourself, your hair still wet, comfortable clothing which was left to the naked eye assuming you had not had time to prepare yourself the night before or this very morning. You rammed a piece of fruit down your throat followed by downing half a bottle of water you found sat in the cup holder of your car that you hadn't bothered to dispose of. A sigh of relief to you more than anything because from all the rushing around, you were feeling overly dehydrated.

Arriving no more than 10 minutes late, you pushed open the automatic door before it could even attempt to automatically do it itself, you rushed over to the reception to sign yourself in for your appointment, eager to see her and discuss what had been going on over the last few weeks. The receptionist, Agnes was a quiet elderly lady who you had shared a few awkward conversations and cumbersome greetings with through the prosthetic glass.

"Morning Y/N." She didn't even have to look up before her eyes peaked up over her reading glasses, a half assed grin on her face, as enthusiastic as ever.

"Morning Agnes, I hope Kate will forgive me for running behind this morning, you know what it's like." You smiled sweetly, leaning your elbows against the countertop.

"Indeed." She removed her spectacles, letting them dangle from the tarnished chain which fell at her chest. "Did you not get the message?" Agnes cocked her head slightly to the side, an instant drop of your lips turned into a thin line as you furrowed your brow at her.

"What message?" You questioned quietly.

"Unfortunately, Kate's had to be put on an early maternity leave due to complications, so we have got a new therapist from another office to step in until she's back."

Your mouth dropped open, a mild stutter following your exhale. "I-I- who- when- what?"

"As I said, Kate has had to be-" Agnes threw her head back in surprise when you interrupted her repetitive response.

"I heard what you said. So does she know who I am, does she- will she be able to understand me as Kate does?" You were a jabbering mess of questions with no likely answers from the all knowing all telling Agnes, her disgustingly high pitched chuckle straight from the pit of her throat spoke a thousand truths.

"I assure you that you will be just fine Y/N. And he has all of your paperwork. Take a seat, he'll be calling you through shortly." Of course she had no more to say on the matter and had no more time to waste on you, the glasses had returned back to the edge of her nose and her gaze was positioned back to the old, broken down looking computer. You took a dramatic huff of breath through your nose, dragging your bag along the floor as you slumped yourself down into the first seat you came to in the waiting room.

The sluggishness of whispered conversations of parties here to see their original therapist was getting your back up, staring around at everyone a little in awe that they would be going about their day as normal, but oh no. Not you. Not for the next year. Part of you felt like getting up and walking out, missing your appointment and just finding an excuse as to why you had to leave later on. A kind of you'll cross that bridge when you come to it scenario.

You folded your arms, your foot tapping anxiously against the floor, the door to your usual office you would normally skip into creaked open, you analysed from the feet up, brown leather shoes, one dipping to one side, smart trousers, a slim build quite tall, crisp white shirt, two buttons open with the gleam of a silver chain hanging in the midst of his bare skin, your eyes grew bigger when you fell upon his features. Big brown eyes staring across the room, looking around aimlessly, you noticed his mouth moving but no sound was coming from it, you could hear the sound of your heart thumping in your ear drums which had seemed to completely deafen you. You were mesmerised by your new therapist, extremely your type, hands were shoved in his pockets so you couldn't quite tell if he was married or not.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You finally heard him. A deep gravelly, London accent which sounded very pleasing to the ear, maybe you should become his therapist; you would certainly be happy to get paid by the hour to listen to him all day.

You shot up from your seat, his head tossing back in a nod as a mental success to himself for someone finally owning up to the name call. You shakily threw your bag over your shoulder, eyes averting to the ground whilst his bore onto you, quite intimidating yet miraculously exciting to say the least.

"Take a seat, my name's Joseph, but you can call me Joe. I'll be filling in for Kate whilst she's away, I hope you don't mind."

You shook your head sheepishly, too embarrassed to make eye contact with the gorgeous human sitting by you in the big, brown leather chair where you would usually be witnessing Kate's form, it very much matched his aesthetic from your first impression. You kept your eyes down to the ground, gulping your saliva that filled up your mouth quickly, shy and feeling safer in your own little bubble in your head right now, you nodded slight.

"You can talk to me you know." Joe shot a small laugh at you, your face coming up to meet his from a far, your breathing becoming uneven from the sweet melody that was his forced laughter. "I don't bite." He pressed his lips together, examining your closed off body language. You posed a smile toward him. Joe got up and picked your paperwork up that Kate had gotten ready for him, as he sat back down, crossing a leg over his thigh, he flicked through the pages at the endless pages of notes that had been filled in.

"Well from this, it looks like you were extremely audible. Where's that woman at today?" You blushed a little, his words were so patronising yet slightly alluring, quite clearly you were looking to much into this, especially when you swore you saw his big doe eyes travelling to get a better view of your figure. Joe caught you in the same glance, but of course you were one hundred percent checking him out. Just has you got back to that damn chain which rested perfectly in a considerably beautiful amount of chest hair, you were almost thrown into a jump scare of his eyes burrowing from just under your chin. "If she's there, I'd like to at least say hello before our two hours are up."

"Hello." You managed, taking a sharp breath in and sitting up to make your posture seem more relaxed.

"There she is." Joe shot a wink at you before putting his head down back into your notes to view your last session. You looked back down to the ground, rolling your eyes to yourself at your own stupidity, now you had gotten the uncomforting pleasantries out of the way the least you could do was not make your own therapist feel uneasy on your first meet.

"I'm sorry." You blinked back up to meet his stare, it was like the sparkle in his eyes were a laser beam that was planting themselves straight through to look into your soul. Patronising. "I'm not very good with new people that's why I-"

"Never apologise love, it happens to the best of us. I have no choice but to try because I'm the one in the therapist chair." You both chuckled in unison at his pathetic attempt at lightening the mood.

Although you had only been sat in the chair for the last ten minutes, it felt like you had been placed in a paralysed position for a lifetime. Joe had his arm leaned against the table toward the side of him, his finger tips tapping loudly against the wood, his eyes remained in line with yours, he kept talking and you had to keep asking him to repeat himself, not that you hadn't heard him the first time, but you just couldn't control the raging nervousness ploughing through your stomach at the bare sight and evidently sexy tone of his voice.

"Just when I thought I had you down here on planet earth." Joe smirked, placing your paperwork to where his arm previously occupied. Standing up from his seat, taking a sigh he moved across the room to his worn leather satchel, bending over in the most inhumane of ways so that you could, without his knowledge of course, get a better look at the back of him. He pulled out his glasses before standing back to normal height and returning to his former place, putting the end of the arm of his spectacles to his lips, making little chomping noises as the plastic smacked against the plumpness of them. "I'm going to start off easy."

You nodded, quitting your mini fantasies that played in your head when you saw the outline of his boxers after he had bent over right in your view. "Sure." You squeaked.

"How are you?" A subtle question. You're in therapy, how does he really think this obvious debrief is going to pan out.

"I'm doing okay." You managed, pressing the palm of your hands into your sweatpants, rubbing the moisture away in attempt to feel calmer. The more you spoke, the closer Joe's body leaned forward toward you. "How are you?" You regretted your choice of response, asking your therapist how they are? What a fucking idiot.

Joe shot a deep and slightly confused chuckle at you, your cheeks flushing a much fiery red than they already were.

"Oh darling, I'm doing just fine." You made an awkward attempt to laugh it off, making yourself insanely shy towards this stranger was one thing, but to make yourself look physically stupid in front of a disgustingly beautiful stranger who you now had to remain professional with was the worst part about the situation.

"Well..." You sighed, rolling your eyes toward the floor. "You never know." You both burst into a fit of giggles, you had to hold your stomach and appreciate that he saw the light of the situation, that he wanted to make you feel good in doing his job as well as making you feel at ease, to feel like a human being should. But there was still something eating away at you, his patronising manner in the way he looked at you, the brown eyes that pierced your soul over and over again. You made light conversation for the next hour, not even returning to the reasons you were here to talk about today, not the way you would sit and run through your problems with Kate on the usual appointments you had attended.

You had made a joke about your life being one big circus act, one big soap opera that tended to make you stress out a lot. Of course, on this initial meeting you wouldn't delve into any detail, although he would have already known the majority of it anyway from having all of the notes from previous sessions. Joe had made the chaise decision to agree with you and reassure you about his life, sweetly making remarks that you don't know what happens behind closed doors, that surprises are always around the corner and that life can be beautiful should you choose to make the correct decisions and let the right people in. Then came the moment that his hand reached over to place onto your knee, a bold move indeed.

Your leg jumped at least a quarter of a foot into the air, but his hand remained right where he had placed it. You stared down to take a look, the whole palm of his hand covered your knee, the tips of his fingers softly clutching around the material of your clothing.

"Oh I- umm." You panicked. Physical touch was not something you were expecting, it was a comforting mechanism to him clearly, but you had read the sign wrong.

"I'm sorry." He rushed his hand away from your knee, folding his arms securely and leaning back into his chair.

"No it's- it's fine." You stood up, grabbing a hold of your bag as quick as you could. "I should be going."

"But your times not-"

"I've taken up enough of your time today Joseph." You rushed past him to the door and stopped yourself when you placed your hand over the handle. Biting down onto your lip heavily at your regret of moving away so quickly, Joe called out your name so quietly, almost in a whisper, nearly not even able to make the syllables plausible for you to hear. But you did, you turned slight to face him, his features looking apologetic in your peripheral vision.

"Please. I said call me Joe." You huffed a breath in a scarce laugh, trying to take back your shit attempt at an escape from the deep pit of emotion that was overwhelming you. The emotion being Joe.

"Okay. Joe." You shot your pupils down to stare at the carpet, watching your feet feeling like you were glued stiff in the position you were in.

"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." Joe stood from his seat and slowly stepped toward you, you twizzled around to push your back against the door, hand still firmly planted against the handle.

"You didn't. I just-"

Joe came face to face with you once more, his body inches away from yours, you could feel his breath hunching toward your forehead, his mouth ajar as he tried to find the right words to not make the obvious problem even more problematic.

"You're not going to use that against me are you?" Joe was clearly worried he had overstepped the mark, the truth was, he really hadn't, you welcomed the touch. Especially from such an attractive individual, but he was just trying to be his obvious loving self and you panicked and showed it all too quickly. You changed your demeanour as solemnly as you could, mentally preparing yourself to bite back.

"Everyday." You smiled, making his lips turn upward in return.

"I hoped so." You both felt more at ease when you offered him the sarcastic reply. Joe pushed his hand through his tamed and well waxed hair, the curls bouncing back from his touch.

"For your information..." You stopped in a quiet pause, wondering briefly whether to suggest what you wanted to say was the correct thing to actually speak out loud. Joe tilted his head, his eyes turned into slits as he attempted to read your mind. "I think you're going to be a wonderful therapist, I think I'm going to enjoy seeing you."

It was strange to believe that a professional in his line of work was being so flirtatious with you, but maybe that was just in his nature and how he did his job, but the way he looked at you was beyond something you had ever experienced, not just with therapists (although the only one that you had ever had was a heterosexual female) but the male species in general. You could suggest that he was doing it to get more out of you, you could also argue that it was all in your head.

"Okay, well I think you're going to be a spectacularly intriguing woman to-" Joe's eyes shot wide, tracing his words back in his head he looked up into the air with remorse for himself. "I meant patient to work with."

You eyeballed him, allowing your eyes to sparkle sweetly, screaming inside that his first sentence was the more meaningful one. These appointments would bring out more than meets the eye it seemed, in fact when you left the room that morning, you sauntered over straight to Agnes to book your next session a week early, dead set in seeing Joe sooner rather than later, but not in a way that would keep you away for too long.

"More problems than normal Y/N?" She chuntered.

"Lots to talk about with my new therapist." You smiled weakly, pretending to put the false helpless look.

She leaned forward to the prosthetic screen so that you could really see the bits of lipstick that hadn't been rubbed in properly, you had to stop yourself from making a grimaced look back at her.

"I know a hunk when I see one and apparently you do to lovey." She winked, passing your appointment card through the gap.

When you got home that day, you took your normal daily routine under your wing, moping around doing your chores. The day flew and night fell, you had just finished washing the dishes from your evening meal whilst humming along to music, except when the blare of it was paused suddenly by the text tone of your phone which connected to your speaker, you moved over in a flash to check who would be messaging you at this time, it was certainly unusual for you.

An unknown number, you furrowed your brow as you unlocked your phone, your hand rapidly slapping over your mouth when you realised who it was; your heart was inevitably heaving through your chest.

'I hope I haven't crossed the line by messaging you outside of office hours, just wondering when you had planned your next session.'

Joe.

You replied with such keyboard warrior status, it even profoundly impressed you how provocative you were becoming.

You - 'Soon. Why do you miss talking to me already?'

Joe - 'Talking to myself you mean. I'm hoping miss communicative may make an appearance sometime soon.'

You - 'If you promise to admit you're eager to therapize me again.'

Joe - 'You talk, I'll admit it. Deal?'

You fell onto the sofa, kicking your legs up into the air like a teenager with a silly little crush.

You - 'You're my therapist, you have to get it out of me. That's your job isn't it?'

Joe - 'You're my patient, you have to talk to me. That's your reason for coming... isn't it?'

Touché Joseph. You took an excitable sigh, closing your eyes to take a moment, placing your phone to your chest not realising that when you opened them you would find the sun blaring through the window directly, your phone face down on the floor beside you. Scrambling to collect it, another unread text from Mr Therapist himself.

Joe - 'Silence is golden. See you "soon" mystery woman.'

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fan fiction

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soufcakmistress · 10 months

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new love on the near northside

A/N: haters that ruin the fun will get blessed out and blocked! find someone else to play with, tysm :) this is for all the sydcarmy truthers like me who’ve been in a spiral for two years

Pairing: Sydney Adamu x Carmen Berzatto

“All right chefs, we need to fire four prime ribs, two lobster risottos, and four cream puffs!”

“Yes, Chef!”

“Marcus, 86 the mascarpone for the cherry tart on 20!”

“Heard, chef!”

“Okay I need to see hands!”

The waitstaff gingerly grab the plated dishes from the final station, while Carmy is gently yet firmly reminding them not to smudge the plates as they’re being taken to their respective tables. Dinner service is in an awesome groove right now and Syd is feeling confident tonight. She’s still riding on a high from the last food critic that visited from the Chicago Tribune, who raved over her braised short rib and orzo pasta. There are also other reasons for Syd’s good mood.

“Open your legs, Syd..”

Syd shudders, takes three deep breaths and continues to fire off orders from the expo. The Bear has been packed almost every single night for three weeks. They don’t have much of a waitlist yet, but word of mouth moves quickly in Chicago and the front of house are noticing some repeat customers already.

Carmy joined Syd at the expo, and she can still pick up the scent of his cologne even in the midst of garlic, heavy cream and raw seafood. If she even peeks at him, she’ll lose her train of thought, and that’s the last thing the team needs right now. After having to let go of Josh after his unfortunate episode, her sous Tina has been pulling double time, covering both stations like a champ. She makes a mental note to give her an unbelievable gift and some love this weekend. “How are we doing, Chef? We cool?”

His eyes are so crystal clear and she recollects how he stares through her when they….oh fuck. “Yes, Chef. Runners are getting everything out in a timely manner, and we are turning these tables around. You?”

“Carmy, Carmy, yes—oh!”

Carmy licks and bites his lips and smirks. “Yes Chef. You’re the captain of this ship.” He squeezes her shoulder and goes back to his station as their boucher, Daniela checks in with Carmy about the fat trimmings for their beef.

Fak, Richie and Sweeps were holding down the front since Nat is on maternity leave. Carmy keeps a wallet size photo of his brand new nephew at his station, looking occasionally with a smile. Forty five more minutes before dinner service is over and Syd can finally go puke out back. “Chefs, we’re almost in the clear! Let’s keep up the momentum and sense of urgency!”

“Yes, Chef!”

Every dish is gorgeous. So many painstaking hours reworking the menu. Chaos menu, thoughtful chaos menu, back to chaos menu again. Reviewing and poring over Carmy’s intricate drawings, all the late night sessions, so much money spent on ingredients—it was enough to make Syd’s head spin. Hence why, almost a month since The Bear opened she’s still subsisting on a diet of Tums and Pepto.

She’s eternally grateful for her partners. Nat and Cicero have saved all their asses more times than they can count. Cicero is a hard ass but he adores Carmy and Sugar and has grown to love Syd as well. And of course, the best chef she’s ever had the privilege of working beside is her executive chef, business partner, best friend and now lover.

“Look at you. You’re so wet baby. Fuck—”

They’ve managed to keep their love affair under wraps for this long. It’s a struggle not to be able to touch each other when they’re working. Tina and Marcus are too perceptive; they would be found out immediately. Still, Sydney feels like a giddy school girl whenever Carmy corners her in the office as they open the restaurant every morning—both of his hands by her sides keeping her close. He’s so incredibly sexy without even trying and she still gets shy sometimes. He has to pull her chin from her shoulder and make her look at him.

“Don’t run away from me. You know I won’t let you..” And those ocean blue eyes of his again….and his lips are feather light on top of hers. Her knees are ready to buckle and Carmy sensed as much, so he pulls her close to the hardness of his chest and stomach to keep her standing.

She loves how his stubble feels on her chin and cheeks, especially when he drags his mouth down her jaw and lightly sucks on her neck. “Carm, Carm, Carm, oh my god, don’t! If they see me with a hickey when I didn’t have one yesterday, how do I explain that?” Her face is hurting, she’s cheesing so hard.

One hand slides up her chef whites, slipping under her camisole and his agile fingers pinch her nipple while his tongue circles her earlobe. Syd’s learned that Carmy is insatiable. For someone to not be as experienced as he claims—his hands, lips, tongue…always seem to go exactly where she needs them to. “I can’t help it, Chef. You’re just so damn beautiful.”

Syd’s hands roam all over his thick biceps and eventually land in the bushy mess atop his head. Their tongues lave and suck on each other’s and their moans can’t be held back any longer. Carmy pulls her leg up to his hip while he grips her braids, until he hears Marcus and Sweeps come through the back door. They separate quickly and get themselves together. Lusty gazes linger between them and they’re both aching between their legs. Carmy is as red as a beet, and Syd’s lips are swollen from his kisses and nipping. “Right, thank you chef.” Syd walks out first awkwardly with wobbly legs that make Carmy chuckle.

Dinner service is over—the kitchen has been scrubbed down, trash taken out, perishables have been stocked away in the lowboys and walk-in, and the back of house staff has skated out. It’s just Carmen and Sydney, in their brand new restaurant. “I’m beat. You got all your stuff right?”

Syd has an overnight bag with everything she needs for a weekend with her babe. “Yes, I do! Are you..ready to go?” Carmy grabs the weekend bag along with her hand and they walk in tandem to his car.

Carmy has been seeing a therapist in addition to the Al-anon meetings and Sydney can tell a difference already. He’s slower to rant and rave and owns up to his mistakes. More eager to hear people out. She’s proud of him—he’s suffered through a lot to make it to this point. They eventually arrive to his apartment and a shower is the first order of business. Syd loves the water pressure at Carmy’s place and taking showers together has been great for their newfound intimacy. They undress each other, Syd pulls her braids up in a high bun, and they just hold each other under the steaming water. This is their time. Away from The Bear. Away from Chicago. Away from the many demands and decisions they’re forced to confront every single day.

Carmy washes her with her pink loofah that’s been made a permanent staple in his bathroom. This is all new to Syd; her heart blooms in her chest at these big feelings she’s experiencing. He’s gentle and doesn’t leave an inch of skin untouched. Syd washes his hair with his expensive shampoo and Carmy’s eyes close in ecstasy. They needed this tenderness. They deserved it.

All cleaned up and fresh, they mosey back to the kitchen for a late night meal. Habits are hard to break. “Spaghetti?” Carmy suggests.

“Yes oh my goodness. Butttt use bucatini instead. And all the cheese.” He smiles in agreement and pecks her on the lips and gets out all the ingredients they need. Julia Child is on in the background on a public access channel, as they converse about the restaurant and Carmy’s nephew and Sydney’s dad and Carmy’s dysfunctional family, the deep loss Syd still feels at the absence of her mom for most of her life. More tenderness.

Pasta is rolled out. Meat sauce is sautéed, seasoned and almost ready. The Shiraz is poured. Carmy can’t stop staring at her in his shirt and boxers. She’s so cute. The pasta boils and he watches her watching the program, fully enthralled. Everything is finally done; he plates everything in his unique Carmy way and Syd audibly orgasms at how the savory flavors meld together especially with the wine.

He grates more pecorino over the pasta and the lull in conversation is comfortable and warm. Not awkward and full of anxiety like with Donna….leaving him constantly overthinking and being afraid to speak. Sydney seemingly knows what he’s going to say before he does and that brings him comfort. They’re in crystal clear alignment on every way and he now knows a semblance of peace.

“Fuck. This is good.” Sydney is damn near scraping the plate, while Carmy is smiling the biggest she’d ever seen from him. They both love when the other eats their food. That sense of pride is undeniable.

“I’m glad you enjoyed, Chef. Anything for you.” He winks at her and she gets bashful and mumbled out that she’s going to take care of the dishes since he cooked. To his surprise, he’s a little more tipsy than he realized from the Shiraz. Carmy drains his glass and pours himself another, while checking Syd’s frame out. His boxers are screaming for relief and a little moan eeks out of him before he can stop it. Thankfully Syd isn’t aware of his moment of weakness.

Carmy swallows and wipes his lips and moseys behind his girlfriend. Kissing and nipping. “I’m almost done here, Carm..” Syd whines a bit at his ministrations and drops the plate into the soapy water.

“Yeah. Not fast enough for me..” Carmy turns her around and leaps with his tongue and mouth first. Her hands are dripping wet but she doesn’t waste a second grabbing his head of wild curls and taking what he has to give. Carmy grabs her legs to wrap them around his waist and Syd can periodically feel him thrust up into her mound, wailing for stimulation that only he can provide.

Their shared affection overpowers the television, and Carmy feels his way down the hallway with his baby in his arms. His love, that saved him in so many ways. He pulls his shirt off, she takes hers off. She takes his boxers off that she had on and she lays on his bed, naked as the day she was born. “Fuck me, Carmen.”

She held in her amusement because his entire neck and face was blood red with the pupils of his eyes blown out. Syd knows that he’s doing everything he can to stay contained, but he knows her better by now—she does what she wants. So she spreads her legs for him and twirls her clit in tandem with a brown nipple. Carmy’s about to explode.

He drops to his knees and explores her love below like it’s never been done before. “Sydney, why do you taste so good? Why do you do this to me..” She relishes in the fact that he’s potentially bruising her with the vice grip he has on her thighs, but yet she’s so afraid that she’s gonna squirt in his face if he keeps gently sucking her clit in and out of his lips like that. His manicured fingers enter her canal one after the other and prompt her to let go. “CARMYYYYYYY!”

His whole chest is drenched, and his eyes are shut tight, his deft fingers rubbing tight circles around her clit with a precision that only an executive chef named Carmen Anthony Berzatto could deliver. Sydney pushed his head away and she’s left trembling with watery eyes. “I-I—i didn’t know I could do that!”

Carmy just smirks and wipes his mouth and drops his pants. Syd still can’t get over him. He has even more tattoos that can’t be readily seen on a day to day basis, he is so cut and muscled and has a cock that should be cast in 24 karat gold. Don’t sleep on the short kings.

“Turn around.” His voice leaves no room for pushback, and she can barely raise up on her knees before he’s manhandling her. He’s learned that he loves doggy with Syd. With her ass high in the air, she is getting impatient as well and reaches behind her to line him up with her slit. Carmy catches his lip in his teeth as he pushes forward and they both groan out a “fuck” that only they could wholly grasp.

On the first stroke, he’s all the way in and Syd fees his sack grazing over her entrance. They’re both in a trance. Carmy has visions of Syd cooking, smiling, cumming, revolving in his mind as well as the score of the last White Sox home game so he doesn’t bust his load quick. Syd can’t get the thought of how intense and sweet he gazes at her. How he commands their team, how his talent speaks for itself, how fucking sexy his jawline is, how big his heart is. How lucky is she? To fall in love with her idol, mentor, boss….and to have him love her back.

The bed is beginning to bounce off the wall. Their volume increases as Syd can’t hold herself up anymore and they fall into collapsed doggy with their fingers interlocked. “I’m so glad you found me. I love you Syd, I love you, I fucking—fucking love you baby!” That set Sydney off for the most expansive and overwhelming orgasm of the night, taking her beau with her over the edge. Carmy’s sweaty forehead lays on Sydney’s right temple—both of them with tears in their eyes.

Carmy kissed every finger tip until their mouths met again, both letting their waterlogged eyes flow free. “I know. I love you too Carmy. We’re never alone.”

“We’re never alone.”

#soufcakmistress #carmy and sydney #carmy x syd #carmy x sydney #syd adamu #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx #syd x carmy #sydney x carmen #sydcarmy

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