#“wormy noise of agreement”

[send-noodles-not-nudes]

snippet of the upcoming chapter of twthlam, for a friend

Fred let himself get lost in his thoughts on the short walk to Care and Keeping of Magical Creatures, not bothered that he hadn’t brought his book with him. He didn’t care much for the Monster Book of Monsters, anyway, so he didn’t feel like he was really losing out on anything by not carrying it all the way from his dorm to breakfast to class and all the way back. It's not like he thought Hagrid would be surprised that one of the Weasley twins hadn't brought a book to class; it was, frankly, a miracle that they showed up to his class as often as they did, to begin with. He arrived to find Hagrid feeding a hippogriff an assortment of small animals and insects, nose shriveling up in disgust at the blood dripping from the animal’s face. The sight of the bugs, on the other hand, gave him an idea.

"Can I try?" he asked as he approached the giant, who looked rather surprised that Fred was, one, alone, and two, asking permission to do something. Fred was ballsy, but he wasn't stupid; he knew better than to just walk up on an animal that looked like it could eat him and still have room for dessert. Questioning looks aside, Hagrid nodded, stepping back and handing the redhead a few of the beetles before explaining how to introduce oneself to a hippogriff. Fred didn't take too kindly to having to bow to anyone, but he put his feelings aside long enough to make it look like he hadn't just asked one of his teachers for a handful of live beetles. He fed the majority of them to the brilliant blue beast before him, pocketing two of them—something Buckbeak seemed to pick up on, though Hagrid thought the hippogriff's intense sniffing of Fred's pockets was just a way of saying that he liked him.

It wasn't long before he spotted Laelia and her group, absent Eunice, walking toward the Forbidden Forest for their class. When she saw him, assuming he was George, Laelia's face lit up. "There you are!" she beamed, and Fred found himself actively trying to ignore that he felt she rather glowed when she smiled. Still, he managed to smile back, a move that came a little easier than he'd been expecting it to. As George had told him many times before, her smile was a little infectious. "I missed you at breakfast today; where were you?" the blonde asked, moving in for a hug. Fred had just enough time to get the beetles from his pocket before she'd wrapped her arms firmly around his torso, his cheeks heating up in what he would call annoyance but was actually flustration.

See, Fred was the strange type of creature one may call an allosexual. Even for as much as he didn't like her, he couldn't deny that Laelia was attractive, and if she had been anyone else—or, really, anyTHING else—that the Slytherin was absolutely the kind of person he could see himself dating. She was funny, mischevious, and already best friends with his favorite brother. Most awkwardly for the moment they were in, though, she was hot, and his body acted the way most allosexual teen boys' would when hugged by an attractive teenage girl. The red on his face earned him an odd look from Link, who he knew was aware that George wasn't with them at the moment. He could tell by Nyisha's arched eyebrow that letting Laelia hug him was something he'd be hearing about in jest for at least a week.

Knowing he didn't have much time before Laelia caught on to the fact that he wasn't George, Fred took the closeness of the hug to act. "I'm not sure what you mean, Short Stack," he replied, and the blonde broke away with a look of horror washing over her face at the realization that George knew she hated short jokes. Beetles in hand, Fred mussed up her hair as added insult to calling her short. He released the beetles with another noxious wink, saying simply, "You're the one who came to sit with me this morning." Laelia let out an inhuman screech at the feeling of beetles in her precious hair, making a few arriving students sick to their stomachs because they thought Hagrid was finally about to kill them with one of his classes. After scrambling for a minute to get the insects off her head, she whipped her wand out, pointing it directly at Fred's head. It was about this time that George was finally rolling up on the scene.

"Entomorphis!" she shouted, and much to her dismay, it seemed that the spell was only about half-effective. Fred did indeed sprout giant antennae from the top of his orange mess of hair, but it hadn't struck him dumb, and he'd been able to get back up off the ground within a few seconds of the hex being cast. Laelia blamed this on her wrist flopping around hopelessly as it always did without her braces on. He scoffed at the attempt and, before George or Linkin could stop him, countered with vermiculus. Laelia hadn't been quick enough to block it and ended up turning into a worm. Link picked her up before Buckbeak could look over and try to eat her. Obviously, Hagrid had heard and seen the commotion, somewhat blaming himself for giving Fred the beetles in the first place.

"You just couldn't wait until after my lesson to get sent to the hospital wing, could you, Weasley?" he sighed, "At least now I know not to give you any beetles in the future.... Take Fitzeroy to the hospital wing before Buckbeak tries to peck at her, please. An' you'll both be gettin' a week of detention for dueling in front of a professor so shamelessly." "Do you mind if I escort them?" George asked, "I don't exactly trust Fred with a defenseless Laelia." "He's not gonna kill her, and you don' have a good reason to go. Now, we only have an hour; who can tell me what a hippogriff is?" He started his lesson, leaving an unhappy George muttering.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but someone should hex me." Lorcan almost thought he was daydreaming when he heard the words. "Engorgio skullus!" he beamed, and George's head blew up like a balloon. Hagrid gave the other Fitzlet a week of detention and sent George off to the wing with Fred and Laelia. George wobbled a bit as he walked, head bobbing from side-to-side with mass his neck couldn't control, taking Wormlia out of Fred's hands. "I'm gone for thirty minutes, and the two of you are already turning each other into bugs. Would it kill you to get along for half an hour?" he sighed. "Well, I'm not willing to risk my life to find that out, so it's a no by default." George heard a wormy noise of agreement from his hands, and he rolled his eyes. Of course the one thing they agreed on was that.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 38: Aunt Marge's Big Mistake

Remus had never really considered the smell of dog repugnant before, but the puddle he landed in and the odor that met his nose was really trying to change that. "Are you shitting me!" He howled in disgust as he pulled himself free.

Sirius whistled from atop a rickety pile of empty dog crates. "You must have really pissed off someone in another life."

"I hope you fall on your head from there," he snapped as he waved his wand to remove the mess, though that still didn't remove the lingering scent from his own nose.

The two took eyes off each other and instead spent a moment to glance around and realize they were the only two out here. Sirius, in his usual feats of ease and grace, landed on his feet beside Remus and the two cautiously circled the area to find themselves in some sort of barn, which mostly seemed to be used for storage. Stacks of dog-food, of a high premium quality, were in carefully managed containers as well as an assortment of collars, and even a few medical supplies.

"I'm feeling a little creeped out now," Sirius muttered, rubbing his neck and eyeing the cages he'd been upon.

Neither got the chance to make much more sense of it when the barn doors swung open wide, and Frank's surprised face peered in. "Oi, I found um!"

"Where are we?" Remus asked as they joined him at the door to find an even wider expanse beyond, quite the gorgeous acreage for some sight beyond, and a bulldog sitting at Frank's feet wagging it's tail curiously up at the pair.

"You're guess is as good as ours," James assured as he came up beside Frank. "Everyone else is inside that house," he gestured beyond the two where they couldn't yet see from the inside, "but I'm suspecting we're dealing with an animal lover. There's bulldogs all over the place round here."

The one watching at their feet was on the younger side, completely white, and rather healthy in weight Sirius decided as he knelt down and scooped up the pup.

"Let's go see if they've found the book yet, spread some light on this nonsense," Frank sighed.

Circling around the side of the barn found a very nice bungalow, clearly very well kept up with bright shutters opened wide. Even from their view as they approached what must be the backdoor they could already see inside the kitchen, where bright yellow wallpaper was abound and even more pictures of bulldogs hung from surfaces. Inside saw Peter at the table, face in hands and looking exhausted, with two more bulldogs sniffing curiously around his feet and Regulus at the table beside him. The two stopped talking when they entered, but to the others surprise there hadn't been much noise of hostility in either tones.

"Come on Wormy," Sirius said at once with chipper, going forward and clasping him on the shoulder while forcefully putting the puppy near his face. "Won't get back to our world tell we find the book, sitting around worrying ain't going to fix that."

"Alice already found the book," Regulus shrugged without concern.

"Well then let's get to it," Frank agreed going past them into the living room. Alice was sitting on the floor next to a snoring pooch as tan as the carpet rather than the plastic bound furniture, while four more dogs of the same breed were all lazing about comfortably, one nursing a litter of three. Lily was crouched down beside the proud mama, stroking a little fawn one.

"Don't be getting ideas now," he cautioned as he offered to take the book from Alice before sitting down by a brindle colored one with a rather rotund stomach and very round teets, likely promising another litter soon. "We don't have time to be hunting down formulas for puppies."

"I know," she sighed as she relaxed against the wall and glanced out the front window where a picturesque well stood on a hill. "It's just nice to land somewhere so pleasant for once. This isn't any of our houses, seems to just be some nice person who breeds dogs. I don't know what Harry has to do with this place, but it seems to be something good for once."

"Chapter title doesn't indicate as much," Frank said in surprise as he cracked the book open. The opening was as horrendous as usual, none of them ever actually enjoyed hearing of the Dursleys many ways they managed to make Harry feel as unwelcome as possible in that house.

Things picked up with interest though, when the Muggle news casually said a certain name.

The other five walked slowly into the room, eyeing Frank like they thought he was playing his first prank. Even Pettigrew was looking more lively again, still clutching the little white pup to his chest a little too tight as he went from looking at the book to not only his best friend, but the brother that shared the Black name.

"Did we miss something?" Potter demanded, wand clutched in one hand and the other balled into a fist. Frank found that a tad dramatic. It was the Muggle news after all, and while it had caught him off guard, there was certainly no reason for his him to be getting defensive over it.

"No, not really," he said calmly, already turning back to the book. "I'd think you heard as well as I, someone named Black broke out of a Muggle prison." The group remained cluttered in the doorway while Frank finished, though there really wasn't much more to be said from the news.

Lupin made an awkward sort of noise that may have possibly been an attempt at a laugh. He put a casual arm around his friend and eyed the brother with that same pained sort of look that was desperately striving for carefree. "Well, what do you suppose you two get up to in the future?"

"Stop exaggerating Moony," the elder of the two brothers pushed his friend away with a much more natural look of uncare. "Just something being stirred up in the Muggle world, how could anyone break out of Azkaban for it to be related to us?"

"Yeah," Regulus quickly muttered agreement, but his brows were still ruffled with confusion and uncertainty. Frank couldn't blame him. Of the two, he'd put money down the youngest would certainly break the news first in You-Know-Who's service rather than the toerag and self proclaimed savior to James Potter.

Harry very obviously had no reason to dwell on this, so it made sense he was distracted by the next interruption of someone named Marge coming about. His reaction to the news was distracting enough to get to them as well.

"What's that horrid woman done then?" Lily snapped in frustration. Already more than sick of the way these horrid people treated her son, she had half a mind to slap Petunia across the face when she saw her again, even if she still doubted herself to go through with it. This perverse future version of a life without her in it already featured a bitter best friend who treated her son so horrid and she was still bound and determined to find a way to an answer for that, her sister was a slightly lesser concern but one she'd have to deal with eventually.

At least this particular problem wasn't on her plate, this Marge was Vernon's sister, and the location they happened to be at suddenly made more sense. Then her hand froze on the little pups warm fur as the their surroundings went from cheerful to claustrophobic in seconds as the laundry list of misdeeds she'd done to Harry were listed. The bright wallpaper was sickening, the little box of dog treats placed sporadically had her clenching her jaw in disgust, and the walking stick left propped against the back door was something everyone was eyeing to be broken in half.

This was no innocent woman breeding dogs for a living, this was a horrible woman, just like every other person in Harry's life who treated that kid like scum, for what?! Lily felt fooled as she sat there shaking with rage, taken in by the beautiful countryside and calm animals around her not to realize there was always something repugnant under the surface.

Of course things only got worse when the woman arrived, Lily couldn't help but get defensive. Of Potter of all things! And not just Harry! This Marge woman shamelessly took to taking criticizing to an inhuman level in regards to Harry and even going so far as to putting this blame on his parentage. As many times as she'd wanted to curse Potter's face off, at least she knew why he deserved it! This woman didn't know anything about them, and what she was saying to a child was reprehensible!

Between this, Petunia not having the decency to say a single word in defense like some part of her still hoped for, and the revelation the woman actually had puppies drowned, Harry magically blowing her up was a blessing.

Lily didn't burst out with cheers like the Marauders, or even resort to the other three muttering things they'd like to do to this woman instead of something so mild, Lily just let herself relax. She released a stream of breath, her shoulders slumped, and she scooped the little ball of folded skin that was the wrinkly puppy just finished nursing and tucked the babe into her neck. It was by far the most mild victory Harry had ever dished out on his own, but really, it was somehow the most satisfying.

Defeating Voldemort, twice, was still such a fantastical thing for something of their future, let alone a kid of hers to be doing it, she still just hadn't quite grasped that concept. This however was something she and her son could readily agree on, no one would be saying such atrocious things and getting away with it.

The news that Harry was leaving that house was a welcomed one, she couldn't stop herself from laughing in relief. Of all the times she'd escaped a very similar house and words from her sister, the idea of escape was one she knew intimately. As Frank warned the closing sentence was upon them, she regretfully set the little pup back down next to its mother and watched Pettigrew finally do the same.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: That Place Where You Can't Remember and You Can't Forget

Summary: Red is back and things are going swell.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings:  Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was deep into the Underground nighttime when Rus wandered downstairs to get something to eat. He still felt a little achy and not all of it was from being stuck in the cold the day before.

Waking from his post-dinner nap left Rus restless enough for Blue to notice, teasing him about being a squirmy wormy, but there was no good way to tell his bro that the real problem was he was horny, plain and simple, and could he please get the fuck out for a couple hours so he and Edge could make some squelching noises?

Planning wasn’t exactly Rus’s strong suit; the evidence of that preceded him whenever he walked. So it was lucky that Edge more than made up for it. He owed Edge big time for asking Blue if he couldn’t go over to the Librarby for him in search of a particular puzzle book he’d heard was there. It was pretty good as excuses went; they all knew books were in short supply in Underfell. Blue agreed happily, and if there was a certain knowing gleam in his eye lights when he left, eh, Rus wasn’t much of a planner, but he was pretty good at pretending not to see things he’d rather not. It was a gift.

The moment the door closed behind his bro, Rus was on his feet and headed towards the bedroom at the fastest waddle he could manage. Ungainly as he was, he didn’t exactly feel like much of a seducer; his heavy belly was pretty much front and center, not exactly what he thought of as a turn on.

Somehow, Edge didn’t seem to mind. His hands and mouth were as eager as when they were only fucking around, hell, more so, he seemed happy to worship every part of Rus, from his toes to the very top of his skull, wringing out orgasms until Rus could only lay back weakly, trembling against the sheets. He wasn’t an innocent by any definition of the word, but some of the heated things Edge whispered to him in the darkness of his (their?) bedroom left him blushing and craving even more.

That was hours ago, now, Rus had drowsed off while Edge was gently washing him with a lovely, warm washcloth. Now horniness was taking a backseat to hunger, it was always something, wasn’t it?

Rus squirmed free of Edge’s arms as carefully as he could, slipping on his robe as he crept downstairs. He paused at the door, watching as Edge slept on, his sockets closed, the sharp angles of his face relaxed in sleep.

Seeing him made something unnamed in Rus’s soul stir, squeezing so tightly he could hardly breathe. He turned away, letting it ease. Whatever that was would have to be a problem for Tomorrow Rus, because tonight, all he wanted was something to eat.

It was good that he closed the door when he did, because the baby chose that moment to wake up, too. Rus bit back a groan as the baby shifted around, settling right into his pelvic cradle like it was a damn lounger. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was uncomfortable and the way the kid was wriggling made it feel like they were going to fall down and dangle somewhere between his knees.

“wish i knew when you were gonna put in an appearance, kid,” Rus muttered. “it’d be nice to stick a pin on a date.” He curved a hand under his belly and gave a hopeful nudge, trying to urge his little skitten to move up a little higher. No dice, the baby only shifted and then settled back in with another demanding squirm, the one that meant on no uncertain terms, ‘feed me!’.

Rus sighed and started down the stairs. “yeah, i’m going.”

Seriously, the most frustrating thing about this was dealing with all the unknowns. Undyne did the best she could, but she didn’t know much about skeleton pregnancies. Everything she had she was pulling from old medical journals, but it was looking like they were a little incomplete. For one, she hadn’t known the souling descending would hurt. It didn’t for other Monsters, but then, other Monsters were different. The cost of magic was a lot higher for a skeleton pregnancy, they didn’t have a uterus laying around waiting to get used. On the other hand, they did have the added perk that any skeleton could have a kid since they went with ‘bring your own’ when it came to a body.

Thinking about it made the niggling memories at the back of his mind perk up a little. Undyne hadn’t known it would hurt, sure, but Red had. Red knew an awful lot about soulings and how they descended and--

Before that thought could connect, Rus’s slipper caught on the last stair, tripping him. Even as he started to fall, he flung out his arms to catch himself, split-second thoughts of ‘fuck’ and ‘no’ and ‘not after everything’ swamping him.

But the rush of the hard floor to meet him stopped abruptly, blue magic engulfing his soul, cradling him gentler than he thought possible.

“careful there, mama.”

“red?” Damned creature of the night. It was like Rus thinking about him summoned him up from whatever hole Red crawled into. The living room was dark, but Rus could see the faint gleam of bluish light from the sofa, coming from a darkened lump sprawled across the well-worn cushions, buried in the blanket Rus left there for emergency naps.

“who else?” Red made a hoarse, chuffing sound that might pass as a laugh. “no one else is gonna get past the spells my bro put on your door locks.”

Wasn’t that the truth. He and Blue were both shocked at the layers of protection that Edge insisted on weaving into the door locks, warnings, shieldings, the works. But neither of them protested it; hey, if a little extra protection made Edge feel better about sleeping over, Rus was all for it. Looked like stopping shortcuts wasn’t included in the package, deliberately or not.

The floor was still a couple of inches from his dangling slippers and his soul was starting to get that faint achiness from being gripped for so long. Rus waggled his feet, but Red didn’t seem to get the hint. Heck, he wasn’t even sure how Red managed to catch him before he could fall, anyway.

“hey, unless you’re gonna carry me around like a living backpack, you can let me down,” Rus called. Red made a low sound that seemed to be agreement, because the light pressure on his soul faded, renewed gravity easing him to his feet. The kitchen beckoned, all the delicious leftovers from the enchiladas that Edge and Blue made last night calling to him, but Rus still hesitated.

Something didn’t seem right about the local gargoyle.

Rus made his way over to the light switch and turned it on to the dimmest setting. Even so, a pained hiss came from the sofa, Red slinging an arm over his sockets. Like bare bone was gonna work as a mask? Closer to the sofa, there was a familiar green stink in the air, one that Rus knew very well, indeed.

Okay, yeah, if he had a guess, he was gonna say Red was stoned out of his melon.

“where’ve you been?” Rus asked, amused. The crumpled paper bag on the coffee table offered a clue, even if there were nothing but crumbs inside. “over at muffet’s? please tell me you behaved.”

Red offered another laugh, his arm sliding down to let him peer lazily out. “relax, mama, boss would have my ass if i caused trouble over here in your pretty lil’ world.”

If Edge could pin him down long enough to talk to him, maybe.

But that was a problem those two were gonna have to fix on their own. “didn’t happen to bum a smoke off bunno while you were there, did you?”

That sharky grin of Red’s widened. “mebbe. that a problem, mama?”

Yeaaasssh. A while back, Rus helped Bunno rig the hydroponics for his weed farm and every one of those little plants was babied into maturity. Even half a blunt usually put Rus down for the count and Bunno could be pretty damned generous with his stash.

Ignoring the ‘mama’ thing seemed easier than trying to argue about while Red was blazing trails. “you hungry?”

Sockets slit open, reddish eye lights rolling in his direction, “you offerin’?”

“yeah. let me go warm it up. don’t run off now.” If he was even half as messed up as Rus usually got from it, he probably couldn’t even get his feet facing the same direction if he wanted to.

Red seemed like he knew it, too. That sharky grin of his tipped higher and he closed his sockets again. “do my best.”

The enchiladas were neatly put away in the fridge, just like he’d known they would be. Blue always made a little extra for dinners these days; there was no telling how many might be at the table, plus leaving plenty of leftovers for growing skittens.

Rus was never gonna earn a chef’s hat, but he could manage warming up the goods and dishing it out. The smell was making him drool and the baby was doing a tango up his spine by the time he brought the plates out. He plopped Red’s on the coffee table with a thump and sat on the sofa with his own, ready to dig in. His belly made for a decent tv tray if he kept a hand on the plate. He was still mourning the loss of an entire bowl of oatmeal from an enthusiastic kick sending it flying.

Blue thought it was funny as hell and even Rus bursting into stupid tears hadn’t stopped him from laughing. It was pretty hilarious now and little embarrassing, but at the time, losing that oatmeal had seemed like a devastating blow to his hunger.

He refused to let his enchiladas suffer the same fate.

The blanket was stirring, Red slowly emerging like a creature from the deep. Rus couldn’t hold back a groan of pleasure as he scooped up his first bite, holy shit, when Blue and Edge combined their culinary powers, they made some damned good eats. Red seemed to be in agreement if the way he started chowing down meant anything, slurping down noisy mouthfuls.

The kid probably liked their secondhand version of it, too, given the way they were squirming. Rus winced, rubbing at his roiling belly. Seriously, it was weird watching it. He’d seen other preggers Monsters a time or two and they always seemed to have cute, round little tummies brimming with baby. Meanwhile, Rus’s always looked sort of lumpy depending on what side the baby was leaning on, and seeing it from the outside when a little hand or foot decided to push out was like watching some creepy B movie about alien infestations. Wasn’t exactly comfortable, either.

Through a mouthful of tasty, tasty enchilada, Rus mumbled, “i tell you what, when this kid makes its exit, i got a whole bucket list of things to do. whenever they decide to stop loitering, anyway.”

He wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the lack of scolding brothers. Red was shoveling in the food, wiping his mouth against his shirt as he chewed thoughtfully. “been about twelve weeks now altogether, yeah?”

“yeah.” His thoughts were sort of tired and jangly lately, but that was a date he could calculate to the minute.

Red only nodded, grunting out, “shouldn’t be much longer, then.”

Again, that confident knowledge. Rus wasn’t sure what to do about it, past trusting that Red was right. He tugged up his shirt, pulling it overtop the bump. The bright orange of the ectoflesh was opaque, hiding the little babybones curled up inside.

Those tiny bones getting solid and strong, using up all the tasty magic the food generated as they got ready to come out to the world. Would they look like him or Edge? A combination of the two? They were both tall, so the kid had that going for them, but maybe the kiddo would have crimson eye lights and wee little sharp teeth, all ready to gnaw at the table legs when they started crawling. Maybe they would smile with all the delight Edge struggle to show. Maybe, maybe…

Rus couldn’t wait to meet them.

He stroked a hand over the swollen curve of his tummy contemplatively, “if it’s soon, guess we should start thinking about names.” Edge hadn’t even mentioned names yet, they pretty much stuck with skitten or baby when they talked about them.

Red only snorted, “don’t bother.”

That made Rus raise some mental eyebrows. “why, you have a suggestion?”

“heh, nah,” Red licked his plate clean, something that would have gotten him a sharp knock on the skull if Edge saw him do it. “skeleton babies are born knowing their names. makes it kinda weird that we all go by nicknames now.” His mouth twisted sourly. “well, most of us. but if you run a check, i'm still sans. can call me whatever you want, it’ll always show me as sans. my soul knows what it wants to be called.”

Red rolled his head in Rus’s direction. His eye lights were hazy, diffused, crimson muddied with flecks of green, and Rus wondered again how much he’d had to smoke. “y’can usually do a check on their soul, see what the kiddo’s name is. might be able to do it by now.”

Okay, that was some seriously unexpected news, every damn word of it. Rus didn’t really remember his own childhood much, it was weirdly blurred and by the time his mental film got back on track, Blue was a toddler, already fully cooked and walking on his own. Rus didn’t remember ever checking him to see his name. His bun was still baking in the oven, but here was Red telling him he could check the baby. He hadn’t even thought to try it.

It was tempting, so tempting, but.

Edge was upstairs sleeping with no idea that Rus was down here getting maternity tips from his stoned brother, and Rus could only imagine how hurt he’d be if Rus did it without him. He’d been freaked out at the beginning, but these days Edge was all over the baby, whispering secrets to the little bump that Rus strained to hear, resting gentle hands on the roundness of his belly in the hopes of feeling a kick. The first few times Edge asked, always so stiffly polite cause he didn’t want to presume, and it was so damned precious that Rus finally gave him blanket permission for belly fondling.

So long as he threw in plenty of foot rubs, Rus was on board.

Might be the hardest thing Rus ever did, but he regretfully set that new knowledge aside for sharing time. With any luck, he could catch Edge before he headed off to patrol, give him something to glow about while he was over in Underhell.

Thinking of which...“where’ve you been, anyway? you missed napstatton.”

His needling backfired unexpectedly as Red chuckled darkly, “was here earlier but you and the boss already went to bed. sounded a little busy, so i decided to take in the sights outside.”

Well, that wasn’t horribly embarrassing or anything. Rus could feel his cheek bones warming. “sorry about that.”

Red only shrugged. He sank back against the sofa cushions, propping one sock-covered foot up on the coffee table, his toes curling over the edge. “eh, it’s part of the deal. your magic is all out of whack, making you horny as a moldsmal in pollen season. may as well enjoy it while you can, ain’t gonna be doing much once the kid is here.” He laced his hands over his middle, tipping his skull back, eye lights examining the ceiling. “went to see my alphys today. me and ol’ al go way back. thought she might like a chat.”

That...sounded weirdly ominous.

“yeah?” Rus said, cautiously. He’d never met any of the other residents of Underfell, wasn’t even allowed outside to smoke whenever he’d been there. He knew they were more like their alternates in Undertale than here, in that Undyne was Captain and Alphys a scientist. Given what he knew of Underfell, Rus was pretty sure that’s where the similarities ended. He didn’t know why Red felt the need to talk with his Alphys or why he was bringing it up now. Could be that his pot-swirly skull was just yammering. Sure. Could be. But that wasn’t a bet Rus would put a G against.

Those crimson eye lights slid his way, sharper despite that lingering haze, “you stay out of underfell, you hear me? ain’t no time for picnics or movie nights or whatever shit you all think up.”

Um, yeah. Not a problem. Even if he wanted to take a trip through the void, which he really didn’t, Underfell wasn’t exactly his fave vacation spot; he’d barely ever been there even before the baby bump. Red was still glaring at him, looking for all the world like he was about to drag Rus upstairs and lock him up like some new bald version of Rapunzel.

Hastily, Rus nodded, adding for good measure. “yeah, of course. we’ll keep any picnics local.”

That seemed to be enough. Red relaxed back, his sockets sinking closed again and Rus made a mental note to ask Blue and Edge to maybe not mention his recent storm chasing. He didn’t really want Red to take his bodyguard tendencies to the next level.

Protecting.

“soulings are fragile until they descend.”

“it’s like getting touched with happiness.”

“my baby grew up just fine. little stupid, sometimes.”

Almost-memories churning through his mind, finding each other and connecting. Maybe in the light of day, Rus wouldn’t ask. But here in the deepest part of night, with Red pliable next to him, questions were easy to offer.

"red?" Rus asked, very softly. "how old are you?"

He didn’t open his sockets. “you already know that. same age as you."

"yeah. about fifteen years older than edge, give or take."

That got him a low chuckle. “afraid you're too old for him? don’t worry, he’s older than he should be and you didn’t age past twelve.”

“my sense of humor is my fountain of youth.” Rus hesitated, searching for words that weren’t land mines, "i was still in stripes when blue was born."

"i expect so."

"so were you, weren't you. when edge came." There. Now it was out there, the words hanging between them like glass ornaments and just as delicate. He didn’t know what he expected to happen, anything from Red shortcutting away to him screaming out abuse, offering his own words, these ones designed to cut deeply, damaging not the body but the soul.

He expected that and anything in between. But Red didn’t move, didn’t shout. His expression, smoothed by the best weed Underswap had to offer, didn’t so much as twitch. The only reason Rus even knew he heard was when Red finally spoke, low and gruff.

"papyrus," Red said, deliberately. "don't. let it go."

"'kay," Rus agreed, softly. That was as far as he was willing to pry, anyway. All things considered, he was getting off pretty light. But then Red shifted restlessly, sharpened fingertips scratching at the sofa arm in long, agitated strokes.

“’s why i was so mad, you know.” So softly, Rus straining to hear that raspy whisper. “that he got you knocked up and all. thought he might be like his old man, after all, got some sick fucking need ta spread his seed or some bullshit, and don’t care who it hurts.” His voice thickened, that familiar Hotland accent of his fading back, “the doc tried so many times, so many little soulings that sputtered out, didn’t even get a chance to descend. then there were the other ones, ones that made it further. not far enough, nothing but little bones left to dust. paps was the only one who came out okay.”

For one sickening second, Rus didn’t understand, trying to put those words together in his head in a way that made sense. Having it come into focus didn’t help; his imagination stalled, trying not to picture what Red was telling him. and all he could do was stare at Red in silent horror.

Red only chuckled hoarsely. His jacket was cast off on the floor by the door, a wilted, empty shell, and without it Red seemed smaller, frailer, his thin t-shirt offering little protection. “heh, don’t need to look like that. it wasn't that bad. doc couldn’t do it the old-fashioned way. barely wanted to touch me at all, much less fuck me.” He shook his head, a wobbly roll of his skull atop his neck, “fun fact, you don’t actually need to have sex to make a souling. it’s the buildup of magic you need, some energy to work as baby batter, lots of it. sex is a good way to build it up, is all.”

“that fact isn’t very fun,” Rus said, thinly. He shivered, curling his arms around his belly where his baby rested, still safe inside. His soul felt cold, colder than it had out in the woods.

How Red found another laugh, Rus couldn’t begin to guess, “guess not. anyway, the doc had his own method. and who was i, anyway? stupid kid, that’s who, believing a bunch of bullshit promises cause i wanted off the streets. ended up right back where i started, only with a special toy surprise inside.” Red’s smile softened, his gaze distant, “kid was a pain in the ass. used to get so angry over nothing, scream until he was red in the face if he even got his fucking hands dirty. but he was mine.”

His voice was fierceness itself, tempered with bitter nostalgia. “called him brother. it was easier that way. plenty of orphans on the streets, but me with a baby of my own was gonna raise some questions as to who was knocking up the stripers. brothers were better. safer. doc was gone by then, anyway.” Red tipped his head, slanting an unreadable look Rus’s way and he was a fucking Judge, he could read any expression. “you gonna tell him?”

It took a moment for that question to even register. Rus’s head was busy trying to wrap itself around Red having a baby, having Edge, still in stripes while he lugged around a belly like Rus’s, only without anyone making enchiladas or wrapping him up in cozy blankets to nap, or even having a roof over his head. Red on the streets with his baby, calling him brother until it was believed, until that was the only truth out there.

Tell Edge? Tell him that his fa—brother had been lying to him his entire life. Like Red deserved another weight to shoulder, burdened with possible hate from the one he cared for most for being a scared kid making the choice he thought was best, a choice he never should’ve had to make? Not a fucking chance.

“no,” Rus said at last, “no, i won’t say a thing.”

A flicker of relief crossed Red’s face, his sockets drifting shut again. “thanks.” He laughed again, a low slur of sound, “you know, for a long time, thought you all might be the same with your bros. couldn’t be sure without askin’. guess not, pretty sure by now you’ve never done this before.”

Rus tried on a laugh of his own, weak and watery, but it was there. “nope, this is my first go-around, probably my last, too.”

“heh. yeah. one skitten is good enough for anyone.”

They both fell silent at that, Rus still trying to absorb that unexpected info glut. He didn’t know if confession was good for the soul, but it sure was exhausting and soon enough Red’s skull was drooping to the side, his breathing going slow and even.

Rus didn’t quite dare try to move him to a more comfortable position. Instead, he carefully shook out the blanket and let it drift down over him. In his sleep, Red twitched, burrowing into the soft folds with a drowsy grunt.

Good enough.

He left their plates where they were, ready to beg forgiveness from his bro for the mess rather than risk waking Red by shuffling around too much. He went back upstairs to his room, careful to avoid the creaky stair.

A quick peek showed Edge was still in bed. He’d moved into Rus’s spot, close to the wall and rolled on his side to face it. Rus stripped off his robe and slipped beneath the sheets in his bare bones and belly to curl up behind him. But the expected comfort did not come. Those strong, scarred bones were cooler than to be expected from someone curled up cozy beneath the covers. His breathing was maybe a little too even, playing false.

Fuck.

Very quietly, Rus murmured, “you shouldn’t listen at keyholes. might not like what you hear.”

His soul sank as Edge shifted, proving Rus’s suspicions. He sighed heavily, still facing the wall as he said, evenly, “That is true. Or you may simply hear things you already know.”

Getting rendered speechless was a new trend that Rus couldn’t say he was enjoying.

Whatever Edge thought of his silence, he finally rolled over, his eye lights bright in the darkened room as he studied Rus’s face. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t sign on to be our secret keeper.”

“no,” Rus blurted, “no, it’s okay, it’s…it’s okay.” It’d be even more okay if he did ask, that was a promise Rus would be more than happy to give. So many secrets and all of them burdened with old hurts. But Edge only nodded slowly, his eye lights drifting down, resting on Rus’s belly.

He reached out, the bed creaking as he shifted, and his hand paused in mid-air, “Would it be all right if I—"

Rus didn’t wait for him to finish, already nodding along as he blurted, “yes.” He wasn’t sure what Edge wanted, but he was good for it. Anything to help settle the ache in his chest; he didn’t want to think of Edge as a child and couldn’t stop. A little baby bones crying over dirty hands while a too-young Red tried to soothe him however he could.

Edge moved closer, curling the lanky length of his body around Rus so that his skull rested on his belly. Like always, the baby seemed to sense Edge was close, wriggling happily as Edge lightly petted the taut ectoflesh, crooning out soft reassurances until the baby settled, calming.

They could probably sleep like that, they’d done it before. Except, maybe they needed something else. Something better, a distraction of goodness. Rus swallowed hard and managed to say, “red said that if we might be able to check the baby by now and...and if we did, we could see their name.”

Edge stilled, his startled gaze flying up to meet Rus’s. “Did you want to—”

“you do it,” Rus said, softly. Edge nodded jerkily, his gaze refocusing on Rus’s belly. When the feeling of being checked came it was distant, a brush-by instead of ticklish focus. Edge made a low, choked sound, and Rus couldn’t take it anymore, bursting out, “well?”

“Lucida,” Edge said. The soft wonder in his voice made Rus’s soul clench and just because he didn’t want to name that emotion didn’t mean he didn’t know what it was. “Her name is Lucida.”

The baby kicked hard as if responding to the name.

Her name. Her.

Their skitten was a her. Rus let out a laugh, uncaring that it nearly sounded like a sob, tasting his own tears as he whispered, “our baby’s name is lucy.”

“Lucy,” Edge agreed, and Rus barely noticed him moving until his mouth was pressed to Rus’s, a fierce kiss tempered by unbearable gentleness and broken only when Edge began scattering those soft kisses over his face.

Their baby, theirs. And she was gonna have daddies and papas and uncles, everything Rus could possibly offer to her, she was gonna have. All of it, safe and warm and loved.

That was a promise.

tbc

[graciebirdie]

It’s Christmas (almost) @thisdiscontentedwinter a gift for the amazing you! I hope you like Peter cooking! (also on ao3)

Peter didn’t consider it to be a character flaw that he was a man in his 30s who didn’t know how to cook. He had a few pretty good reasons why he’d never learned how before he’d reached his 30s after all.

Not the least of which being when he’d been a part of a pack he’d been regulated to hunter rather than chef. While usually hunter just meant he was the one who did most of the grocery shopping he did, occasionally, get to hunt down deer or rabbits for when they had special dinners. That was of course his favorite part of providing for the pack. One of the few times his propensity for violence was not only accepted but also praised.

Now he had been living by himself, surviving on take out and deli made meals.

This wouldn’t be a problem except he found he missed homemade meals with a ache he could physically feel behind his breast bone.

Now he only had two options on how to sooth this newest hurt: he could either ask one of his three pack members if they could cook a meal for him or he could learn to cook himself.

The answer was obvious without even calculating in the fact neither Cora nor Derek lived somewhere with a functioning oven.

So Peter bought a cookbook and figured since he wasn’t completely helpless he would be able to figure out one of the basics of adulthood.

It turned out Peter was terrible at cooking. He could make sandwiches or any kind of egg but anything more complicated than those he always managed to royally screw it up.

He didn’t even know what he was doing wrong that make his pot roast taste like char or his stir fry to be oily when he hadn’t even used oil.

After almost a month of failures he would have given up if it hadn’t started to turn into a point of pride. Stiles had brought roast beef sandwiches to one of the pack meets and he had proudly told everyone that he’d made the roast himself.

If Stiles, who oscillated between having the attention span of a gnat or hyper-focusing to the point of forgetting to breath, could make a truly delicious roast then so could Peter.

So he turned to his last resort: cooking blogs.

One google search for ‘how to actually cook and make it taste good’ later he’d gone through five different blog posts and only learned that for some reason bloggers really liked to talk about their kids and perfect lives. It would have been depressing if Peter actually cared.

After two hours of travelling through homebodies trying to convince him to make everything vegan he found a post titled “Recipes made easy for those who are lazy, have ADHD, no time or alternately too much time, know how to cook but want to learn new things, or people who think they can’t cook but are willing to give it a try.”

What a mouthful of a title that covered all the basics of people looking at cooking blogs.

The whole blog was written in run on sentences that somehow managed to be both amusing and informative, a very narrow line to walk.

Peter might have also fallen a little bit in love with the author who gave such informative tidbits as “Why spring for a colander when you could just slap the lid on a pot and up end it over the sink while praying you won’t drop it and/or burn yourself as you tilt the lid to strain out the water but not the noodles.” and “Seriously just toss all the shit into a crockpot and forget about it for 8 hours, except you probably won’t be able to because you’ll have to keep trying to remember if you actually turned the pot on or not. (I suggest setting up a live stream camera to be on the safe side.)”

Other than an obvious good sense of humor the writer didn’t give any personal information. No name or nickname. Even the profile picture was generic. Peter thought that little touch of mystery just added the the writer's personality.

The third time Peter made macaroni and cheese from scratch – “Just cook some plain old noodles and then toss in a bunch of different kinds of grated cheese and a couple of scoops of sour cream and a bit of crumbled bacon with a little pinch of salt and bake it in the oven for a bit and bam homemade mac and cheese that people will be amazed over.” – he was so proud of his creation he brought it to that night’s pack meeting.

He set the large casserole dish down on Derek’s ridiculous table that only Stiles ever actually used and pointedly ignored the stares everyone was giving him. He settled down in his chair – the one just off to the side of the stairs that faced the door and the whole of the open living room – and pulled out his phone to feigning nonchalance while he waited for the rest of the pack to ask what he thought he was doing.

Of course Stiles was the first one to speak up. “Oh!” he said, sounding excited. “Did you make a casserole?”

He leaned forward over the table to open the dish that had been, very conveniently, placed right in front of him.

Peter watched with a surprisingly strong sense of anticipation as he watched Stiles’ eyes widen and mouth drop open in surprise.

“Is this homemade macaroni and cheese?” he asked, excitement clear on his face.

Peter gave a vague hum of agreement. “I’m trying something new.”

Stiles sprung up away from the table and practically dashed into the kitchen. He came back out only a few seconds later with a paper plate in one hand a plastic fork in the other.

Peter supposed he should be grateful Stiles took out a portion instead of eating right out of his casserole dish.

Stiles scooped up a bite and managed to bring it all the way to his mouth before Scott stopped him with a strangled cry.

“Stiles! What are you doing?!” Scott yelled as he threw himself over the back of the couch he had been sitting on. He raced to Stiles and slapped the fork out of his before Stiles could get the bite into his mouth.

“What the fuck!” Stiles gasped, cradling his hand against his chest and staring at Scott in shock.

Peter found, much to his surprise, that he had both stood up and let his claws out without a thought. He took one long deep breath and slipped his claws away before sauntering over to the table.

He oh so casually leaned his against it, back to Stiles, crossed his arms over his chest and stared Scott down.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the front door slide open to let in Boyd and Erica. The both of them slipped past Scott and behind Peter to, no doubt, stand next to Stiles.

Stiles spluttered and yelled again. “Scott! Peter's not going to bring in poisoned food when most of you guys don't trust him!”

Scott glared darkly at Peter. “Yeah we don’t trust him because poisoning is exactly something he would do.”

“Well yeah.” Stiles said. Peter could practically see him shrug. “Of course Peter would poison someone. But he’s not going to use food to poison the pack.”

Erica snorted loudly and said “Yeah Peter’s devious but he’s not stupid.” there was a pause before she added with her mouth obviously full “And if you paid attention to anything you’d known this mac and cheese is not only totally poison free but also delicious.”

“Hey...” Stiles said sulkily. “That’s my fork.”

Scott’s self righteous expression was replaced with sour resignation. Peter gave him his best fake smile before turning his back on him to look at Erica, who was eating right out of the dish.

Boyd had found another fork somewhere and had stolen Stiles’ plate.

Stiles was glaring at the both of them and Peter felt oddly annoyed.

“You going to share?” he asked Erica who seemed to almost hunch over the dish.

She just smirked at him and pulled the dish even closer to her, effectively blocking anyone else from taking some.

He stared her down intently while Stiles made indignity noises.

Boyd, smart and dependable Boyd, held out his half full plate and a second fork for Stiles who gasped and smiled brightly before scooping up his own bite.

The loud almost pornographic moan took Peter off guard and the sudden quick shot of arousal he felt was even more surprising.

He heard Erica choking on a laugh and sent her his best blank look that the pack had long learned meant he was fighting back the urge to murder one of them.

Boyd, wise and quiet Boyd, had completely given up his plate to Stiles and had instead decided to try and distract Erica with an impromptu fork fight.

Stiles seemed to be having a small spiritual moment. “Do you know what tastes weirdly good in mac and cheese?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Peter asked gamely.

“Tuna and Peas.”

Peter stared at him while Boyd and Erica made simultaneous noises of disgust.

Stiles shrugged apologetically. “It’s strangely hearty.”

Peter hummed in thought. He was certainly petty enough to make something that only Stiles would want to eat. It’s what everyone else deserved for being rude about Peter’s cooking.

~*~

“Chicken alfredo is so easy. Just cook those wormy noodles for a few minutes and toss in some canned alfredo sauce with baked chicken and bam! Food! Or if you want to get fancy pan fry the chicken before adding milk and actual heavy cream. But who really has time for that? (I do. I apparently.) Here’s how to do it the fancy way if you’re into that kind of thing.”

It continued to amuse Peter how the writer could give easy alternatives and complicated instructions for the same recipe.

His first two batches turned out tasting fine. Not amazing but certainly edible. It was vast improvement from where he started.

He felt an oddly strong urge to both thank the writer of the blog and get to know them better. A combination of emotions he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

This might not have been a problem for him if he didn’t have an strong suspicion he knew who the writer was.

Tiny hints here and there had given it away. He just had to get confirmation.

~*~

After a month of bringing in different dishes to pack meetings Peter had gotten a pretty good handle on Stiles’ likes and dislikes. Considering one of Stiles’ constant likes was Peter’s cooking in general he was confident in his welcome at Stiles’ apartment so long as he came bearing food.

Peter showed up right in time for dinner and Stiles blinked at him before letting him with only a “I’m not going to turn down your cooking, even if it is surprise cooking.”

Peter smirked at him as he made himself at home in Stiles’ tiny kitchen. The size of it certainly explained the latest post “How the hell are you supposed to get anything done in a 3 by 3 space: a photo tutorial by me, not a professional photographer.”

Peter had recognized the kitchen in the pictures from when he had helped Stiles move his (un)surprisingly large collection of kitchen gadgets.

“So what’s the occasion?” Stiles asked as he poked at the wax wrapped loaf of cheesy bread.

Now that Peter had gotten a better grip on cooking in general he had decided to try his hand at baking. He wasn’t very good at it yet but Stiles appreciated bread of all kinds and wouldn’t mind that it was a bit darker in some spots.

“Oh nothing too special.” he said casually. “I just noticed that your newest post got a million hits. Sounds like something that should be acknowledged.”

Stiles jumped and stared at Peter in shock for a moment before he relaxed again. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave Peter a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Why am I not actually surprised you know about that.” he said with a little laugh.

He turned back to the bread, pulling off a piece and inspecting it before spinning back to stare at Peter with huge eyes.

“Oh my god, did you get all those recipes from me?” he asked loudly, excitement obvious on his face.

“Well your instructions are very comprehensive.” Peter said with a casual shrug.

Stiles grinned at him, obviously pleased about Peter complimenting him.

“That’s a really fucking nice thing to say.” Stiles said, grin turning into a softer smile.

Peter shrugged again and turned to start pulling dishes down from the cupboard. “It’s just a fact.” he said casually.

Stiles laughed. “Whatever you say. So what you make me?”

~*~

Stuffed full of the potato soup and cheesy bread Peter was slouched down on the couch and making grocery lists on his phone. Stiles was curled up next to him, half leaning against Peter’s shoulder while half watching Leverage, half reading one of the books Peter had given him.

“Holy shit!” Stiles suddenly yelled.

Peter turned to look at him in interest.

“Are you courting me, Peter Hale?” Stiles asked eyes and mouth wide open in shock.

Peter blinked at him in genuine surprise for a moment before past behavior clicked together in his brain. He couldn’t stop himself from face palming.

Stiles laughed uproariously and leaned harder against.

“This is the best thing ever.” Stiles said breathlessly.

“Which part?” Peter asked through narrowed eyes.

Stiles grinned even harder at him and didn’t answer, just leaned forward to give Peter a soft kiss on the check.

“I’m going to milk the shit out of this.” Stiles said in amusement. "I can't believe I didn't realize sooner! You get so pissy when Erica steals food from me that it should have been obvious."

Peter supposed he kind of deserved that respond if he’d gone around trying to give gestures of romance through food and not even realizing it.

Peter raised his arm and Stiles instantly cuddled himself deeper into Peter’s side, tucking his face against the side of Peter’s neck.

“It’ll be nice not to be the one cooking all the time.” Stiles said quietly.

Peter felt a rush of protectiveness and fought a sneer at the thought of Stiles always having to be the one to talk care of himself.

He turned his head slightly and gave Stiles a light kiss on the temple. “Not just the cooking.” he promised softly and Stiles shivered against him.

Stiles took a long shuddering breath before fully melting against Peter.  “Yeah, sounds good.” he whispered and curled his hand into Peter’s.

Peter wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get him and Stiles to this point but there was no way in hell he was going to complain when Stiles was being so shockingly soft with him.

Peter decided that it was immensely satisfying to be the one Stiles felt was providing for him and let himself feel as protective and possessive as he wanted, secure in the knowledge that he had to be doing something right to have earned Stiles’ trust.

[saiyanprince541]

A Capsulated Christmas

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!! So here’s a sweet, funny and steamy VegeBul Christmas collab for my awesome friends @nekolover628​ and @loveveggiehead​ (Neko's going to draw the cover art for it, which I'll link as soon as it's up hehe)! Hope you enjoy! ;) FFN version: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12771524/1/A-Capsulated-Christmas Ao3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141614 A Capsulated Christmas

"Mommy?" The two-year tottered into her parents' bedroom, dressed in a powder-pink dress that was embossed with white lilies and had short bell-sleeves, over a snow-white pair of polyester PJs. "Daddy?"

The Prince let out a weary groan, his eyelids fluttering open. With as little noise as possible, he sat up from his bedside, wincing at the slight creak. He groggily rubbed his eyes and stared quizzically at the minuscule form, awkwardly standing at the doorway.

"I'm hung-wee." Bra whined.

Vegeta placed an index finger on his lips, tacitly urging her to keep her voice down, before cautiously clambering out of bed and tiptoeing towards the tiny toddler. He scooped her up in his arms and headed downstairs to the kitchen, not wanting to rouse Bulma from her slumber, since it was barely dawn. She'd come home late last night and they needed to prepare for Christmas, come the morning. The entire crew was invited to Capsule Corporation and a lot of work lay ahead of them.

"Alright, what do you want to eat?" The Prince asked, once he seated Bra in a high chair and fastened a polka-dotted, sea-blue bib around her shoulders.

"Gummy worms!" The child squealed excitedly, throwing her hands up high.

"No!" Vegeta frantically repudiated, with a horrified grimace, icy chills rushing down his strapping figure. "No worms!"

"No wormies?" Bra gasped, her bottom lip trembling and her large cerulean eyes beginning to water up, as she sniffled. The Prince was instantly wracked with alarm, knowing that any second now, his daughter would burst into a clamorous fit of tears, which could very well stir the entire city block to an unwelcoming wake.

"I- What I mean to say is that uh-" Darn it, he needed to think of something fast! "Gummies aren't a breakfast food."

"Weally?" The toddler suddenly went wide-eyed with curiosity.

"Yes." The tremulous Prince affirmed. "But aside from that, you must never eat worms." He added grimly, narrowing his eyes and positioning himself, so he was face level with Bra. "Worms are the embodiment of all evil and if you eat them, you become evil for three whole days and Santa doesn't give you any presents."

A tense moment of deliberation followed, after which Bra fervidly nodded in agreement.

"Okay, no wormies."

'Phew.' Vegeta inwardly sighed in relief, wiping off the beads of sweat dappled on his damp forehead. That went down a whole lot easier than he'd expected.

"Jelly babies?" The half-Saiyan asked.

"No, you mustn't eat those either." He cautioned. Gods, this spoiled girl was up to her ears in junk-food. Didn't she realize that stuff was bad for her? "What you need it a good wholesome treat."

"Ho-sum?" She narrowed her eyes inquisitively.

"Yes." The Prince nodded. "I'm going warm up some oatmeal for you."

Bra didn't know what oatmeal was, but it sounded pleasant and so she decided to go with it. The flame-haired warrior dropped a sachet of quick oats into a bowl, before pouring a cup-and-a-half of milk over it and placing it in the microwave, for a nice two-minute heat. Once that was done, he pulled it out, added three teaspoons of sugar, stirred and set it on his daughter's tray. She looked at him expectantly and he cursed under his breath. Couldn't this entitled brat do anything herself?! Vegeta begrudgingly gathered up a spoonful of porridge, softly blowing on it and proceeding to feed his voracious, blue-haired cub.

"Yummy!" Bra gushed in delight after having a taste. She avidly indulged in the rest of the sweet, savory goodness of the soft, steaming breakfast cereal. "More?" She earnestly asked her father, once the bowl was empty, an imploring gleam in her dazzling, azure eyes- Gods, they were just like her mothers. Unable to deny her, the Prince grumbled under his breath and prepared another serving of oatmeal. Ten bowls later, the ebullient baby was finally sated and Vegeta was an exhausted mess. Darn girl! How could she eat so much and at the same time, be so little?!

Vegeta was wiping the milky residue off Bra's chin with a napkin, when Bulma walked in and witnessed the breathtaking scene, instantly engulfed with an overwhelming deluge of warmth and giddiness, her heart fluttering towards the skies. Even after all these years, it was a rare pleasure to witness the more tender side to her sullen husband. She was going to announce her presence there and then, but before that she furtively pulled out her smartphone and took a surreptitious snap, tucking it away just as fast in order to prevent Vegeta from getting wind. The last time she captured him doing something sweet on camera, he'd disintegrated the hapless device.

"Merry Christmas, lovelies." She strolled over to the duo, a mischievous grin embedded on her waggish features.

"Mommy!" Bra bubbled, holding her stubby arms out. The blue-haired mother gathered up the tiny bundle, cuddling her close.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Vegeta glowered at his wife, evidently displeased at having been caught in such a compromising position.

"Well, I guess I'm no longer used to sleeping alone anymore." She gave him a naughty wink, whereby his face flushed a good three shades of crimson.

"Merry Christmas mom, Merry Christmas dad." Trunks casually sauntered into the kitchen, his hairy mussy and eyes half-lidded. "Merry Christmas Bra." The bleary boy beamed at his effervescent baby sister.

"Twunksie!" The toddler enthused and practically jumped into his arms.

"Whoa, easy there squirt." The older half-Saiyan was barely able to catch the pouncing girl.

"Merry Christmas Trunks." Bulma greeted, kneeling down and planting a protracted kiss on his cheek, to the boy's utter embarrassment.

"Mom." He protested, face turning beet red.

"Hmph." Vegeta sulkily shot his nose in the air.

"Well, I think I'm gonna sleep a while longer." The heiress yawned, stretching her arms out wide. "Trunks, would you mind looking after your sister for a few more hours?"

The lavender-haired demi-Saiyan was about to object, but the yearning look on Bra's face prevented him from doing so.

"Sure thing, mom." He sighed in resignation.

Bulma gestured for her husband to follow and so he trailed after her, back upstairs.

Nightfall...

Less than an hour remained before Christmas dinner. Bulma accoutred a lavish halter neck gown that fell down to her toes. Ornamented along the lower half of the ostentatious keyhole neckline, were a brilliant trim of lustrous diamonds, fashioned in an elaborate V-outline. She'd grown her hair over the last few months and fixed it up in a shoulder length blunt style, with bangs neatly fashioned on the front. Once she'd finished painting her nails a glistening scarlet, the heiress put on an open-toe pair of gleaming black stilettos. After pinning a matching set of silver, four-leaf clover studs to her ears, she was finally done sprucing herself up.

"God, you are looking hot, girl!" She preened, as she stood in front of the full-length bedroom mirror. The showy crimson garb was cut excessively high on the left-hand side, at approximately upper hip-level, revealing an obscene amount of creamy, mouthwatering leg skin. Vegeta's breath hitched, as he entered the room and ogled at the mesmerizing reflection of the vulgar seductress.

"What the hell do you think you're wearing?!" He demanded, at a mind-numbing cross between alarm and arousal, leaning more and more towards the latter, with each passing second.

"Like what you see babe?" She whirled around, raising a devilish brow.

"You- You're not seriously going to wear that, are you?!" The flustered Prince gasped, a stream of blood percolating through his burning loins.

"Oh no, I just put it on for the heck of it." Bulma sarcastically rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm gonna wear it, you dolt."

"That is the most indecent set of garments I've ever seen!" He growled at her, severely appalled. "And considering the way you normally dress, that's saying a lot!"

"Alright, I'll admit it's a little over-the-top, but so what?!" She frowned. "I look like a freaking goddess. Besides, you shouldn't be complaining." She smirked suggestively, ambling towards him and swaying her curvaceous hips, all the while. The sultry staccato of her high heels grew louder as she drew closer, right alongside the pounding thrum of Vegeta's accelerating heart. He stiffened, as the entrancing heiress wound her slim arms around his sinewy frame, pressing her lithe form against his. "The others may look if they want, but you're the only one who gets to touch. Consider it an honor."

"D-Damn you Bulma." He stammered, unable to resist her beguiling charms. From what little he knew, Christmas was meant to be a day of holiness and virtue, yet his lewd wife radiated with sin and sacrilege, no matter what day it was. She placed her glossy, bare thigh between his legs, teasing his hardening crotch. Any willpower he had left, quickly absconded from the dwindling recesses of Vegeta's mind, right alongside the last vestiges of breath remaining in his immobile lungs. As Bulma shifted her face closer to his, he docilely parted his lips, knowing that one way or another he was bound to surrender.

"You know, as much as I'd love to screw your brains out right now, we can't bear the risk of running late." She gave her husband an apologetic look, as a bitter scowl laced his grouchy features. "Sorry Vegeta, but it'll have to wait. Plus, I know how much you hate it when I smear lipstick all over that cute little face of yours." Winking impishly, she traced his M-shaped hairline with the tip of her nose, before exiting the scene.

The Prince seethed to himself, thoroughly vexed. Not only did stir his libido, but she had the gall to call him "cute" and then just up-and-leave as if nothing happened! It was like dangling a half-peeled banana in front of a ravenous chimpanzee and then leaving the poor creature to wither- not that it was appropriate to liken himself to a simian or his wife to a fruit. Unwilling to endure the excruciating agony of blue balls for the next five hours or so, Vegeta dashed towards the heiress, abruptly snatching her and whisking her right back into the bedroom.

"Hey wait!" She yelped, as he tossed her on the bed like a sack of rice and climbed on top, burying his nose within her ample bosom and inhaling deep. "Hold it, mister!" Bulma fulminated. "I had this outfit custom-made and I've waited months, for a chance to wear it! There's no way in hell I'm gonna let you ruin this one, you understand?!"

As the Prince rubbed his face against her plush breasts, he found himself to be rather allured by the charmeuse material, hampering his journey towards the prize that lay within. It was unlike anything else he'd come across. He suddenly felt as though the ornate gown was a part of her and he just didn't have it in him to blemish it.

"Hey, did you hear me?!"

"I heard you." He breathed rather gently and something about the way he said it, made Bulma's heart skip a beat, stomach instantly flooding with a bustling barrage of resplendent butterflies. It was then that she noticed him delicately running his fingers along the soft, satiny fabric. Realization hit her that he was drawn by the provocative outfit so much so that he refused to ravage it, the way he normally did. For long moments, the Prince alternated between trailing his hands and nose down her tantalizing, porcelain skin and the fascinating texture of the flimsy material covering it. Lower and lower he went, planting soft, lingering kisses on her thigh that made her whimper, a sharp surge of scorching desire flooding through her. "Take the dress off." He mumbled against her heated centre.

"Vegeta c-come on, we don't have time." She objected, in spite of all the base instincts screaming at her to jump his bones.

"Hey mom, dad- oh my God!" The lavender-haired half-Saiyan gasped, placing his hands over his mouth in shock, as he saw his father's face immersed deep inside the high-slit of his mother's revealing dress.

"Trunks!" Bulma shrieked, alarm bells blaring in her swarming mind, as she shoved away the desirous Saiyan's flaming head and hurriedly covered her exposed leg.

"Get out of here now brat!" A rubescent Vegeta yelled furiously, cursing himself for not having locked the damn door!

"Y-Y-Yes sir!" Trunks squeaked and instantly darted elsewhere, trying desperately to unsee what he'd seen. It was too much for his innocent young mind to take.

"Dammit, what the heck?!" The heiress scowled, bopping her husband's head, in admonishment. "This is all your fault!"

"What?!" He snarled in outrage. "That's bullshit! You're the one who smothered yourself all over me and then left me hanging there, with a stray boner!"

"Stray boner?! Why you-" Bulma furiously got to her feet and straightened out her dress. "You know what?! Screw you! I don't have time for this! I've got work to do!"

"You're damn right!" The wroth Prince ground his teeth, gripping her by the arms. "Your very first order of business is to finish off what you started!"

"I can't, darn it!" She hissed back. "We've barely got forty minutes left!"

"I don't care if we have ten minutes!" He seethed. "I refuse to walk around with an untended erection, especially if you're going to dangle yourself in front of me the whole time, wearing that!"

"You- freaking- ugh goddamn you." The heiress sighed in surrender, louring at her mulish husband. "Fine, go the shower-room and I'll give you a hand-job. Happy?"

"What?!" He protested. "No way! As if that'll be enough to-"

"Look, I don't have time to primp myself all over again!" She snapped. "It's a hand-job or no job. Your choice."

"How about a blow-job?" He asked, a hopeful gleam in his rapacious, ebony eyes. Gods that cherry lipstick of hers was to die for! Just imagining those glossy DSLs wound around his hankering phallus, as she leisurely sucked away, made him want to spurt right on the spot.

"How about a fucking slap across the face?!" She ruddily fumed, whereby her husband flinched in a rare display of fright. "You know, you're such an asshole! You don't like me rubbing lipstick on your face, but you're more than happy to have it on your cock, right?!"

"That's because no one can see my-"

"You're right, they can't see it." Bulma cut him off. "But they can still see my lips and believe it or not, sometimes it's pretty obvious when a girl's hitting it below the belt, especially with a cock as big as yours."

"Okay, okay fine!" He quickly relented, blushing profusely at her shameless evaluation of his renowned length. "But you'd better not rush this. I want this to last for at least a good five minutes."

"Well if that's the case, I suggest you stop talking and get your ass inside, cause the clock's ticking."

Not needing to be told twice, the Prince rushed into the door nearby, Bulma hot on his heels.

"Hey, I've got an idea." The heiress grinned. "Something that'll make this way more fun. Hold on a second." She went back into the room and brought her I-Pad over.

"What's this for?" The Prince asked, crinkling his brows.

"Last month, I had a private photo shoot done, during my trip to North City and- well- let's just say I didn't have any clothes on."

"What?!" Vegeta sucked in a breath, his face going beet-red. "How could you show yourself to others like-"

"Relax, Vegetables." The heiress rolled her eyes. The Saiyan scowled at the vexatious sobriquet. "The photographer happened to be a woman, so you've nothing to worry about- although now that I think about it, she may have shown a little too much interest." She let out a few tremulous laughs. "Not that I can really blame her of course hehe."

"Whatever, stop talking." Vegeta growled, snatching her I-Pad. His eyes practically bulged out of his sockets, as he sifted through indecent images of his wife, one after another. How could she depict herself like that- to anyone?! Despite any objections he may have had, however, he had to admit that it really got his gears rolling. He decided that this would make good jerk-off material, whenever Bulma wasn't around- not that she needed to know of course, else he'd never hear the end of it.

"Alright I guess it's time." The raunchy heiress went behind her husband, caressing his protruding pectorals with her dainty left hand, while her dexterous right brushed his washboard abs. She marvelled at the way his skin prickled in response to her tantalizing touch. After all the years, her effect on him hadn't mitigated in the slightest. "Whoa, that one's crazy hot." Bulma sensually murmured in Vegeta's ear, as he came across a shot of her stretching her toned leg high into the air, a perfectly straight angle lined along her crux. The Prince's stomach wound up tight, at the sultry sound of her titillating voice in conjunction with the alluring image. "Keep going." Vegeta did just that, eyes glued to the screen, as he flicked through the erotic gallery with a trembling finger, heart racing all the while. Most of the poses were rather simplistic variations of her lying on the sofa and coyly peering into the camera, but what really aroused him was the way she would cover her forbidden areas, in some mock-semblance of modesty- as if she even knew the meaning of that word.

The heiress embarked on a steady journey towards the South and finally slipped her hand inside Vegeta's grey, drawstring pants, wrapping her nifty digits around his engorged length, whereby he let out an amorous groan of pleasure. Slowly, she began stroking back and forth, kneading just the right spots. The Saiyan's onyx eyes fluttered, as a white-hot current of electricity jolted through his throbbing staff. Oh God, did he even need the I-Pad anymore when he had the real deal working him towards the heavens?! Bulma ground herself against him and he ran a hand along the galvanizing length her naked leg, reveling in the invigorating feel of her perfect, porcelain skin. Oh God, he wanted to do so many things with her right now, but sadly time wouldn't allow it.

A short while later...

"That was- rejuvenating." The placid Prince let out a rare, euphoric laugh, as a volley of endless endorphins swam along the cooling thoroughfares of his tranquil bloodstream.

"This isn't fair, you know." Bulma grumbled peevishly, arms akimbo. "You've been thinking about yourself the whole time, but now you've gotten me all hot-and-bothered and I can't do anything, cause the gang'll be here any minute now."

"Hn." Vegeta was barely listening, instead reveling in the jubilant aftermath of the stimulating session.

"You owe me big time, Vegeta." The heiress frowned, a determined look on her face, which tacitly said that a debt was owed and that she would be collecting. "Once the party's over, you're gonna be my personal fuck toy for the entire night, you got me? You won't even be allowed to breathe, without my permission." She resolutely vowed. "I swear to God, I'm gonna do unspeakable things to you!"

"Do your worst." The Saiyan grinned, readily accepting her demand. Gods, it was so hot the way she took charge like that, this fucking sexy bitch. At times like this, he wondered how he'd ever endured life, without her.

"Oh I will, don't you worry."

Not long afterwards, Bulma and Trunks were finally done decorating the Christmas tree with a colorful set of glistening stars, bells, baubles and other trinkets, all linked together with a gleaming, gold tinsel.

"Uh, mom?" The tremulous boy asked.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"I- uh- I was just wondering." He anxiously bit his lip. "What was dad doing to you in the bedroom, earlier?"

"Trunks, I really can't talk about it." She answered sheepishly, face flushed. "You see, it's a grown up-thing. Please do me a favor and forget whatever it is you saw."

"I'll try." He awkwardly mumbled, following a pregnant pause, hoping against hope that he could rid himself of the disturbing images flitting across his tormented and traumatized mind.

Seconds later, Vegeta walked by, holding Bra in his arms. The baby turned towards her mother, gaping in wonderment.

"Mom so pwitty!" She rhapsodizded, grinning wide.

"Aw thanks pumpkin." Bulma patted her cheek. She was going to kiss her, but then remembered that she had lipstick on and that wouldn't be good for either of them. Just then the doorbell rang and Bulma answered it, met by Krillin and co. on the other side.

"My God, Bulma." Eighteen gasped, as she slowly looked her up and down, drinking in the stunning, spellbinding sight of her dreamy, divine dress and the alluring anatomy that came with it. Boy, if she weren't hetero she didn't know if she would have the willpower to hold herself together in a situation like this. "You always did have a striking sense for fashion."

"Thanks L." She winked, bubbling inwardly at the praise. The heiress had recently taken to calling the once-human "L", in reference to her birth name, Lazuli. Eighteen didn't object. With an embrace, she led the cheerful family inside. The guests began rolling in one after the other, all mesmerized by Bulma's grandiose gown.

"Wow Bulma, that's an amazing outfit you got on." Videl remarked, in absolute awe. "Makes you look at least fifteen years younger."

"Thanks Videl, you're looking really hot yourself." She grinned. Her sexual frustrations from before were steadily forgotten, as she revelled in the major ego-boost she received from each and every one of her friends. The sexy scientist knew then that she'd definitely chosen well.

"Gosh Bulma, just seeing you right now, I kinda wish that I hadn't let Vegeta snatch you away from me, know what I mean?" Yamcha jested.

"Hey Bulma, you're looking mighty fine there, kiddo hehehe." Master Roshi grinned lasciviously, his prurient gaze fixated upon her exquisitely enticing bust. "I just wanna get my hands all over-"

"You want to die old man?!" Vegeta snarled, pinning the terrified Turtle Hermit to the wall, his flaming head of hair turning gold of its own volition, eyes a deathly teal.

"E-E-Easy there, V-Vegeta." The ribald geezer stammered, panic-ridden rivulets of perspiration streaming down his forehead, as he was beset with unabated horror.

"You'd better keep your eyes to yourself, unless you wish to be emasculated!"

"Okay, okay!" Roshi frantically waved his hands in surrender, not wanting to lose the most treasured chunks of his anatomy.

Other than that unfortunate incident, the event had gone by rather smoothly. Come dinnertime, a resplendent selection of dishes were lined up along the centre of a long, oaken, refectory table: grilled mackerel, barbecued t-bones, chicken wings, breast fillets and thigh fillets, fried eggplant with a side of marinara, wonton noodle soup, shawarma, pho and a giant, oven-baked turkey, enriched and marinated with the finest seasonings known to man. As they crew basked in the mouthwatering meals before them, a series of conversations were struck up, smiles and laughter ringing across the genial atmosphere of Capsule Corporation.

"Hey Trunks, you're been acting weird all day." Goten frowned at his best friend once dinner was over.

"Sorry Goten." The lavender-haired boy blushed, standing in a corner all by his lonesome. "It's just- I think I saw something that I wasn't supposed to see."

"Really?!" Goku's youngest perked up, in excitement. "Was it a big scary monster?!"

"No, you idiot." Trunks snorted. "Seriously, is that all you ever think about? God, you're such a child." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, this is kind of awkward, but- uh- have you ever noticed your parents doing anything- you know- weird?"

"Gee, I don't know Trunks." Goten tilted his head up, musing. "But now that I think about it, I did hear some strange noises coming from their room the other night."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I asked mom about it and she told me that it's a grown-up thing."

"That's exactly what my mom said." Trunks sighed.

"Hey, I've got it!" Goten grinned. "They were probably fighting monsters together, in secret!"

"Uh- yeah, maybe I guess." The older half-Saiyan let out a guilty chuckle, somewhat glad that at least his younger counterpart was able to preserve his innocence.

"Wow, that's so cool!" Goten enthused.

"Uh huh, that's one way to put it."

Supper never failed to cheer up Trunks, no matter his mood and this time, it was no different. Strawberry trifle, flan pudding, creme brûlée, fresh glazed donuts, millie crepes, black forest cake and cookie dough ice-cream were on the menu, along with a vibrant variety of other dessert specials, all of which made the demi-Saiyan overlook his horrible, harrowing experience. As he indulged himself, Bra came along and he placed her on his lap, sharing food from his own plate with the giddy girl.

"Wow, you actually got me something, Vegeta?" Goku beamed, as he graciously accepted the present being offered up by his cantankerous rival. "That's a first." He untied the red ribbon and began to open up his gift. "You know, it amazes me how much you've changed over the years, especially since- AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!" The Saiyan abruptly yawped, tossing away the object before him as though it were an unpinned grenade and huddling fearfully against the farthest corner he could find. The other crew members looked on in bafflement, wondering what could've triggered such a frightful response from Earth's dauntless hero.

"Oh." Gohan was the first one to put the pieces together, as he noticed a giant syringe inside the box that his father had just thrown.

"That is not funny Vegeta!" Goku groused indignantly, though his flame-haired rival felt otherwise, clutching his stomach and guffawing loudly at the younger Saiyan's expense. Vegeta's mirth was practically contagious and very soon, the entire clique was howling with laughter, well- except Goku of course, who glowered at the lot of them. How could they treat a legitimate grievance, so facetiously? Didn't they realize how dangerous and horrific those needles were?! He still had nightmares to this very day, following his traumatic experience at Wukong Hospital.

All in all, it turned out to be a wonderful day for the motley bunch. The farewells were delivered and the guests left the capsulated complex, smiling and sated. And now came Bulma's piece de resistance. The enlivened heiress was thrilled and overjoyed at the prospect of having Vegeta to herself for the rest of the night. He was hers to do with as she pleased and oh boy, did she have some wonderful, kinky ideas in mind.

A/N: Gotta say, I really enjoyed writing the Vegeta/Bra stuff, but also the family moments in general and let's not forget Bulma's handiwork, if you know what I'm Saiyan xD. Please leave me your thoughts and hit the review button and be sure to check out NekoLover628's awesome art, for she is a very fine artist indeed! :D