#baby dewie for scale

[abrandnewshadow]

if I ever met frank, I would give him this giant version of his pick my husband 3d printed lmaoooo <3333

[ddejavvu]

pornstar steve harrington giving the reader the best sex of their life

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"I know, sweetheart." Steve's crooning is sweet, caring, and altogether far too sexy for you to be able to handle at the moment, "That feels good, huh?”

The best you can do is nod, because the words coming out of your mouth aren’t words at all, just rambled moans and lewd gasps.

Steve has a vibrator pressed to your clit, his own much-less-silicon dick pistoning slowly in and out of your gaping hole. There's not much resistance there, not since he's coaxed two orgasms out of your quivering core.

Steve's dick is huge. You've come to have a scale in your mind, an amalgamation of porn and real life experiences that tell you Steve is massive. You're sure you've never seen a dick quite this thick before, nor quite this long, and you're afraid you never will again; that dick is ruined for you now if it's not Steve's.

He knows it, too. He's jackhammering into your sopping cunt, grunting in rhythm with his thrusts, and every uptick in your heart rate that he can feel where his teeth nip at your pulse point makes a sick smirk curl over his face.

The camera doesn't catch his expression, he's far too deep in your neck for that, but he pulls away to trail the tip of his tongue up your chin, and straight into your mouth. That the camera sees, as well as the way he pries your thighs even further apart with only one hand, nearly ripping your muscles.

"You can do it," Steve speaks into your open mouth, your silent scream all you can manage while he tries kissing at your lips, "You're gonna squirt, angel. I can feel it, hnngh, you're squeezing me so tight, I- I know you're gonna cream all over my cock, huh?"

"Mhm," You squeeze your lips shut to whimper as your jaw clenches, no longer open wide. It means that Steve's mostly kissing the skin around your mouth while you bite your lips, but with a gentle hand on your cheek, he's prying your mouth open again and catching it in his own.

His tongue smooths over your own, licking eager and desperate over your mouth. You're sure he can taste the remnants of his seed on your tongue, and you feel a ghostly ache at your jaw as you remember how stuffed your mouth had been with his giant cock.

"Come on," Steve croons, flicking the vibrator's setting up a notch until you feel a scream bubbling in your throat, "Come on, angel. You can do it," He's practically fucking you into the mattress now, hips chasing his own release egged on by the far-away look in your eyes, "I know you can, do it with me. Okay? Do it with me, angel."

"That's it," He kisses at your top lip as your bottom one closes limply around his own, "Cum, baby, come on."

'Come on, come on," He can feel it starting, the spasming of your cunt around his twitching cock, "There you go, there you- Agh! There," He pants, mouth falling open and breath slicking your shoulder with dewy heat as he huffs into your skin.

"Oh, fuck," He groans, hips hitting your own at record speed as he chases down his own high, basking in the white hot pleasure that shoots through him. It's doing the same to you, traveling through your core as his leaking dick slams into your oversensitive cunt over and over and over again.

"Steve!" You wail, gripping his broad shoulders, relishing the way that his chest hair tickles your breasts, "Ah, Steve, more, more- I need-! Don't stop!"

He rides you through your orgasm just as well as he'd created it. By the time his hips slow to a stop you're a quivering mess, sweat at your hairline and tears on your cheeks.

"Good," He hums, leaning up to kiss the silvery drops away. His lips are stained with the salty water when he kisses you, this time soft and slow and sweet.

"Want me to stay?" Steve asks, vibrator set aside as he thumbs at the creases of your thighs.

"Yeah," You nod, the sound a pathetic whimper as you cling to him, "Yeah, just- don't move, Steve."

"Okay," He hums, keeping his hips flush to yours so that his cock stays pressed into your sex, "Alright, let's just relax."

He grabs for the camera as your eyes drift shut, and you send it a bleary wave. Steve's chuckle is deep and fond as he leans in to kiss you one last time, tucking your sweat-covered face into his neck for a rest.

"You'll be a fan favorite," He murmurs against your hairline, stroking the back of your neck with his thumb, keeping the camera rolling, "Maybe we can do a sequel, sweetheart. I'll be the pizza guy next time, extra sausage."

[sixtymillionoverdueideas]

🍼 /for the laughs

Nori was stressed. What the fuck was she supposed to do about some two-Bit little toddling with its blunt, grubby claws and wide-eyed, juvenile stare???? She could feel her mana pulsing in her head, making the scales around her eyes darker with concentration,,. "Pet." She said calmly,, giving him a gentle tug of his leash as her squint took in the worn-yellow-green stripes of the mini-mon's garment,,. Well, less stripes than just the sweater cut in two.... Fuck damn it was a baby. Shit. Asgore's left horn crack,,,. "Be a doll, Pet, I'll dump 'em somewhere... else, okay?" It was less of a request than an order,,,. Know better than to even think defiance,, she thought in blinks of stone-slate, Soul barely fingers over cold dewy dandelions in grass sun white and early,,, chalk dust falling to the ground from the black-board,,,.

[luveline]

hiiii jade my darling my love <3 hope im not too late to share my thoughts on june baby with you!! i was so so so excited to read part 6!! this might be a bit too long though i’m sorry in advance

Eddie squeezes her hand fondly. She’s becoming quite the deviant. He wonders if it’s his fault. 

i love love love thinking about the amount of things junie gets from eddie. i think you’ve mentioned june being very similar to her mom and of course thats cause she’s the only one who’s been around all the time and it kinda shapes her personality BUT now she has eddie as well and i can’t help but picture her becoming somehow similar to him as well

You know you can sit there and gather your bearings without explanation. That he’ll look after you and Junie whenever you need him to. A little shimmer of pride brims at the realisation. 

and

She’s eaten every last morsel by the time you emerge. He’s more pleased than he started, because you trust him to do this while you get dressed without rushing, and you’ll allow yourself the luxury of ten minutes alone. 

every time we get to see her putting down her walls a little bit more and letting eddie help her and junie makes me feel proud too <3 it’s definitely not easy to trust someone enough to let them with your kid but i’m glad it’s happening <3

You’re ridiculously touchy, like a sponge for love. You want it just as often as you give it. He and Junie are both happy to humour you.

a win for us annoyingly touchy girls

Another round of kisses are exchanged. Kisses like a first love, excited and quick and wanting a little bit more each time. 

that was so cute :( beautifully written too :(

Why are you worrying about this stuff?

Have to worry about something. These days my options are slim pickings, thanks to you.

eddie must feel so proud knowing that he’s taking some weight off her shoulders simply by taking care of them :(( as they DESERVE

He flops back into the couch cushions, arms behind his head. "Yeh. You can’t help yourself, can you? Making that girl cooler every day." (…) He’s serious and joking at the same time. It’s a very cheesy thing to say and it isn’t untrue. It’s the juxtaposition of every parent, he supposes, the insurmountable task they perform on such a grand scale. It looks impossible, and yet people have been managing it for thousands of years anyways. At varying levels of success, sure. 

making that girl cooler GAHH 😩😩 i love him. first of many favourite quotes <3

He doesn’t know if he should, but he does the same as he’d done for Junie, tearing the cardboard fastening off of the blanket and shaking it out, before beckoning you forward and wrapping it around your shoulders. You smile, and you look like you could cry, not that you will but you could, your lips pressed together and your eyebrows gently furrowed. He takes your face into both hands. "That’s an acceptable present?” he asks. You turn your head, your lips pressed to the base of his thumb. He strokes the top of your cheek, the skin there smooth and dewy, fresh from the shower. “Do you want a kiss?” he asks knowingly. You fluster at being read that easily, “No, I… yeah, I do, I do, don’t be smug, please…" "I’m not smug, I wanna kiss you just as bad as you want me to, I’d crawl into your skin if I could–"

and

He makes you a sandwich. It’s a simple pleasure to watch. He washes his hands, grabs all the fillings, and makes it carefully. It’s too much care to be put into a sandwich. It makes your chest ache. He browns it in the frying pan and presents it to you with little fanfare. Odd, for him. “What, no, ta-da? No kiss?” you ask. “I was trying to keep it classy,” he says, bending down to kiss the skin shy of the corner of your eye. “Now eat, please. I worry about you."

and

When you wake up, it’s to the sounds and smells of French toast, or Eddie’s approximate version, a spatula scraping against the sides of your frying pan and Eddie singing a children’s song. You scrunch your eyes together and groan as you turn into the sheets, hiding your head under the pillow from the noise. You love them, you’re tired —maybe in half an hour you’ll want to join in. 

askajdkak they’re sooo happy they make such a happy family im so glad they’re together now 🤧🤧🤧🤧 the way they’re always so blunt and honest about their need and concerns too!!

“Mom… so pretty,” (…) “You think I’m pretty?” you ask. You don’t know if Junie even knows what pretty is. You say it to her so often, it might feel like a strand of “I love you,” or even, “Good morning.” Maybe she doesn’t get it. She sits up in your lap and reaches up for your face with both hands. You bend to let her. “Pretty,” she says again. She squeezes your cheek. Maybe she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does. Yeah, she does. Your baby thinks you’re pretty. You pour love into her unfailingly and she’s giving you some of her own. 

jade. my HEART. definitely one of my favourite parts <3

STEVE MEETING JUNIE STEVE TAKING CARE OF JUNIE AT DAYCARE STEVE PLAYING FOOTBALL WITH JUNIE!!!!!! losing my mind!!!!

the whole love confession scene made me WEAK i can’t even talk about it without bursting into tears

can’t talk about the scene where she breaks down crying too cause i WILL cry again

okay for this next part i’ll quote lots of different parts but i just couldn’t not mention it.

Junie, for all her brilliant smarts, her growing mind, doesn’t really get what he means. She knows that she’s the bug he’s talking to, and that he’s doing something fun from the lilting cadence of his teasing, but beyond that it’s nonsense

and

Junie nods. Mom always knows best, she knows, in an abstract way. Except for when you say that the one-eyed stray that slinks around doesn’t like pets. He loves them when you’re not looking. 

and

He squeezes Junie’s toes as he passes, and despite how weird it feels she kind of likes it. She loves Eddie, astronomically, gargantuanly, though these are big words to her. Love can’t be described in the words that she knows.

and

She doesn’t know that she misses you, but she does miss you heartily when you leave her at the daycare for the day, or sometimes when she wakes up first in the mornings and can’t climb into bed with you. She doesn’t understand missing you, only wanting you, and she wants Eddie in the same capacity. When he picks her up she feels better, and happy, and loved when his hand stretches palm-flat over her back and pats a turbulent rhythm. He sings too fast to understand, one of his loud songs. Your music is quieter, because you’re a quiet mom. You whisper when she falls asleep on your chest, singing love songs under your breath as the night creeps in, and your footfall is carefully measured. But you laugh loudly, one of Junie’s favourite sounds in the whole world —up there with the Muppet Babies’ theme song and the squeak your tennis shoes make when you half-run to the baby gate at pick up. 

and

Handsome is kind of like junebug, only you never call Junie handsome, so it must be Eddie’s alone. Junie doesn’t mind: she gets called baby and babe and bub and sweetheart and even little lady when she’s being really good. It goes without saying that she feels very, very loved. Even her name feels like a pet name when you say it most the time. 

i love that you wrote it in a way that we can see the world through junies eyes and thoughts <3 seeing r and eddie and their dynamic and how much they love junie through her eyes!!! and the way she knows that even though she doesn’t know it really but gets it either way!!! and how much she loves them back!!!

Eddie thinks you’re pretty even when you’re exhausted. In the fullest sense of the word, you meet every definition in his dictionary. You have these eyes that might not pull everyone in but more than hook him, and when you look at him sometimes it’s with so much love you’re basically an angel. Your smile is beautiful because it’s yours. Your voice is lovely because of the words you choose to say, that endless sweetness and softness. He knows you well enough now to realise that there is an end to it in reality. When you’re tired or fed up, you can be snappy and blunt and occasionally argumentative, but he likes that. He doesn’t want you any other way, 'cos perfect doesn’t exist and if it did he’d still end up on your doorstep with a plastic bag in the crook of his elbow, begging for one of those shitty mini pizzas you make and a place at your table. 

another favourite <3 that was PERFECT

"Woah, woah, who says I’m moving out?” Eddie asks, laughing nervously. Wayne takes a big bite of sandwich and Eddie suffers without an answer until he’s done. “'We,’” Wayne says, “you keep saying ’we’. Sounds serious."  

and

"Hey, hey, wait. Wait a second.” He tears his gaze from the pool to meet your eyes. “I’m settling down. I am. I want to. I want to be with you, and I want to look after you. I love doing it. This,” —he gestures around your backyard— “is what I want. I want a ton of other things and I’m not giving up on them, I wanna make music, and get a job that pays better, but I want to do those things with you. You and Juniper." 

it’s funny (in a sweet way) how they haven’t been together for that long but this is it. they’re settling down. it’s more than serious. they both feel so lucky and they’re always saying it to each other <3<3<3

“Steve, this might shock you, but I actually like having company. It was just me and Junie for so, so long, and I love her, but–” You stir the soup with a wooden spoon rather than continue whatever embarrassing thing your heart had compelled you to verbalise. “I missed having real conversations.” You laugh. “I’ve never been as lucky as when Eddie decided he didn’t mind being around me." 

i like r/steve’s dynamic so much!!! also steve’s gf mentioned being have you seen her main character. your brain is so big and beautiful

"I’m weird about you. Keep being like this and I’ll get weirder. You couldn’t cope with that and neither could I."

aakksjajakel they’re my EVERYTHING. i mean it. you have no idea how much they mean to me.

you know how much i love your writing and baby juniper and her little family have a very special place in my heart so i’m beyond happy and THANKFUL with every chapter you write and share with us. you’re my favourite writer in the world and i love getting to watch you get out of your comfort zone and try new things such as those bits with junie’s point of view. it was amazing and easily my favourite part. i love you and can’t wait to see what else comes from your beautiful beautiful genius big brain. 💌 - lu

hoh

I really wanted to nail down how they're coming to traut each other while being in a dorky kind of love at the same time, like the excitement and honeymoon feeling they have is new but the love and trust is almost a year of friendship and I think i overeplained that at points but I was just really enjoying it 😅 all the adoration was great I love love and I love how much they love each other

the confession AND the crying was also too fun 😅😭 I was feeling rubbish and Eddie's comforting is great, I want to make it so he's Him but like Him with months of love and understanding holding him up, he knows her well enough to know what to say even if he hasn't seen it before :( I wanna write EDDIE being vulnerable and sad in the next one because he's a pillar of strength most the time

Junie's pov was hard cos I don't actually know much about children her age beyond family members I don't see every day, so it's like I felt I wanted to do it well but I ALSO didn't mind if it wasn't perfect because it was purely for fun anyhow and I just thought it would be nice to emphasise that she feels loved even if she doesn't understand why

Thank you luuuu<3 I've been getting some kind messages lately and wondering if they're even real, it feels so unreal to get your asks and see what you liked and to know you at the same time, I'm amazed that you like what I write AND me 😭 love you love you <3<3

[letterstotheflre]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

summary: when you and chrissy save a pirate from drowning, you get him to show you what humans do for fun. [pirate!eddie x mermaid!reader x mermaid!chrissy]

cw: slight manipulation from u n chrissy, reader is mentioned to have long hair so she can cover her chest, smut || 18+ only [ft. threesome, oral sex (m receiver), handjob, cum play, monster fucking (technically?? u n chrissy are the monsters lol), beach sex, reader n chrissy are very innocent but somehow two whores?? who knew u could be both]

a/n: this was super fun to write ngl. please lmk what u think!!

“Isn’t he kinda… cute?” Chrissy asks you, eyes glued to the man laying on the shore between your bodies.

You look down at him, taking in his soft cheeks and his nicely shaped nose. You trace the bridge of it with a finger, leaving his skin dewy with droplets of sea water, and drift your gaze down to his plush lips. Under the slight bluish tint they have from being underwater for too long, you can still make out their natural pink colour.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if they’d feel as soft as Chrissy’s lips do on yours.

“Yeah," you hum, now tracing his cupid’s bow. “He’s pretty.”

She twirls one strand of his hair around her finger. “And his hair! It’s almost as long as Jane’s now that she’s back.”

The mention of Jane brings back the memory of the captain that kept her for years for his twisted experiments on your people and reminds you what exactly lays between you and Chrissy. You recoil your hand back and grab her wrist. “He’s a human, Chrissy. We shouldn’t have helped him.”

Her delicate features contort into a confused frown. “But he was drowning. He would’ve died if we hadn’t pulled him out!”

Maybe he should’ve, is what you’re about to say when the man starts coughing. The coughs wreck his body and water spills from his lips, his eyes slowly fluttering open but narrowing quickly from the glare of the sun. He tries to get up, using his elbows as leverage, but another cough throws him back down.

“Take it easy,” Chrissy tells him, shielding him from the sun with her body. His eyes widen at the sight of her, grow even wider when he realises she isn’t alone and sees you next to her. “You had a nasty fall.”

“Wha– What’s going on?” His voice is hoarse from the abuse his vocal chords suffered and the lack of proper air in his lungs. “Who are you?”

“I’m Chrissy, and this is–”

“Chrissy! Don’t tell him our names!” You scold.

She rolls her eyes at your overprotectiveness. “He’s not going to do anything. He can barely stand.”

You scowl at her. “You can be so careless. It’s a wonder you still have your tail on.”

“Tail?” The man's baffled voice breaks up your argument. He glances to the side and sees both of your tails wagging in the air– Chrissy’s baby blue scales and your purple ones shimmering under the golden light. “Woah! What the fuck?!”

“See? He hasn’t got a clue what we are. He’s not going to kidnap us or whatever dark fantasy you’ve created in your mind– anyway!” She changes the subject before you can tell her that you don’t have fantasies about a human male kidnapping you. She turns to him and smiles sweetly. “What’s your name?”

The long haired man looks between the two of you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Ed– Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie,” she tastes the name on her tongue. “That’s pretty. What happened to you? You’re pretty far from home.”

“I, uh, my ship got wrecked.” He gulps when you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. Your mother had warned you of human men and the lies they would tell you to get you to trust them and this one sounded very familiar. “There was a storm and– and a wave flipped us over. My friends– shit,” he wipes his face with his hands, clearly distressed. Your heart softens ever so slightly. “I have to find them.”

He tries to get up again but you place a hand on his chest and he freezes. He stares at you, brown eyes pulling you in like a current. “I’m sorry about your friends but you shouldn’t go anywhere yet. You’re still hurt,” you point to his arm where a deep gash seeps blood down to his forearm.

“Fuck,” he swears. He looks down at himself and rips a piece of the cloth he’s wearing over his torso with a low grunt that makes your scales tingle. He wraps it around the wound, hissing when it presses against the gash and baring his teeth. He struggles to tie a knot, yet you and Chrissy are mesmerized as you watch him work.

“What’s that?” You ask him once he’s done.

“What’s– Oh, this? It’s a dressing. To keep the wound from infecting.”

“No, I mean the… things you put on your body.” He points to his chest to make sure you’re asking what he thinks you’re asking. “Yeah, those. They don’t seem very comfortable.”

“You don’t know what these are?” He looks at your bodies and realises that neither you or Chrissy is wearing anything to cover your chests, only your long hair keeping some of your modesty. Blood rushes to his cheeks and you giggle at how pink he suddenly is.

He seems to be speaking to himself when he mumbles, “Oh, wow. No, no, of course you don’t know. You’re mermaids. Very pretty and n-naked mermaids.” He clears his throat and blinks awkwardly, looking away to pretend he wasn’t ogling at you. “They– They’re clothes. This is, um, a shirt. And these are pants,” he explains, pointing to his chest and legs.

“And that thing under your pants?” You point to his groin where a bulge strains against the thin black fabric. “Is that where you keep your shells?”

Eddie gets even redder. “That’s, um…” He seems at a loss of words, mouth opening and closing without making any sound.

“Oh, we love collecting shells! Can we see?” Chrissy eagerly leans forward and unties the knot that keeps his pants tied together, lowering them quickly without waiting for Eddie’s answer. Instead of the clatter of shells you were expecting, something long and thick hits Eddie’s stomach. “Oh, that’s… not a shell.”

“What even is it?” You tilt your head to the side and reach your hand towards it. You’re about to touch it when Eddie’s fingers wrap around your wrist tightly, stopping your movements.

He almost cowers from the deadly glare you’re giving him for touching you so roughly. “Sorry, sorry.” He takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “That’s, uh, that’s my cock.”

“Cock?” Eddie closes his eyes when he hears Chrissy’s sweet voice say such a filthy word. His cock twitches. “Oh my Poseidon, it moved,” she whispers to you in awe.

“What is it for?” You ask him.

“For fucking.” That one answer came out naturally for him but when he sees your confused stares he scrambles his brain for a word you would understand. “Uh… mating. For mating and… playing.”

“How do you play with it? It seems rather… stiff.”

Eddie plays with a strand of his hair, trying to cover some of his burning face with it. “You touch it. With your hand. Or you– you put it inside a woman. Or man.”

You stare at his cock– long and thick and as pink as his lips, with a tip that’s a slightly darker hue than the rest of it. There’s a thick tuft of curls at the base and two round sacks hanging heavy from it. You can’t help but want to squeeze them.

You lick your lips and look back at Chrissy who’s doing the same as you. Ogling. Her eyes are dark with need, the same look she gets when you two are left alone for more than a couple of minutes– especially on a full moon.

Before you can pay attention to the warning voice of your mother that echoes in your ears, you ask, “Can we play with it?”

Eddie swallows harshly. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” Chrissy asks, pouting her lips, her voice taking in the sultry tone the elder mermaids spend years teaching you. Her tail flicks yours and you copy her, rounding out your narrowed eyes and looking at him pleadingly. “We don’t know if we’ll ever see a human again. We just want to know what it feels like.”

Eddie seems to debate with himself for a few seconds, only the sounds of the crashing waves breaking the silence. Your voices and your eyes have him in a trance and, completely ignoring all the warnings he heard about mermaids, he nods, wet hair swinging with the sharp movements. “Yeah, okay. Knock yourselves out.”

You and Chrissy giggle happily and wrap a hand each around him, tails wiggling in excitement. You twist them around, getting a feel of the velvety skin and the ridges of the veins that lead towards the head, watching amazed as Eddie’s cock grows more stiff, becoming heavy in your palms.

“What’s happening? Why is it getting so hard?”

Eddie takes a deep breath to ground himself, nostrils flaring. “Cause I’m turned on.”

“Turned on?”

“You’re making me feel really good,” he rephrases through clenched teeth. Your hands are incredibly smooth as you hold him, probably from the slick film coating them to protect them from the abrasion of the salt in the water. He exhales a shaky gasp of pleasure when you slowly glide them up and down, his stomach flexing. 

You bite your lip and look up at him. “And how do we make you feel more good?”

“He’s been looking at your tits a lot,” Chrissy pipes up before Eddie can answer. There’s mischief in her blue eyes as she pulls your hair away from your chest, revealing your breasts completely. Eddie’s mouth falls wide open. “Do they ‘turn you on’, Eddie? Go ahead, touch them,” she encourages him.

You sigh when his hand cups your breast and kneads the fat gently, thumb flicking your hard nipple. Eddie watches your expressions carefully. When you arch forward into his touch and tighten your hand around, making him groan, he twists your nipple, earning himself a sweet moan from you. 

“Aren’t they soft? They also feel really good in my mouth, Eddie.” Chrissy smirks, moving her own strawberry blonde hair out of the way so Eddie can touch hers as well.

“Holy shit.” His mind conjures up a filthy image– the two of you under the water, hands slowly down your bodies and mouths kissing every inch of skin they could, eyes rolling back once you sucked on the others breasts. His hips buck up. “You two– you play together?”

“Mhm. All the time.”

“Oh my God.” His grip on your tits tightens. He keeps tilting his hips up, moaning softly as he fucks your hands. Something that has a pearly sheen starts to leak out of his slit and drip down his shaft, making your fingers sticky. “Yeah, lick it up, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groans when Chrissy asks if she can taste them.

She slides her tongue over your knuckles and catches the first drops that fell, eyes widening at the salty flavour. She hums appreciatively and leans down for more. “That’s nice. D’you want a taste?” She asks you.

You nod enthusiastically and her fingers gently grab your chin, tilting your head towards her so she can dribble the white substance into your mouth. “S’good,” you breathe out. 

Eddie slams a hand on the sand, eyes hazy with lust as he watches the two of you share his precum and enjoy it. None of the women back home had ever done something like that, not even some of the whores his friends brought back to the ship on the odd nights they stayed in a popular town’s port. 

You keep stroking his cock as you kiss, focusing more on the upper part of his shaft since your hand is on top of Chrissy’s. You gently squeeze the head and more precum oozes out. You flick your tongue over his slit and give it back to Chrissy, pecking her lips sweetly when she swallows it down. 

Eddie groans when you do it again. “Like that. Just like that. You’re doing so good. G-Give it a little kiss– oh fuck.” 

His eyes roll back when you kiss his tip, soft lips peppering little kisses all around it. Chrissy copies you, letting go of him so she has more flesh to kiss and slobber all over. Your eyes meet as you lick him, your happiness clear in your gazes.

She takes your hand and guides you down to the two soft sacks that caught your eye before, adding the smallest pressure to the back of your hand so you cup his balls and squeeze them with care.

Eddie moans loudly and throws his head back on the sand. “Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re– Jesus H Christ.” He gasps in surprise when Chrissy wraps her warm mouth around his dick and you kitten lick his fuzzy balls. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me.”

He lets go of your chest and the sand so he can add pressure to the back of both of your heads, keeping you stuck to his groin. Carefully, he thrusts his hips up, slowly fucking Chrissy’s untrained throat and making her gag. 

The lewd sounds make you squirm in place, the musky scent of Eddie’s hairs that tickle your nose doing little to calm you down. You’re desperate for some relief but it’s not a full moon yet– you have no legs to spread for him. So you whine needily around his balls, eyebrows scrunching up in desperation. 

Eddie shushes you, scratching your scalp with the tips of his fingers to help you calm down. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he coos. “J-Just a little more and you’ll make me cum so fucking hard. Gonna fill your girlfriend’s throat and make her share it with you, since you liked my cum so much. You want that?”

You look at Chrissy and see the tears springing in her lower waterline from the abuse her throat is suffering, some of them already falling down her rosy cheeks. With your thumb, you brush them away and offer her a reassuring smile, one that she struggles to reciprocate with Eddie stretching her lips wide but you’re able to tell she’s enjoying herself nevertheless. 

You hum in agreement and lave your tongue over his balls, feeling them twitch in your mouth. His moans grow louder and louder, thighs trembling and hips thrusting wildly. “Shit, I’m gonna– Oh, fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming,” he grunts and pushes Chrissy down completely until her nose is flush with his base.

True to his word, he slowly peels you off him and, with a hold on the back of your necks, guides your mouths together. Chrissy is smiling as she merges your lips in a heady kiss, your tongue sliding around hers so you can scoop up any leftovers that she didn’t swallow for herself, spit dribbling down the corners of your mouths and to your chests.

When his grip on your necks slackens, Chrissy tiredly rests her head on your shoulder. You blink slowly and pet the top of her hair, kissing her temple.

“You’ll come back for us, right?” she asks Eddie with a hoarse voice.

Eddie licks his lips and looks down at the pair of you, memorising the image of two beautiful mermaids looking at him with needy and wanting eyes. What kind of pirate would he be if he didn’t collect his treasure?

He brushes your cheekbones with his thumb, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

[lepus-arcticus]

52. Interlude

That night, wading through the undergrowth in the boreal chill, Walter Skinner believed. 

He saw it all and he believed; saw the ship slip from its shimmering veil, massive and magnificent in the endless, glittering night; saw the bodies rise; saw light, saw heat, saw his agent rapt and limp in the ecstasy of surrender. 

He saw it all, and he felt anew the awe and terror of Vietnam, the helicopters and the fire and MK-NAOMI, the sputter of an M60, khaki dark with blood. He saw it all, and he felt the quiet peace of inevitability, and then the sick sweetness of wonder, or perhaps the end of wondering. 

He stared into the sky as the tears gathered without falling, stared as the invaders blinked away into an abrupt and infinite void. He stared until there was nothing left but the slow creep of dawn’s mist, the sound of his own ragged breath. Stared until there was nothing left to do but stumble back through the pines to the car, to Mulder’s keys still dangling from the rental keyring in the ignition, to his jacket crumpled in the back seat. 

Walter sees it all, again and again. 

He closes his eyes, and he sees it all, sees nothing but his promise, made in earnest and then helplessly, flagrantly broken. 

-

When the sunrise begins to stain the wood paneling of his office, burning away the homey shadows in a flame of honey and bronze, he swills back the last of his whiskey and makes the trek, coatless, to the steaming coffee cart across the street. He is not drunk. He is never drunk, even after his best efforts, but the cool morning air slaps him sober anyway. 

He stands in line, pays the burly, ageless Serbian woman manning the cart her due, and wrestles a lid onto the paper cup. Black, no sugar, no cream. He stalks back through the wind with his coffee to the Hoover, picturing Scully at home in the great concrete belly of the building, tilting endlessly at her strange and unclassifiable work, reluctant to leave its orbit. 

He glances at his watch as he shoulders past security. He’s still got twenty ‘til their meeting. 

Jesus Christ, she shouldn’t even be here. It’s bad for the baby. She should be resting, goddamn it, should have her feet propped up on a pillow or three, should be eating fucking bonbons with her stubborn head wrapped up in a fluffy towel. She should at least be on desk duty, not running around Idaho brandishing scalpel and SIG-Sauer like some sort of modern day dual-wielding hedge knight. 

As usual, he abstains from the elevator, and takes the stairs back up. The mild exercise helps him squash his chivalrous irritation, helps him put it back into context. Maybe he’s just more of a sexist than he thought he was. Or maybe he just knows his agent. Maybe, that night in the hospital, he looked down into her wet blue eyes and saw rage and fear and unbridled joy as she wept, saw a woman, a lover, a mother. It was a revelation; he hadn’t even seen her cry when her sister was killed. 

She’s a warhorse, that one. She’s Joan of Arc. At the very least, she’s one hell of an agent. 

He guards himself against sentiment; he does not yearn. But in his weaker moments, he allows himself to wonder. He knows that he is no Fox Mulder, no crusader or revolutionary. War’s vicious hand had already beaten the thirst for adventure and glory out of him by the time Dana Scully was ten years old. He’s no longer the kind of man that could inspire the love and loyalty of a woman like her, and maybe he never was. 

But hell, he still believes in doing the right thing; believes in America, even after all he’s seen. He’s got the patience to play the game by the rules, the muscle to bend them. He knows his place, his role in all of this.

Some men are bound for greatness. Some must be content to be good. 

-

Nothing about Dana Scully has ever been cliché, but he can’t help but think that in this newly fertile iteration, she really does glow. Across from him, coolly delivering her account of the events in Burley, she’s pale and dewy, clearly fighting through a bout of morning sickness. He thinks she might be wearing less makeup. Her cheeks are beginning to fill out, her cider hair shines with health. She is beautiful beyond all reason, beyond all sense. When she finishes her narrative, he has to clear his throat in order to speak. 

“And Agent Doggett?” He prompts, watching her face carefully. He likes John Doggett, likes his weary moxie, his work ethic. He recognizes within him the familiar clarity of loneliness. 

Scully purses her lips for a quick moment, the only indication that he’s hit a soft spot. “He’s a good agent, sir,” she clips. “He’s thorough and seems to have a respect for what we—what I—do. But…” 

“But he’s no Mulder,” he finishes for her. 

She blinks, slowly, unevenly, and looks down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. 

“Listen, Agent Scully, I couldn’t very well leave you alone down there,” he says. “Not while you’re… not in your present condition.” He pries off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing that he sounds like the worst kind of man. “Not that you’re…” 

“It’s okay,” she says, saving him. “Thank you.” 

She still won’t meet his gaze. 

“Scully… off the record. We haven’t given up. We’re still working hard to find him,” he says, leaning forward, reaching for some sort of simpatico, some way to scale the wall between them. “Frohike—”

“Frohike can’t do a goddamned thing,” she interrupts, her voice thin and sharp. She lifts her shining eyes to his, trapping him in the vortex of their whirlpool blue. “If Mulder couldn’t bring me back when I was taken, then there’s nothing that any of us can do to bring him back now. We have to wait. I’ve been thinking. It’s the only way. I have to be—” 

“Exactly, Dana. Now is the time for patience.” The use of her first name seems to shock her back into herself. Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. 

“Your only job right now is to wait,” he continues. “To focus on your work, on your pregnancy. I won’t have you doing anything rash or stupid. That’s Agent Mulder’s job.” 

She can’t restrain a small, sad, girlish smile, and the sheepish pleasure and relief that rushes through him is entirely inappropriate. Juvenile. Undeserved. 

“Which, by the way, is waiting for him when he returns, once he is ready,” he says, forging onward. “Doggett’s position is temporary. I just feel better knowing that there is someone looking out for you, someone you can rely on, to turn to when you need something. John Doggett is a good man. You can count on him.” 

She does not respond. Silence fills the room. 

“I, uh, I have something for you,” he says. He rummages in a drawer, extracts an overstuffed manila envelope, slides it across the desk. She stares at it for a moment before claiming it, drawing it into her lap and unspooling the clasp. 

“The investigation no longer requires these items as evidence,” he says, by way of explanation. 

Scully reaches inside and pulls out a worn leather wallet. A badge. A ring of keys and a lockpick jackknife lashed together with a Liberty Bell keychain. 

She opens the badge and rubs her manicured thumb over Mulder’s photo. It’s an act so intimate and heartfelt that it hurts him to observe it. He studies his own hands instead, large and square and calloused from long, punishing hours in the Gold’s weight room down the block from his condo. 

There’s a soft metallic click. He looks up. 

There is a single key on his desk. 

“This is my apartment key,” Scully says. “Hold it for Mulder until he gets back, will you?” 

She stands, and her waist is still tiny, her secret still safe. She is proud, sweet, noble, peculiar. He is not in love with her, but he could be, if he let himself. “Thank you for looking out for me, Walter.” 

He watches her disappear through the door, back to the basement, back to the shadows. He savours the sound of his name on her lips.

- 

Incrementum

[malease00]

For the love of a myth prologue

quick creds: don’t own the picture, so the credits for it go to the artist. i honestly just found it on google. 

So basically, for now at least, I think I’m going to stick to the mythical monsters, or legends. Monsters that you’d see on lost tapes. 

      Your nan had always warned you about legends. “Legends are to be taken serious.” She would always tell you as a young child. “They have a hidden truth in them, whether we’d like to believe it or not.”

     Everyone in the family always laughed at her, treated her like she was bat shit crazy. You believed her at first, but as you grew in age, you began to see that maybe she was crazy. There wasn’t any tall scaling, big footed creatures in the forest. There wasn’t any lake, river, or sea monsters that you’ve seen. You’ve never even heard of any cases of a lizard man. 

     Even if you didn’t believe her anymore, there was two legends that still scared you at your current age. Of course they would. You were born and raised in West Virginia. Having two legends based in the area scared you to death. 

    Stories of the Mothman terrified you as a child. As a kid, you understood that when he was sighted a disaster followed. It was said that he gave clues to them as well. You grew up around the myth of his existence. Some believed, others didn’t. 

You never knew if you should be terrified of him or take pride in a cryptid being based in West Virginia. As soon as anyone had mentioned his name, you left the room. You wanted nothing to do with it. Such as time like these.

***

It was late summer, or really the end of summer. It was cold and dewy in the early mornings, but as soon as it hit 10 o’clock it was as hot as ever. Although, as soon as the sun began to drop around 7 pm it seemed as if it were already mid fall. You loved cold weather, that was a fact. Even if you did, you didn’t love the typical West Virginia bi-polar temperatures. 

     It was beginning to get late in the evening, you had just planned on doing some quick, grab and go grocery shopping, but your nan wanted you to pick up a couple of things and bring it to her. Only thing was, she’s about an hour out of your way. She lives deep into the country side of town.

      You wrapped your light jacket around you as you put the bags into the back of your car. In a hurry, you rushed to put the buggy back as the wind began to pick up. Taking a quick glance at the setting sun, you went back to your car with a slight shiver. Wind wasn’t always the nicest. You fixed your hair and composed yourself, getting settled in and shuffled your music, You had a slight trip ahead of you. 

     The sky was dimming, the sun setting over the gorgeous mountains casting a red halo over them. You loved it here. Sure, cities are nice, but you weren’t too fond of thousands of people. Cities were over crowded. This was the right place for you. Everyone in town knew mostly everyone, although even if it is a small town, everyone seemed to mind their own business. Traveling to major cities is an adventure, but you always knew that the mountains were home. 

     Glancing at the clock, it was now nearing 8 pm. You wanted to hurry, but at the same time you wanted to take your time. As much as you loved the mountains, wreaking in a sharp ass curve wasn’t on the bucket list. One wrong jerk and you could send your car and yourself over the mountain side plummeting to your demise. You shook your head to drive away that thought. It’s better to go slow and to be safe. You could always spend the night at your nans’. The fear of the legend was in the back of your mind. You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t believe and that it didn’t scare you in the slightest.

   You knew the truth. It scared you to death. The legend of the Mothman terrified you to the core. It’s almost completely dark now. You weren’t but a couple of seconds away from her drive way now. You glanced at the clock one more time, but got distracted by a pair of glowing red eyes flying at your windshield. 

      You slammed on your break, a panic coursed through your veins. You jerked the wheel sharp to the left causing the car to do a spin. As the car spun, the tail end of it slipped a tree jolting your body, head smacking the window. A sharp pain erupted causing a painful hiss. 

     You clenched your eyes, a horrible headache was quickly developing. As you did so, a flash of the red eyes popped into your mind causing them to shoot open. “Oh, fuck..” You trailed off, hands shaking from the adrenaline rushing. Chest heaving in an attempt to get you to breathe, as much as you tried, you felt it constricting. It was beginning to become painful to breathe. “Oh god.” 

     You grabbed the steering wheel as a way to get your bearings. Sucking in a deep breath, you counted to ten before exhaling. You did this several times. You knew what you saw. Of course you knew what you had seen. You were told the legends. You knew it by heart. He wasn’t supposed to exist. Why of all people would he target you. 

     You looked out of the windshield to see that he had landed in the middle of the road, not even 50 ft in front of you. 

    ‘What on earth could he want?’ You asked yourself, as you did his wings flexed. The way he raised his wings above his head terrified you. 

     You weren’t going to step out of that car, even if it would be the last thing you could do. There’s no way you could out run him on foot. You most certainly wouldn’t be going towards him. There was honestly only on thing you could think of. Of course, you didn’t have too much hope in your driving skills, but at the rate you didn’t have much of a choice. 

     Staring him down, he gave his wings a flap as he started to walk forward.  Your heart picked up speed as he began to get closer. You threw the car into reverse, not even bothering to look into the mirror. 

    As the car began to pick up speed, you backed into your nans’ driveway not caring what was in the way. You’re 80% sure you ran over a flower basket, but that’s a feat for later. 

     A thud hit the top of your car, dents appearing as he hit. At this rate, you were absolute scared beyond your wits. You pressed your hand hard into the horn, holding it for a good twenty seconds. 

     Throwing the door open to the house, an old woman came marching out with a shotgun in her hands. “What in the heavens name are you doing, child?” 

Inside the car, you pointed to the roof. She looked it over and shook her head. “Ain’t nothin’ there. Now, why in god’s name were you driving in here like a maniac? You even ran over my flowers!” She sighed aggravated. 

     You threw open the car door, tearing off your seat belt. “I saw him, nan. I saw him.” You teared up, one or two of them slipping from the middle. 

“Him?” 

You nodded, “He made me wreak, I have a gash on the side of my forehead.”

She sighed and patted your back, “Oh, baby... are you absolutely positive that it was Him?” 

You nodded again, “ Red eyes, Wings, absolutely terrifying? It was definitely him. Why would he do that though? Why would he scare me? ” Your tears turned your eyes red. 

 “There’s no way to know hun. No way to know.” 

[mintchocohip]

sub!bts discovering waxplay

↪ 🎃 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 | 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐕𝐈 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ►

↪ today’s kink is 𝐰𝐚𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲. 🕯️ ft. the 𝐨𝐭𝟕.

❝𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘸. 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯; 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪��𝘩𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬-𝘰-𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯’𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘣 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺.❞

𝙏𝘼𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝙂'𝙎 body is your canvas. A full-length mirror angled towards the bed reflects a slow transformation. You are an artist, and every sting and bite of his skin is cured by gazing at delicate, filmy white drops rolling and cooling and forming cascades down his smooth back. Your lips are curling with concentration; the light is flickering in your eyes. Soon, you’re dripping over numbness. The wax is too thick for Taehyung to feel fresh layers, but his lips are still parted with fascination, and his eyes are still dulled with contentment. His back is coated; hugged, and weighed down by a soothing shell. Every line looks random. Ragged intuition is moving your hand, though, and beneath that certainty Taehyung has relaxed into meditation.

𝙔𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙄 loves heat. Tightening up around his cock with a shiver that starts between your legs and reaches your lips on a full body shake, you tip the thick pillar candle. “Sh-shit.” Three glossy pitch-black droplets decorate the skin snapping between Yoongi’s ribs. His hips bucked down. Licking your lips through the settling wave, you commend yourself for asking if you could do this while you rode him. “Did that feel good?” The words are flushed. The candle is safe for play, but the black color will keep glowing his skin hot long after the droplets have lost their shine. A dulled knife lays on the bedside table. You can’t wait to touch the perfect shade of pink left on Yoongi’s pale skin. Yoongi isn’t answering. His hands are still clasped over his face; protecting delicate eyes and lips. Listening to the excitement in his rasping, slowing breath, you suck in a shiver, and tilt the candle again.  

“Are you going to put it...” 𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙆 motions down to his soft cock. He’s naked, and sitting politely on his knees. The oil you rubbed into his skin has left a dewy glow all over, and the sheen reflects a red blanket you laid out across the floor. You want to test a few sensitive places while Jungkook isn’t in subspace. “Don’t get to eager,” you laugh, “let’s try some other places, first.” The inside of his wrist is low on Jungkook’s personal pain scale. His hole and the crook of his thigh are higher, but nowhere close to limits. While you pop a low-ranked line of hardened wax off the shaft of his cock, Jungkook is eyeing his foreskin. “Can you do the tip?” His soft voice is so intrigued that you have to hang your head with a knowing laugh. "Yeah,” you agree, “let’s try the tip.”

𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆 begs for more. You can’t give him more. He’s trying to jump against the binds holding his body tight to the kitchen chair and puff his chest towards the candle. You’ve been checking the temperature before every pour. Even if you pushed the extinguished wick onto his skin, the wax is warm, not hot. That’s exactly what Hoseok wanted. “I won’t burn you,” you whisper, as you pet his hair, “baby.” “I want...” Hoseok gasps as a surge of wax slashes between his pecs, “want you to.” Successions of candles have left a frozen waterfall flowing down to his stomach. “You want me to burn you?” You can’t see his eyes under the blindfold, but you know Hoseok just blinked. Ruddy lips close. “I won’t do that. But... I like that you’re fantasizing,” the smile seeps into your voice, “baby.”  

𝙅𝙄𝙈𝙄�� always assumed waxplay was about aesthetics. Relaxing in bed and reading an erotic novel aloud seems counterproductive. “Wait,” Jimin’s head shoots up, and he rasps it out right as a skirt falls to the floor―“Y/N...” Glancing over his bare shoulder, Jimin groans. You’re kneeling by the backs of his wax-speckled thighs. “That’s your second break,” you tsk. “You only have one more. Keep reading. I want to know what happens next. And...” you slope a hand up the angle where his thighs meet his ass, “If we reach your ass without another break,” you give that ass a pat, “you get the reward. You want the reward, don’t you?” Jimin stares at you for a few silent, solid seconds. You raise your eyebrows. Jimin groans, rolls his head forwards, and flicks over a page.

It’s really just an excuse to be on the receiving end of 𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙅𝙊𝙊𝙉'𝙎 favorite type of gentle, romantic massage. “Is it too hot?” “No,” you mutter, as you nuzzle the top of your head against your crossed arms, “it just feels warm.” Lavender and sage scents from the extinguished massage candle have left the bedroom smelling earthy sweet, and warm pillar candles clustered over flat surfaces cast everything in flickering light. Namjoon doesn’t like slow jams in the bedroom as much as he used to. You almost miss the promise of smooth tempos. “Do you want to put some music on?” Spreading out shapes with the liquid wax he poured out of the tin and into his hands, Namjoon makes a sound. “Music?” “I guess your hands are oily,” you sigh, “just tell me about your day.”

“You know, that time when you shaved me...” The suggestion of waxplay has made 𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆𝙅𝙄𝙉 quiet, and a little pouty. You nod. You know where this is going. Candle wax will have to wait. “What about waxing,” Seokjin mimes a two-handed upwards tug, “like, waxing body hair?” It’s as easy as asking Seokjin if he wants to do that right now. You have a home waxing kit. In a few minutes, Seokjin is half-naked on the bed with an arm bent to grip the opposite side of his neck. A brush of armpit hair is exposed. The isopropyl alcohol you swiped and prodded across the tender skin has dried. Swirling a plastic stick inside a jar of bright orange wax, you study the armpit you’ll be kissing once the aftercare lotion has been rubbed in. “Push it back a little more,” you whisper. Two fingers in filmy blue gloves press Seokjin’s sharp elbow. Seokjin complies. “Thank you.” You’re swiping hot orange wax down with a hum of no tune in particular when Seokjin asks the question: “Will it hurt?” “A tiny bit,” you murmur, “but you’re strong.”

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (16)

A/N: oh my g o o oooooooooooooooooooodddddd im so happy this is finally going up!!!! i have been excited for this chapter for so long, you wouldn’t believe. and i also think that rounds us out for all the romans :^) finally have a full cast! he’s only showing up, you know, in the second act lmao 

WARNINGS: Remus/Duke mentions, blood, stab wound, old wounds, bloody bandages, self-hatred, panic — i think that's it, but please let me know if there's anything else that y'all want tagged!

Words: 4731

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing! i dont think i’m gonna be adding remus to the masterpost tags though because like. in full honesty? hes not actually a character. he’ll just be alluded to from time to time :^) 

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​​ @forrestwyrm​​ @daflangstlairde​​ @marshmallow-the-panda​​ @askthesnake​​ @k9cat​​ @patromlogil​​ @theobsessor1​​ @ninja-wizard101​

general tag: @jemthebookworm​​

hope you like it !! <3 

Thomas didn’t have a fear of heights, but he did have a very healthy fear of falling. Virgil kept his eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped tightly around the Child, who had yet to stop hiss-screaming into Virgil’s chest. The teensy rational voice in the back of his mind told him that the Dragon’s claws were squeezing them way too tight for him to slip through, but whenever he opened his eyes, he saw only the drop. It must have been hundreds of feet. 

In truth, the flight only lasted about fifteen minutes. The Dragon did want to make it last. He loved flying, loved the wind sliding over his scales, the dewiness of flying through clouds, all of it. It was just such fun! 

He didn’t want his Virgil to get too frightened, though, so he wasn’t doing anything too crazy. He’d have to go out later and do some flips or something, because now that he was in the air, the desire to flip was strong. 

The Dragon may be the villain, but he wasn’t antagonistic. He LOVED his Virgil — he loved all of them! He’d just have to tear the twerp in his Virgil’s arms limb from limb in another room. That was fine, a drop in the bucket if you would! He’d get his Virgil, then his Deceit, his Logan, his Patton, his THOMAS, his Imagination. He’d rule it all! Just like the Prince, no, the King.

He slowed down as he reached his tower bedroom, slowly descending onto the balcony on his hind legs. The Dragon roared and the Child screamed again.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Virgil whispered, breath escaping in unwilling relief as he felt the Dragon touch solid ground. He didn’t believe those words, either, but he had to deal with a child here.

“He’s–He’s gonna kill us,” the Child responded through dry sobs, breathing still heaving without any tears. 

Virgil just squeezed him tighter. He wanted to comfort the kid, he just had no idea what to say nor do. God, he was garbage at this kinda thing. Patton’d be better suited. He just made people anxious.

Dude, he missed Patton. 

The pressure surrounding him disappeared in an instant. Virgil swore quietly as he fell about a foot onto the balcony’s ground, stiffening around the Child, who in turn balled his hands tighter into Virgil’s shirt fabric. 

“Relax, Shortstop, I’m not going to kill you,” the Dragon’s voice had a humored lilt.

He’s transformed back, sauntering closer and inspecting his two captives. The Child’s face, visible over Virgil’s shoulder, was squeezed into a shut-eyed, bitten-lip scowl. As the Dragon approached, he opened one eye, then both eyes, shock and stress written across his features. 

“Well,” the Dragon grinned, barring his sharpened teeth at the Child, “Not just yet.”

The Child squeaked and squeezed Virgil tighter. 

Virgil rubbed his back and exhaled slowly, trying to steel his shot nerves. He was definitely more jumpy than usual, if there was a usual where he wasn’t jumpy. But he couldn’t afford that right now — his instincts were torn between screaming, freezing in place and yelling bloody murder, and kicking the shit out of the Dragon right here and right now. 

Neither of those were very productive options, and the Child’s panicked breaths reminded him that he needed to focus. Needed to think. Of something.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, knees bending and pushing off of the ground so he could sit up, “No one’s getting killed.”

Virgil looked back at the Dragon with a hard-set glare. “Back off, Dragon Tales.”

The Dragon stopped. 

Virgil watched him raise his hands, as though he were trying to pretend he weren’t a threat. Why would he do that, though?

“I won’t,” he said, more serious, eyes meeting Virgil’s, “I promise.”

They held eye contact for a few seconds, Virgil searching for the Dragon’s honesty. He wanted to trust him, wanted to trust every part of Roman, of course. Roman was his friend, built quite literally to be a hero. He was….

The things Virgil was ready to do for Roman. His shoulders slumped a little. On the other hand, this guy was ready to actually kill the Roman in his arms. 

He still wasn’t super over this whole “multiple Romans” thing. One was a handful already. And he didn’t want to THINK about the implications of multiple Romans and what that might mean if one wanted to kill the others.

“Can I come closer?” the Dragon asked. 

The Child gripped Virgil’s shirt tighter, poking his head out to glare at the Dragon. “No!” he shouted, “You’re not allowed to hurt Mister Anxiety!”

Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He should say something, should defend himself and the Child — oh goodness gracious, he was just a CHILD! — but he couldn’t think of what to say. 

The Child was worried the Dragon was going to hurt him?

“I’m not going to,” the Dragon said.

He was trying to level out his voice but it was difficult. His instinct was to pounce on them both and tear the Child right from his Virgil’s arms but he also wanted to give his Dark Night anything he wanted. Anything but the other Romans. But if they made him HAPPY — they couldn’t, no. They were annoying! Stupid! Useless and Worthless! 

Virgil slowly stood up, watching the Dragon with a guarded expression. 

They had to find a way out of here. 

Pain. He hissed, stumbling a little.

The Child felt his hold loosen and slowly let go himself, sliding down Virgil’s side. He didn’t want to burden him any more than he already was. Plus he could walk. He should have been walking! Why had he let Mister Morality carry him, ah, jeez. Useless.

His hand ran over a wet patch. Oh no. 

“Mister Anxiety, you’re still bleeding.”

So he was. Virgil put a hand to his side, feeling the cloth thick with blood. 

“Oh, dear.” He had done that, hadn’t he? The Dragon put his hands down and rushed over immediately, eyes wide. He sucked in a breath when Virgil flinched away, but with the adrenaline wearing off, the pain was settling in. It must have hurt. Why did he do that? 

The Child moved Virgil’s cloak to the side, revealing a fairly large spot of wet, dark blood against his dark purple shirt. He immediately turned back to the Dragon, face set in an angry scowl. 

“You hurt him,” he snapped.

The Dragon opened his mouth, stunned, stuttering. He hadn’t meant to! He swore, he would never, he didn’t want to hurt his Virgil. “I–Well, I didn’t–I–”

“You hurt Virgil!” the Child shouted again, anger building in his voice.

“Hey, kid,” Virgil hissed, putting his other hand over his ear while the other clamped over the wound.

“You HURT VIRGIL!” the Child screeched. 

He stomped his foot and the Dragon actually took a step back. 

“ALL YOU DO IS HURT! YOU’RE A MONSTER!” 

He was wrong, the Dragon thought numbly. He was a monster, he was a villain, but he wasn’t evil. He hadn’t meant to hurt Virgil. It probably wasn’t even that bad. 

Yeah, it probably wasn’t. 

He had to be wrong.

“YOU’RE STUPID AND MEAN!”

“Shut up,” the Dragon leaned forward again, ignoring how Virgil put an arm around the Child, pulling him back.

Smoke escaped from his lips as he barred his teeth, snarling at the Child to get him to shut up. He had to! The Child was wrong, getting it all wrong! 

You’re getting it all wrong, and hurting them in the process.

But he did not. “YOU HURT HIM AND YOU’RE GOING TO HURT EVERYONE ELSE!”

“No, no, you know I’m better,” the Dragon darted forward, pulling Virgil off of the Child and grabbing him by the front of his cloak. He lifted the Child off the ground, ignoring his incoherent shouting, kicking, arms grappling to get out of his hold. But he didn’t stop shouting accusations.

“YOU’RE EVIL! YOU’RE NO BETTER THAN A DARK SIDE!”

“I WILL TEAR YOUR NECK OUT,” the Dragon roared, shaking the Child as he hung in the air. 

“HEY! HEY HEY!”

The Dragon was yanked back suddenly, jarring him into dropping the Child. Virgil yanked him back by the horn and shoved him behind, placing himself between the two. He held up two hands, two trembling hands, head turning quickly between them both as the Child pushed himself up and the Dragon regained his balance. 

Ridiculous. He was being childish, lowering himself to this. He didn’t want his Virgil to see those parts! Maybe they could go somewhere else, somewhere less out doors. The wind was really whipping around them, a storm brewing over the forrest. 

“Virgil,” the Dragon spoke, ignoring how Virgil immediately turned to glare at him, “Don’t you want to go somewhere more….comfortable, without the Child? I can take you to another room, I can have the healers dress your wound—”

“I’m not going anywhere without Child,” Virgil snapped.

The Dragon scoffed, straightening his back and resting his hand over his sword. “Come on, Virge, you can’t be serious. Look at him! He’s just a snot-nosed brat with a loud mouth,” he gestured to the Child with his elbow, who glowered in anger. 

“Well, said brat didn’t stab me, and never kidnapped me, so we’re on better terms,” the Child grinned at Virgil, brightening up immensely. 

“We are?” he asked, jumping in place and clapping, “Yay! I love you, Mister Anxiety!” 

“Shut up, Beanie Baby,” the Dragon said, cape whipping around as he glared at them all. 

He growled again at them both, ignoring how Virgil and the Child both flinched away as smoke blew up from his mouth once more. If Virgil was so adamant….

Maybe the Child was right. Maybe they were all right! That didn’t matter! He couldn’t be a monster, he was ROMAN! By Mars’ sword, he was NOT evil. Just a little impulsive, brash, self-centered. Wasn’t a little self-centeredness good when you were the ego? I mean, if I didn’t love myself then what would that say about Thomas?

The Dragon smoothed himself down, running his hand along his sash and looking out across the world. Worlds, actually. He could see the peaks of sky scrapers beyond the mountains in the distance. There were so many universes, so many stories and songs and characters and people that lived in this Imagination. His babies! His prides and joys! 

He was protecting it all. He had to do this, he had to kill the others. They didn’t know what was best for Roman! 

Virgil squeezed the skin over his wound again, one arm still bracing the Child back. If the Dragon were to attack, though, neither of them stood a chance at survival. Guess I’ll die. 

If Virgil was so adamant about staying with the Child, then the Dragon would allow him to get annoyed in his own time. He could bleed out for all the Dragon cared! Well, he wouldn’t bleed out. It was Thomas who’d be suffering a loss of Anxiety, so what was a little extra time in the dungeons?

The Child peeked around the balcony. It was large, and high up. They couldn’t fly like the Dragon could and if they jumped they’d surely fall. He could imagine something! But a lot of the things the Child imagined were unsafe, or unfinished, or scribbled out on crayon. The Child scooted closer to the balcony’s railing and peered over. It was definitely far. “What do you see?” Virgil asked, leaning over to look as well.

“Ground,” the Child said, then he sighed, “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.”

“Falling would suck,” Virgil mumbled.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna. It looks far.”

“A great fall indeed!” they both jumped and turned to the Dragon.

He was at the balcony doors, throwing them open. Beyond were a few guards, who immediately turned and began towards Virgil and the Child. One guard lifted the Child by the scruff of his shirt while two guards grabbed Virgil by the arms. 

Well. Fuck. He shouted, struggling to get out of their hold. His face was gripped roughly and turned up. 

Panic met pride as the Dragon looked him over, eyes trailing across Virgil’s face with an unreadable expression, taking in the details. The Dragon had been so flamboyant earlier, what gives now?

What, was this the last time they’d see each other or something? That was a stressful thought. Virgil tried to yank his arms free again but to no avail.

“I’ll leave you with Child, my stormcloud,” the Dragon hissed into his face. 

Virgil smelt the smoke and froze in fear. 

The Dragon let of Virgil’s face with a terse smile and patted his head as he leaned away. “Take them both to the dungeons,” he waved his hands to the guards, who tightened their hold. “Throw them in with Princess Peach!”

“Lemme go!” Virgil shouted, trying to kick the guards. 

One of the guards yanked his arm and they both lifted him off the ground. Well.

The Child and Virgil were carried, dragged, and pulled all the way down the stairs. There were a lot of stairs. It must have been floors and floor of stairs because Virgil had no idea how far they’d descended so far. On every landing was a tapestry, something artsy, sometimes with a picture of Roman. 

Some were torn. Virgil winced at one that was torn to unrecognizable shreds. He wondered what that was about; it was clear that the Dragon had torn them up, given the rips looked like claws (or maybe Roman could turn into a Dragon? Who knows.) and the sporadicness of which tapestries were ripped up. But Virgil couldn’t really tell the correlation. 

The farther town they got, the colder it got, too. By the time he’d noticed the temperature changing, Virgil’s legs were weary from the long walk down. 

“Are we there yet?” he heard the Child groan from behind. 

No response from any of the guards. Guess none of them recognized the Roman in him. Well, ya know, maybe it was a fluke! They did have orders. Maybe they’d recognize him when he was idle.

At the next landing, somewhere between the fifteenth and the eighteenth, Virgil noticed the first tapestry with Remus. It was, of course, of Roman standing literally on top of him and basking in sunlight, but you know. It was the thought that counted. As they descended, more of the tapestries featured anecdotes from Remus, and more of the tapestries featured gory scenes. Some featured Roman being defeated and Remus reigning supreme. 

He could hear the Child grumbling. Honestly, he was a little scared, too. In all their hassle of trying to find Roman, none of them remembered that Remus and Roman’s sides of the Imagination had probably blended with the Imagination’s dismemberment.

They didn’t really know how the Imagination was separated between the two. Roman had always kept the Imagination under such tight lock and key that even virgil and Patton only knew certain select locations, and had never been to the town or the castle, despite the fact that all the Romans seemed to refer to it as a very regular scene. 

That hurt. Again. 

Did Roman not trust them or something? 

Did he think they were going to wreck his creations? 

Well, Virgil thought bitterly, he wouldn’t be wrong.

Virgil knew he wasn’t exactly a well of positivity, that his criticism would often leave the prince actually offended. But that was part of his job. If Thomas wasn’t putting out his best final product, then what was the point of putting it out? And then what would be the fall out? They couldn’t risk a risky video or something that wasn’t up to par with their others. 

Still. He’d take back every jab and note if it meant Roman would have never done this to himself. 

That had to be it, right? Or at least part of it. They’d all pushed him down so much he broke and now they were without their prince. “Their.” His. Yeah. 

Finally, once they were out of stairs to descend upon, the guards veered right down a corridor. At this point, this far down, Virgil was sure they were underground at least a little. 

“The dungeons,” the Child spoke quietly. 

The hall felt damp and the walls were some kind of stone. An incredibly stereotypical dungeon, but it fit in with the rest of the stereotypically Disney village and castle. Virgil could barely see anything, either, because the only light was from some torches on the walls. There were doors, thick and iron, none open. This was honestly almost his aesthetic.

They were brought down the hall, turned a left at the very end, and the walls pushed back. All of the cells down this hall had barred gates and they could barely see into each of the cells. They all seemed to have lumps. There was a tiny window at the very top of every cell, light streaming in, but with grass visible. Just barely under ground. And that was all the light down this hall, only those tiny ass windows.

Virgil did NOT like this, not in the slightest. First the fucking sewer, and now this?! Like, he would have liked this aesthetic, but he was not going to be staying down here. And these cells were TINY!

The frontmost guard opened a cell and both Virgil and the Child were tossed in, falling on top of each other. 

The Child wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist immediately. He pressed his face into Virgil’s chest and squeezed his eyes shut. 

If he thought about it, he could imagine a different situation. They were just sitting on bed! He was Roman and he was sitting on his bed in his room and he was snuggled against Virgil’s chest and they were watching Black Cauldron and they WEREN’T in one of Remus’ dungeon rooms and he WASN’T terrified out of his fucking mind. 

“Hey, hey,” Virgil ran a hand through the Child’s hair, holding him closer and looking around at their surroundings, “It’s okay.”

It was very much not okay. Upon closer inspection, Virgil could make out a toilet, a sink, and a regular twin-sized bed. Seemed pretty clean, too. Huh. 

Honestly, the amenities were alright. The real issue was the fact that the cell was tiny, dark, a little wet now that he was sitting on the ground, cold, and that the stab wound in his side still hurt. It couldn’t have been that deep, since he wasn’t bleeding too much anymore (listen to him, bleeding too much, as if there were an acceptable limit to bleed), but it hurt like a bitch. 

“We’re….We’re gonna be okay.” And now he was lying through his teeth, that wasn’t helping. He hated lying so blatantly like this, especially to Roman.

It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat and strangle him on its way out. Virgil was two seconds away from losing his mind already.

The Child looked up at him and scooted off his chest. He watched Virgil with a pout, eyes boring into his. “You can’t actually believe that,” he said.

Called out. Virgil’s cheek twitched and his fingers drummed against his arms as he crossed them. He could feel himself shaking.

“....Alright, well, I don’t. But I do know Logan and the Thief wouldn’t just leave us,” Virgil looked out the bars in front of them and did not say anything about how he wasn’t even sure if the Thief was alive still, since the last time they saw him, he had a giant sword slice through his chest. 

“But how’re they gonna get in? So how’re we gonna get out?” the Child hopped to his feet and ran up to the bars. 

He stuck his head between the bars — if he started panicking, that’d upset Mister Anxiety, and the Child did NOT want that! — and looked around. There was another cell across from them and the Child could have sworn that he just saw something move. Ew, did Remus’ rats get out? DID THEY EVEN HAVE CAGES?! 

Oh my goodness, where was Remus?

The Child turned his head away from the other cell, because it wasn’t helping his no-fear situation now that he was imagining his demented brother locked in with him and Virgil. Instead, he looked down the hall. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, expelling some energy. Not afraid at all. There were some guards standing at attention at the turn. They weren’t moving, they hadn’t gotten any orders. 

“Hey!” the Child shouted at them.

No reaction. 

He deflated. He wasn’t Roman. He’d never be Roman. He rested his head on the bar and exhaled. That’s okay. He knew he wasn’t Roman! It was okay.

Meanwhile, Virgil had scooted himself back against the wall. Definitely Logan and Patton wouldn’t leave them captured, that’s for sure, but Virgil had never really expected them to be fighters. Not in the slightest. So he wasn’t sure of when or how they’d get them out. 

A part of him, though, almost expected Deceit to just storm into the castle. 

Not really storm so much as phase in through the wall or something. Emerge from the shadows and unveil that he’d been there all along and was going to save him or something. He was always everywhere anyway, and when they’d been friends, he’d used that omnipresence to be helpful. 

Virgil kind of missed that. He did miss Deceit and the relationship they shared. Fuck, was he already getting cabin fever?

He leaned his head against the cold stone wall. Clear your head. You have to be perceptive. The smallest of things. This is what you’re good at. He slowed his breathing, tapping out the 4-7-8 rhythm on his leg. 

As he calmed down, he did begin noticing things. One thing in particular. 

“Child,” the Child turned around to Virgil, who motioned him closer. 

He hopped back, sliding across the ground and plopping down beside Virgil. 

Virgil cupped his hand around the Child’s ear. “Someone’s singing,” he breathed.

The Child pulled back and looked up at him with a frown. Was Virgil already getting cabin fever? He couldn’t hear any singing. 

Virgil took his hand and a deep breath. 

Slowly, the Child’s poorly hidden fear was drawn away, and he sniffed. Behind the fear was sorrow first and foremost, because he wasn’t Roman and he wasn’t Roman and Roman was never coming back and if he was he wasn’t going to be the same.

“Hey, breathe,” Virgil whispers cut through his thoughts like a sword “Just focus. Listen.”

The Child sniffed again and tugged his hands out. He rubbed his face, hid his face, and tried to focus.

Quiet. Dark. HE wanted to do some singing to fill this void. It was hopeless.

But then he heard it. 

“Far from the ones who abandoned you~”

Shiny. Moana. 

The Child looked up immediately. He looked at Virgil, who raised his eyebrows at him and nodded forward. 

The singing was coming from the cell across from them. 

“Chasing the love of the others~”

Another Roman?

‘Damsel,’ the Child mouthed.

Virgil nodded, then turned back to the cell. He squinted into the dark. The Child followed suit.

Instead of the rats that the Child thought he’d seen, he could vaguely make out someone sitting in the corner, curled into a ball with an arm around his head. 

“Who made you feel wanted.”

“Damsel?” Virgil asked.

The singing immediately stopped. The lump in the corner curled up tighter, shifting only a little, becoming smaller. 

The Child frowned. “Hello?” 

No response yet again. The Child pressed his hands into his lap, straightening his elbows. He was so frustrated. And sad. He kinda wanted to cry.

But he didn’t have any water in him. Hm. The Child smacked his lips quietly and exhaled. 

“I’m thirsty,” he murmured.

Virgil sighed. He was still watching the shadow — the Damsel, maybe?

“Sorry, kid,” Virgil said, “I don’t know how to help.”

The Child rubbed his face. 

There was a wooshing sound, and he felt something appear beside him. A….A wine glass full of water? 

Virgil squinted at the Damsel. If that was him. The more he starred the more he was certain. He must be injured, upset even. 

He wondered what part of Roman he represented. It couldn’t have been something good, not with that name and not with those experiences.

The sound of slurping drew his attention. Virgil blinked and looked at the Child, who was chugging a wine glass of water. Where’d he get that? 

“Where did that come from?” Virgil asked, brow furrowed. 

The Child shrugged, still drinking, and got through about half of it. Then he held it out to Virgil. “Thirsty?”

Huh. Virgil raised an eyebrow.  “Did you conjure that?”

The Child shook his head. 

They both looked up at the other person. Virgil slowly took the drink and sipped it a tiny bit. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t thirsty. After he handed back the glass, he pushed himself up, then winced. 

“Mister Anxiety?” the Child asked, jumping up as well.

“I’m okay. It just hurts,” he was really trying to keep the kid from panicking, honest, but he couldn’t do that naturally. 

Plus, he’d been having a very light level of panic this entire escapade, and it was very much skyrocketing right now.

“Is it still bleeding?” the Child asked.

Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes flicked to the side. The figure had straightened up at that. 

And he got an idea. 

“Yeah. A little,” Virgil watched the figure stand up and limp to the bars. 

“You’re bleeding?” a soft, gentle, painfully familiar voice from the other cell.

The Child grinned as the other Roman entered the light, but Virgil just blanched. The Damsel was definitely in distress. He wore a black tanktop and white pants with a red stripe down the outer side, but what was truly troublesome were the wounds. A bloodied piece of white fabric was wrapped around his head, covering one of his eyes, and there were others wrapped around his arms. One of his pant legs was torn, with another makeshift tourniquet wrapped around his leg where it was torn. 

His hair and disposition were both drooping, shoulders slumped, weight balanced more on his undamaged leg. He met Virgil’s look and immediately ducked his head. “Do you need a bandage?” his voice was breathy and breathless at the same time, soft but reproachful. 

He reminded Virgil of a kicked puppy. 

Oh, Roman. 

 “If you have one to spare?” Virgil asked, pressing his lips together and thinking for a second before continuing, “Are you Roman?”

He didn’t look up, turning back to his corner and bending down. Something was tossed across the cells, which the Child caught with one hand, in sync. A torn piece of white fabric, a makeshift bandage. 

“Y-Yes. A Roman. I’ve been called the Damsel,” he returned to his corner, “But I’d prefer it if you-if you just didn’t call me at all.”

“No, I–Damsel, please,” the Child rushed to the bars, pressing into them, “Are you okay? He hurt you, right? Bard didn’t let me watch much but I saw a little and—”

“Can you please not talk about that?” the Damsel hissed, and the Child immediately shut up.

Virgil gently tugged the bandage from the Child’s hand and he let go immediately. There was something….disconcerting about this Roman. Virgil didn’t know what it was, but he was either scared of, or scared for him. 

He was hurt. That was for certain. Carefully, he began taking off his coat, then he lifted his shirt, holding it with his mouth as he squeezed his wound and covered it with the bandage.

The Damsel was watching them, tired. Somber. 

Roman was always tired. 

He exhaled and looked back up at the window. At his beautiful creation, the little light he could see. The little he could feel. And he kept singing, gentle, for the world.

“I tried to be tough~”

“But my armor wasn’t hard enough.”

[sidgenoheatwave-blog]

Heat Wave Prompts 2019

Heat Wave 2018 Prompts

Note: You can use prompts from this or previous years, or choose not to use one at all! Prompts are meant as inspiration only.

Caught in the rain

Victory sex

Double cream pie

Oral fixation

“Secret” relationship

No tan lines

Secretly a virgin

Touch-starved Sid

Consolation

Private island

Humiliation kink

Popsicles

Tool belt

Rope bondage

Exhibitionists

Love at first sight

Soulbond sex

Dream thieves

Mermaids and weird genitalia

Sex rituals at center ice

Dracula’s castle

Just fucking machines, being overwhelmed and a good dose of overstimulation

Accidental pregnancy/didn't realize he could get pregnant

Sid decides to take a year off to have a baby, and wants Geno to be the father

Werewolves and scent kink

Werewolf au. Every team has an alpha. The Pens have two.

The Road to El Dorado

Met at friends’ wedding

A forward forward and an amenable photographer for ESPN’s The Body Issue

Porn Stars au: Sid is really good at playing the fake virgin

Nipple play! Geno loving on Sid’s nips

Sid has extremely sensitive nipples and can come just from having them played with

Voyeur and exhibitionist neighbors

Rival sex, Geno is a Flyer and Sid is a Penguin. Enemies to lovers, with secret romance and angst

First time blowjobs - sloppy, messy, and explorative

Sid is being bullied by a new coach or new player on the team. He tries to hide it because he's ashamed. Geno finds out and saves the day.

Sweat kink, cause you know Sid likes to marinate after games

Sid's been cursed and Geno has to fuck it out of him

They warned me Satan would be attractive

Testing out the pool/hot-tub Sid has just built

"I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit." - Henry Miller

Sid’s not often into sex, but man is he into Geno.

Emperor and his most favored consort

Favorite couple on a porn site

Animal traits: penguins court by giving each other small rocks

Sid's a tentacle monster, and Geno is very into it

Double penetration: can be with toys, with fingers, or with straight up dick

Mpreg, Sid wants a baby SO badly

Dressing room hook up at a department store

Detective and homme fatale

Secret agent AU, Sid is the honeypot trap for Geno

Pulled over by “Officer Geno”

Someone's got a shapeshifting dick.

Accidental soulbonding, they have to fuck to settle the bond

Geno has a magic dick

Naked except for the jewelry.

Geno’s frat boy look

Feelings happen to demisexual!Sid after knowing Geno for years and years

A bet on how far they can get during roadies in team outings without getting caught

The boys make a bet on who can fuck the longest without coming and try to get the other to lose 😌

One of them is cursed and the only thing that will break it is getting pregnant

Overstimulation with lots of sex tears and sensitivity

Some no holds bar, compleatly unrealistic, exhibition fucking. Everybody sees and they LIKE IT

Phone sex with needy sid

Zach and Miri Make a Porno au

Team soulbonds are normal and triggered through sex

Sex magic to break a scoring slump

Dom/sub relationship that turns serious and loving later

Friends with benefits

AU, sex worker!Sid, Geno is the cop who has to keep arresting / rescuing him

Pilot/frequent flyer

Knotting in Geno’s heat nest

Sid claim biting Geno during heat. The scar is messy. Multiple bites.

Scent marking without realising it, and scent marking on purpose

They're both alphas and one REALLY likes to get knotted

Alpha Sid mounts omega Geno in the lockerroom and it’s MESSY

Alphas aren't supposed to be able to bond to each other, but they bond anyway (accidentally or on purpose)

Geno hooks up with Sid between relationships. Sid doesn’t mind. neither does Geno, until suddenly he does.

Wolfbrother au (A Companion to Wolves - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette) where Evgeni and his wolfsister go into heat.

Werewolves taking a mate and wanting to fuck in the snow after running all night under the moon

Genderswap Geno shaving Sid’s legs, his hands on her thighs and Sid watching him bite his lip in concentration.

Rule 63, for both. College or pro teammates, a lot of competitive bets for sex/use of toys

Mermaid!Sid with gold under his nails, under his scales, and Evgeni who is forced to hunt him.

Sid’s sex superstitions. They are crazy and hot but should not be encouraged. Too bad Geno doesn’t care. He just wants to win games!

Sid has to give Geno a creampie before every home game: it's a superstition

Sid is a swan turned human, and he could easily break bones as he could accept Geno as a mate.

Geno gets cloned (accidental magic?). Obviously they both want to fuck Sid and neither of them is going to give way to the other.

Private plane banging, in those tight, white dress shirts from the video

On the plane - Geno wears one of those vibrating plugs that Sid controls on his phone - does he come in his pants? Or can he hold out till Sid fucks him.

Sid finally manages "Russia with Geno", but since Moscow is having a literal heat wave right now, he's not coping too well and around the apartment he's wearing as little as possible, all damp and dewy and curls. Geno's losing his mind over it.

Assassin!/escort! au. They both think the other works in the same field as them. They both keep hooking up after blowing/blowing up clients.

Geno is secretary or assistant to a friendly, wealthy, but suspiciously evasive businessman!Sid. They have an awkward friendship (note: Sid must secretly be a thief but he doesn’t tell Geno at first because he wants to protect him) (second note: Sid must also be in love with Geno) (third note: after a few months of this Geno become a thief too)

Young, hot Pope (either Sid or Geno) and his devoted cardinal, fucking on holy ground/under the Sistine Chapel ceiling. maybe now, maybe set in the past, maybe the Renaissance.

Soul bond dream sex. Knowing theres a mate out there bc you feel them from the moment they're born and you dream of their successes and losses. You share when they have sex dreams and what happens when you finally meet?

The story behind that gif of Geno publicly nut-tapping Sid during shirts off our backs(?) Dom claiming his territory or bratty Sub making sure he's going to get punished later?

As captain, Sid always has to be in control, carrying the weight of endless responsibilities. He longs to relinquish control briefly, but doesn't feel he is allowed, doesn't even know how to formulate the question. Geno figures out the problem and is up to the job.

During on-ice scrums, Geno always comes charging to the rescue whenever someone takes liberties with Sid. After many years of this, Sid and Geno finally come to terms with what it means.

Sid is arranged to marry the Crown Prince of Russia. Then the Prince breaks the long engagement to secretly marry someone else. War looks like it may break out. To save face, the Russian Royal family ask their lowly cousin Evgeni, to marry Sid. Or maybe seduce him, so the Canadian's can't sue for breach of promise.

As long as Geno has known Sid, he has a gold collar of thorns around his neck. Then one season Geno returns from Russia to find it gone. In its space is the pale length of Sid's neck. Geno knows he shouldn't look, shouldn't even think about it - about Sid... but he can't stop. Maybe D/s au, maybe some mythological au, maybe a magic au, whatever.

Geno likes to wear perfume sometimes (think Flowerbomb by Vikor and Rolf, maybe Bloom by Gucci), and Sidney likes the scent of Evgeni’s skin.

Monster fucking, but think “A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.” — Ocean Vuong, from “A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read”, published in The New Yorker.

Sid/Geno/Anna:

Sid and Anna taking turns fucking Geno with a strap-on 👀

Anna is ovulating and Sid and Geno lovingly and jokingly compete who gets to impregnate her which (of course) means a lot of sex in general

Sid/Geno/Anna scenario where they kind of have a cuckolding/"cheating" thing where Anna fucks one of them and tells the other one about it in great detail to satisfy his humilitation kink. Could also involve filming during sex to show the other partner. Author's choice who loves the humiliation, though it could also be a scenario where she does it to both of them.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 38: New

Summary: It’s her baby’s first day in the world. Genevieve and Jack are too tired to celebrate it. For better or for worse, no one else is.

AN: This is for @itsmillartime who’s comments really pushed me to finishing this series. This is a looooong chapter. Those >1k word chapters seem like so long ago.

Thank you for bearing with me, uploads are real slow. But this story will be finished one way or another.

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Upon the midwives’ return, they found Genevieve in uneasiness. But that emotion was being tipped off the scales by the comfort she felt holding her baby. When she passed the child over to Jack, there was an emptiness in her chest that distracted her from listening to the midwife about passing a blood clot. Genevieve’s eyes stayed on him. He was still crying with a close-lipped smile as he cradled his daughter for the first time. What a feeling, that passed between the couple while they watched their baby interact with them. Years of waiting for such a moment.  

There were more tears to come when it came to injecting inoculations into the newborn. Leaning back into the pillows, Genevieve did not strain to watch for she was too tired. But she could hear the wailing perfectly well; it made her cower into her bed. Such a heart-breaking noise, the baby did not yet understand how to cry.

“Oh darling, I know, I know! It’s awful,” Jack spoke to the baby the entire time and held her hand while the midwife prepared the final injection, “It’ll be over soon, just one more.”

The moment it was over, he scooped her up into his arms and consoled her. She felt so tiny against him, his hand covering her back completely. Her frame shook, her face red until, back in Genevieve’s arms, her gulping came to a stop.

“There we go,” She kissed the baby’s head twice and the calm that washed over the pair would only ever be known by them.

And whilst both Baby Collins and Genevieve were declared healthy by the midwives, Jack dashed downstairs to ring everyone he could - without a care for the fact that it was the early hours of the morning. The Collins’, the Hastings’, Farrier’s landline, Jack was busy ringing all he knew. He had to be quick because, every time someone answered the phone, he would start to cry a little more, until only one phrase was uttered down the receiver:

“I’ve got a baby girl. We’ve got our baby girl.”

Once he’d dragged the crib into their room, a lot of Jack’s night was spent laid beside Genevieve as she slept. She had not wanted to sleep, but her eyes were drooping and body slouching as she protested against the idea of getting rest. The baby was taken to bed, and every ten minutes or so, Jack would stand and sit down next to the crib to keep an eye on the child in there. Somehow, she was still ready to sleep despite arriving a few hours ago mid-nap.

At some point in the night, he rested his head beside Genevieve’s hand and woke up with the shock that three hours had passed. Instantly he made to check on Genevieve (still asleep and fine). He peeked over the cot next in hopes of not disturbing the occupant. The tiny baby was awake now and carefully turned her head to look around. Her arms were enfolded into the blankets, so she couldn’t free herself. It was not a fight to stretch, more a test to learn about her body in this new world. Jack met her curious stare with a small smile.

“Hello,” He whispered, “Do you remember me? I was talking to you while you were in your Ma’s tummy. I gotta hold you after you got your nasty injections.”

The baby licked her lips then tilted her head back slightly, her eyes taking in the ceiling instead of her daddy’s face. She made little noises as she moved, her breathing blending with some gurgling.

With shaking arms, Jack lifted her against his chest. He beamed as she wriggled into him. She smelt delightful. It was not something he could put into words, but she just did. Jack then realised perhaps he should have put on a shirt first as he spied it strewn over the bed’s edge. Contemplating on what he should do now, he looked to the baby who had closed her eyes again but left her tongue poking out between her lips.

Eventually he decided to take her for a walk, showing off her new room, the presents that people had bought her, and the poster that was in it. He stroked the bear’s paw across her cheek then quietly described the time he took Genevieve to see the real Sunflowers. When her eyes were open, the baby looked mostly at Jack as he spoke. Very polite of her.

“You shoulda seen your Ma in that moment. I hope the paintings come back one day so we can show you too,” Jack said as they headed downstairs, his voice raising a little more once out of earshot of the bedroom. “You have lovely eyelashes. Didn’t think you’d have grown them yet but there they are.”

Once the lower floor had been explored with all its limited interest, Jack stepped into the garden with the baby held in one arm so that he could shield her eyes from the rising sun. A new day. It was a little chilly for him, but the baby seemed content in her blankets even as they loosened, with her fingers bending and straightening around her new blanket. Crisp spring air renewed his energy, the dewy grass soaking his slippers. The flowers were all thriving that year. Bending down slightly, he picked one taller cosmos and showed it to the baby.

“I told you about these. I bet I’ll have to tell you again,” He said with a smile. The flower bounced about on its stem and the early morning breeze, its petals caressing the baby’s nose. She stared at it, mouth open, after which she sneezed. Her arms flung out in front of her, her legs kicking forward with effort in the blanket.

“Oh dear! Bless you,” Jack beamed for it was such an adorable sound. But then the baby began coughing out her cries, her face contorting to screw up her delicate features.

“Darling, it’s ok,” Jack shushed, lifting her closer so that he could kiss her head, “It’s just a little flower, it won’t hurt you anymore.” He took a seat on the bench and cuddled her closer in his chest. Not that he realised, but he swayed in his seat as he continued to talk to her, to calm her down as her cries muffling into quiet against his shoulder.

“I know, oh I know, everything’s all new to you. God, you’ve never sneezed before. What must be going on in your little head?” Jack sighed, glancing behind him as if to see through the wall where Genevieve was. Then he looked back down at the baby, her arms hardly reaching above her head, blinking up at him with a crumpled pout. As gently as possible, he lowered her back into his lap, one hand under her head, and kept his face close so she could see him sniffing as he felt a tear slip past his notice:

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit emotional right now too.” The baby seemed to listen to him now and began to interrupt with a hum or two, her way of telling him it was ok: “I’m not gonna fill your mind with that kind of thing. God, you’re so small, I feel like I gotta beat everything off with a bat. I was never really great at cricket.”

Jack trimmed the stem of the accused flower to a significantly shorter length and tucked it over her left ear. “Maybe your Ma can teach us. She had the right idea, bowled me and Ethel into the ground last summer.” The infant didn’t complain at the flower or after her bare feet slipped out the end of the blanket. In fact, she seemed to find it enjoyable when Jack played with one of them, pinching lightly her toes.

“That was one hell of a tangent. But you’re really helping Da out here.”

The sun warmed them both. Jack carefully unfolded the blanket to rest on her tummy, her arms flapping weakly in front of her as she practised movement. Meanwhile, Jack ceased conversation to watch her, fascinated with her learning, and unconsciously he leaned even closer to her. Her hands reached up to his temples as he kissed her belly. Under his lips, she tensed and shifted. Jack sensed that she might want to cry again, and he felt for her; feeling her skin against his incited such an intimate feeling he was not prepared for. It made him tear up again.

“Shall we go see if Ginny is awake, your Ma?” He whispered, his nose lightly bumping hers as she tried to move her head. Rocking carefully as he ascended the stairs, Jack soothed the baby’s grizzling. Her face did not connote one of positivity.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” He whispered. Though her funny little expression remained, the baby quietened down (beside from an occasional noise), something Jack rewarded with a kiss on her head. “There we go, baby girl. Hey, guess what? I love you. You’re my little girl, and I love you. I’m always gonna be here for you. Your Ma too.”

At the door, Jack gently pushed into the room, looking for whether his wife was asleep. She was not. Genevieve was wide awake and sat up in bed, clutching her bed sheets in tight fists.

“I heard her crying,” She looked at the blanket with an expression of mild terror.

“It’s ok; she just got a little scared by her sneeze.” Jack passed her over and Genevieve carefully checked over her, eyes darting across every part of her baby to see if there was truly nothing wrong. Her hand moved aside the blankets and traced over the baby’s skin.  She spotted the flower still behind the baby’s ear then moved on. She found a splodge on the baby’s wrist that the midwives had informed her about then moved on. She landed on the baby’s tummy and stopped.

“She’s got a belly button,” was her conclusion.

“A cute belly button,” said Jack in agreement.

Genevieve thumbed over the baby’s cheekbone as she slowly moved her head to look around. It dislodged the cosmo, landing it beside Genevieve’s thigh. But she didn’t try to replace it. She was already occupied, taking in the weight in her arms.

“I never wanna let her go,” She whispered, not looking at Jack though she was speaking to him. Pulling her close, Genevieve took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek to the baby’s head.

When she let out a noise that sounded like she was about to cry, immediately Jack and Genevieve tensed, ready for action to do whatever they could to calm her. But the baby took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed onto the baggy front of Genevieve’s nightshirt and whined.

“I think you might be hungry.”

Jack stayed at their sides as Genevieve fed their daughter for the first time. It was weirdly mesmerising to watch how quickly she adapted to becoming a mother. Even Genevieve was surprised by herself, the words of the midwife and instinct guiding her actions. Her eyes fixated on the baby’s wispy hair, her hand stroking it. Despite the minor discomfort, Genevieve felt her face softened with a smile as she clicked her tongue and spoke, the baby’s blinking slowed down and with a hand curled at her mother’s chest.

Forgetting that he was meant to get breakfast for his wife, Jack was completely in awe. Once reminded, he sped downstairs to make it and returned with a few minutes, not wanting to miss a moment. The tray rattled louder than he wanted as he placed it on the floor.

“Oh, finished already?” Genevieve whispered as she lifted up her daughter, “All full?”

“Can I burp her?” Jack asked, already reaching for the muslin rag. He just had to hold her again.

“You’re volunteering for her to be sick on you?” She joked, before nodding at him to come over.

Eagerly, Jack took a seat beside her on the bed and carefully arranged himself to hold his daughter. Genevieve did a little intervening, making sure he held her properly, before falling back into her pillows and watching them with half-closed eyes. The baby whimpered a little at the movement before she settled into regular breathing. Jack gently rubbed circles into her back then lightly patted between her tiny shoulders. He felt obligated to kiss her little head again after he held his nose to smell that freshness about her. Then he heard a wet sounding belch.

“There we go.” He patted her back once more then lifted her into his lap to wipe her mouth properly. The baby coughed, wincing away from the rag, and Jack anxiously sat her up in his chest to pat her back again. When she stopped, Jack looked at Genevieve, clearly grinning over the mug of tea.

“You’re so good with her,” and she sipped from the mug.  The novelty of the mint tea was wearing thin against her tongue, but she didn’t tell Jack just yet. Still feeling the fatigue, she replaced the mug beside her and adjusted her posture until she was almost flat on her back. Jack lowered the baby onto her chest, the head beneath Genevieve’s lips that grimaced at the sight of a splodge of sick on Jack’s shirt shoulder.

The doorbell was heard and thus began a steady flow of people coming in to visit Genevieve and make sure she was alright. First visitor was surprisingly Farrier. He arrived in the early morning with flowers, Westley, and a bottle of whiskey - to make up for being stood up the night before. Nervously he stood in the doorway of the bedroom as Genevieve waved weakly from her bed. A toast was made to the pair – although they opted to go for tea instead of alcohol at eight in the morning.

Farrier didn’t stay in the room for long, not even to get a closer look at the baby. But he did decide to stay to help out. While Jack assured him that it was fine for him to go if he had plans, Farrier was already prepping to do some chores downstairs.

“Besides, I haven’t been in your gaff before. Give me a chance to explore,” He winked before heading to the kitchen to do the washing up left from the previous day. Westley followed him, his tongue hanging out. It was with profusive thanks that Jack followed and shook Farrier’s hand. His help was going to be needed if he was to spend the day looking after his wife and his baby. 

His wife and his baby. 

It almost didn’t feel real. In a daze, he rung up his place of work and informed them of his newfound status as a father. Then he went to open the door which was already knocking again.

“LET ME SEE THE BAIRN!”

Breezing into the house, Cora had kissed both his cheeks briefly before bellowing this demand again, running past and up the stairs. Jack proceeded to greet the rest of his family a little more calmly and allowed them indoors.

Genevieve heard Cora from her room upstairs. She snorted pathetically as she climbed back under the covers, her eye on the cot still. The softness of the room was incongruous to when Cora appeared in the doorway, frenzied with wild hair until her eyes too landed on the cot. Then she eased up into grandmother mode and dropped at Genevieve’s side.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Genevieve.” Back to the baby, she bent over to see the child sleeping peacefully despite the disruptions. Her entire face stretched in utter elation as she was overcome with her first grandchild.

“Oh, she’s the bonniest thing! Look at that nose, just like you when you were this size.” Cora patted Jack’s arm in recognition, but without tearing her eyes from the cot.

The rest of the Collins clan popped up in the doorway, trying not to overwhelm the family. Cora began to commandeer those with her, ordering everyone to the side of the room so that the new parents could awaken the baby in peace before providing the opportunity to hold her.

Karen and Ethel went up first, insisting no one would get a turn holding the baby if Cora went before anyone else. They took turns, with Toby and Jack leaning over their shoulders. The four siblings watched the baby breathe slowly, falling back to sleep in her auntie’s arms only to be woken when being passed to another person. She barely cried though, for she could hear Genevieve talking nearby to her in-laws. There was recognition there and in the smell of the blanket that the baby was wrapped in, the same blanket Genevieve had slept with it for the past few weeks. Familiarity filled the room and the baby was good as gold for the Collins.

When it came to Cora’s turn, she paced up and down the room whilst playing with one of the baby’s hands. Her husband followed her about with his body in a crooked position so that he could see his granddaughter. The siblings were downstairs with Jack and Farrier, though what they were up to Genevieve had no idea.

“When will she be able to wear those clothes, the ones she got for Christmas?” He asked as he took a break, Cora continuing to move about the room.

“Not for a long time,” Genevieve sighed into her mug of tea, “She’s got some growing to do first.”

It would take some time, but Cora would eventually stop her drill marches and settled on the end of the bed. She didn’t speak so much then, at least not until she and Genevieve were alone in the bedroom. Her husband had gone to check on his kids (”make sure they’re behavin’ themselves”).

That was when Cora said quietly, “We’re so glad you’re alright, you and the baby. After everything that happened. Might I suggest ‘Cora’?”

Appreciating the lack of focus on “what happened”, Genevieve wiped her nose on the corner of her blanket and answered, “You might, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be chosen for her name.” And the pair shared a smile, knowing full well that Cora was not to be the name of the bairn.

“Might as well throw my hat into the ring.”

With kisses on everyone’s cheeks, especially the baby’s, Jack waved his family goodbye at lunch time, which when Genevieve’s family arrived. A five-minute exchange, the Hastings’ appeared with more muted joy for the baby. Except for two people.

Beryl peeked at her granddaughter and had to take a moment outside the room, weeping into her handkerchief. James on the other hand leapt onto the bed to meet his cousin. Lilly followed, though with more control than her son. She climbed beside Genevieve on the bed, and the sisters sat together.

“You remember when James was just a baby?” Lilly touched her forefinger to the baby’s head.

With a slow nod, Genevieve said, “I was scared of him.”

James cocked his head in confusion, “Scared of me?” Then he began laughing uproariously at the idea. Contrary to popular belief, in James’ eyes, she wasn’t scared of anything. It wasn’t long before Genevieve joined in.

“Yeah, you were so tiny, I was scared to hurt you,” She explained through her laughter. Once settled, she finished: “And now look at you, big boy.”

When it came to his turn, Tony - Genevieve’s father - cradled the baby with such care, as if he were destined to hold her. 

“A strong and healthy little girl, just like her mother,” He said quietly, kneeling down so that James could see her too. It reminded Genevieve of one of the few photos in her family home: Tony sat in his ancient arm chair, holding a baby Genevieve with Lilly sat at his side, looking over with a screwed-up expression at her baby sister. He even kissed the baby’s fist that was enclosed about his finger.

Evidently the baby didn’t like the feel of his moustache and began to snivel, the start of a crying fit. Genevieve held out her hands and instantly the baby was placed back with her. Tucking her blanket back around her, Genevieve consoled her down to a whimper.

“That’s a good girl,” She said with a kiss. She liked kissing the baby; her hair felt all fuzzy.

When the baby was calmed, Genevieve looked to her fidgeting nephew. He was staring still at the bundle in her arms. His hands were wriggling his fingers together, his body bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would you like to hold her, James?”

The question was barely out in the air, but James was already atop the bed again, with his arms outstretched for his cousin. The adults of the room were nervous. James himself assured that he was a big boy now, his legs swinging. Genevieve carefully helped him to carry his cousin with Lilly sat beside him to steady him.

“She’s heavy,” He said, though it was more of a statement rather than a complaint. But he was smiling, the whole time, and he didn’t stop. Not even as he passed back the baby, not even as he left with his parents.

More and more visitors came and went: friends from Genevieve’s workplace, Jack’s RAF mates, random cousins and the like. More to meet the new member of the Collins family but they brought gifts and they were quiet, so that was acceptable.

But there came a time – specifically three in the afternoon – that Genevieve was tired of speaking and just wanted to sleep. She was too hot, too stiff, too exhausted to see anyone else. So, she kicked the blankets off pathetically and seized her opportunity while the baby had a nap. Didn’t take long to join her in slumber.

She woke up, hardly refreshed but her baby was hungry and making sure that everyone knew about it.

“I guess my schedule revolves around you now,” She mumbled to the crying baby as Jack entered and passed her to her Ma.

There was a knock at the door just as Baby Collins finished feeding. Preparing to burp her again, Genevieve granted both Jack and an anxious Farrier entry. Forearms damp from washing up, Farrier sat awkwardly at Genevieve’s side and watched the baby resting in her Ma’s arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jack asked, tucking the rest of his sleeve in the fold at the elbow.

The poor man started spluttering but Genevieve was already holding the baby out, “Farrier, I need the bathroom; please take her.”

Not wanting to argue with the lady, Farrier wiped his arms down his jumper. He clumsily organised his arms into a cradle and accepted the frowning baby. He swallowed hard, looking helplessly at Jack. In silence, Jack helped Farrier to coordinate his arms in a more comfortable way for his friend and his daughter. Then he moved over to Genevieve, carefully helping her out of bed and walking her to the bathroom. Her limp was rather prominent, a sharp spike up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and kept walking.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Jack whispered to Genevieve.

She snorted as the door to the bathroom was opened to her, “He better be. Unless he fancies getting in here. I’ll be fine too.”

She held up a hand to signal that Jack should not follow her into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Despite wanting to check in on Farrier, Jack remained outside the bathroom door in case Genevieve needed anything.

Genevieve was indeed fine, half smiling at Jack’s indecisiveness when she heard his nails tapping against the door handle. She took a breather, sitting on the toilet and leaning against her folded arms on her knees. She still felt too warm. It was a stale feeling that hung about her head. But it was good to have a moment of peace. Sitting up, she stretched and felt many cracks in her back snapping the further she reached.

The stale feeling was still there after she finished her business by washed her hands then splashed cold water on her face. Genevieve prepared a flannel under the tap. It was welcomed with a sigh of relief on the back of her neck. 

Jack took her arm again as soon as she stepped from the bathroom. He turned in time to catch Genevieve in a hug. The flannel dripped excess water onto his shoulder but Genevieve barely noticed. Her breathing soothed into deep intakes. He was a little sweaty, but a) she knew she smelt worse and b) he would always be her favourite smell because it was the only warmth that she loved, rocking her from side to side with a hand in her hair, a shoulder to lean on, and no space between them.

“Want me to carry you?” She felt his words buzz against her ear.

“I’m a bit sore for that but thank you. Some toast would be nice though.”

She felt that giddiness he gave her when he walked her back into bed. Once back in, she left the blankets off and placed the flannel folded behind her head. 

When Jack was out of the way after a kiss on her forehead, Genevieve saw that Baby Collins was still glaring up at the stranger holding her, her lips smacking slowly and her arms hitting his jacket as they came loose from the swaddled blankets she was in. Farrier looked genuinely worried that he’d upset her but, paralysed by that worry, he did not move.

“You alright?” Genevieve prompted, almost smug from her leisurely place on the bed.

It took a moment for Farrier to register her question, for the baby was taking all his concentration. But he managed to get out: “She’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, she’s never seen you before,” Genevieve smirked, “And you’ve got a funny looking face.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” But Genevieve heard the smile in Farrier’s words and saw his stiff back had begun to relax. Jack appeared over his shoulder, looking at the baby who was waving one of her arms at him. Such an image led Jack to decide: now was a good time to ask a question much-discussed between himself and Genevieve.

“Ginny and I were thinking; the baby would love a funny looking face such as yours to be her godfather.”

Farrier looked as though he was about to drop the baby in shock, finally looking up at his friends. “Really?”

Genevieve hummed from the bed and Jack concurred, speaking on her behalf as she began to doze off, “You’re a big part of our lives, Edward. We want you to be a big part in hers too.”

It was rare that Jack would use Farrier’s first name. Genevieve even acclimatised to that and used his surname in conversation with and in reference to the man. He seemed to find it difficult to process this, instead looking at the baby. She looked back and finally she seemed to stop frowning. 

With a sniff and a swallow, Farrier said in a strangely soft voice, “I won’t let you down, either of you.”

He left shortly after that and was very emotional about saying goodbye to his soon-to-be goddaughter. After the day spent at the house, he had plucked up the nerve to kiss her, his lips grazing her forehead which wrinkled in response as she yawned. No one brought up that his eyes were very misty as he departed. Westley sprinted out the front door and leapt at his side, leaving the house quiet once again. 

Jack stayed downstairs for a little bit, said he had some thinking to do and some toast to be making, and gave Genevieve some space with the baby. She was grateful for this alone time. Lying down properly, she rested with her baby in her chest. The baby was awake, pressing her cheek into Genevieve’s nightshirt as her mother stroked across her back and held her little hand. It rested over the scar on her shoulder.

“Are you worn out?” Genevieve mumbled, “Me too. All these new people coming to say hello, it’s tiring isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips against the baby and whispered, “It’s scary but I think I’ll love you no matter what. Like Jack, your dad, and I hope we can tell you all about it, so you know you’re loved, unconditionally.”

Her hand was so much larger than the baby’s. It encompassed her whole arm, a chubby little limb that was so soft. The thumb carefully turned the baby’s wrist around to show to Genevieve the birthmark that had grown darker over the day: a little blob in the same spot as her mother’s.

“Look at that, we match.” Her voice cracked at that and she admitted aloud to the pair of them, “I’ve fallen for you so fast.”

They were both quiet for a while, not sleeping but sitting in each other’s company. With vases of new flowers about them, a breeze through the window, Genevieve felt calmer than she had in the last few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t last for long, so she embraced it as she embraced her child. 

When she did speak, it was hushed, “We still have to give you a name. I wish you could have a say in this, tell me what you like. What to call you…”

Genevieve mulled over the options she’d found in a baby name book browsed months before, ones she’d talked to the bump about, “I’m still not sure. You don’t look like a Peggy or a Connie or a Freya. Freya means ‘lady’ too and your Daddy already has that problem with his name.” Then she sniggered to herself, “‘Man Son of Collin’, imagine having that for a name. You’re gonna have a really cool name, like me, your Mummy.”

The baby exhaled loudly and unbent her arms, shaking inside Genevieve’s gentle grip.

“Yeah, that’s my hand. Nice to meet you… Stella. I like Stella. What do you think? For your name, I mean. I told you about it before. Because you’re a bright star in my Starry Night. I know your Da told you about it, it’s all he’d do at night when I was pretending to sleep. He’s a Sunflower, I love sunflowers but he likes cosmos more. I was gonna plant some sunflowers this month, they say to plant them in April, grow in three months. They’ll be taller than you in no time.”

All between her words, Genevieve heard the baby gurgle. She liked to think they were in conversation.  

“Not that we need more flowers, it’s like a botanical garden in here!” She said as Jack brought in another bouquet from downstairs.

“You don’t seem to mind, spending all day looking after flowers,” he arranged the bunch into another vase.

“That’s a retirement plan, not a career.”

“Right,” He smirked as he delicately arranged the bouquet into one of their jugs. Once satisfied, he plucked two carnations from it and trimmed the stems. Tucking one behind Genevieve’s ear, he swept his hand over her head and around to touch her cheek. He fell over with controlled care to make eye contact with the babe, “Hello, Baby Collins.”

Then he tried to do the same with the baby. There was little success. The flower was too big. Another reason why cosmos were better. Still, he brushed the petal across her rosebud lips and tucked it behind his own ear. This earned a smile from Genevieve who was pleased as punch that they matched. Jack lay down beside them, his hand joining Genevieve’s in running their fingertips across the baby’s back before he played with one of her feet again. It flexed in his hand, soft as anything, with toes tinier than his smallest knuckle.

“I guess we can’t call her Cosmos or Star,” He mumbled.

Laughing weakly, Genevieve brushed her daughter’s wispy hair with the back of her forefinger, “Cosmos Collins? No chance, not even as a middle name.”

“Sunny, short for Sunflower?”

She shook her head.

“What about naming her after your Ma?”

“Mm-mmm, and not after your mother either, even though she asked. Baby and I were actually thinking about Stella. ’S Latin, for Star.”

“Stella for Star,” Jack tested out, rolling the letters about his mouth to see how they fell off the tongue. Said enough times for the word to nearly lose all meaning, Jack turned back to his daughter, “You seem to like it, don’t you? Well, hello there, Stella.”

Genevieve laughed again, weaker still, “You keep saying hello to the baby.”

“I keep saying hello to Stella, my daughter,” Jack said, his grin widening as he spoke. The pair shared a giggle as he continued to talk to Stella, “Better that your Ma makes the decisions, she’s a smart one.”

When Genevieve went to sit up, Jack swooped in instantly, cupping the back of Stella’s head and under her bum to rest her in his shoulder. He noticed that Genevieve did not stay sat up for long, already sliding back down after sipping some water. So as not to strain her neck, he took a seat on the bed beside her.

“For the middle name, d’you know what ‘blancmange’ is in Latin?”

“You know what, Jack?” Genevieve lifted an eyebrow and Jack knew that, despite giving birth not twenty-four hours ago, she would verbally beat him in their quips. “Did you have another idea?”

He fidgeted with Stella’s blanket, adjusting it around her middle, “Still think that blancmange is a viable option, but I had another in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

After a substantial silence, Genevieve prompted the reluctant Jack, “Well? Go on then.”

“… I also like Josie.”

And all sound suddenly became muffled.

Ears plugged, mind dizzy, Genevieve vaguely heard Jack’s explanation that it was short for Josephine but that he liked Josie as a whole name over the ringing. With a blankly vulnerable expression, she felt her eyes welling up at the mention of her old girlfriend. Such an impact was expected from his words, but it still took her time to realise that Jack was waiting to hear her response. 

“Are you serious?” and there was a crack in her voice.

A little thrown off by the question and its tone despite his best preparations, Jack cautiously continued, “Hmm. I mean it’s only fair since we nearly named her after Farrier. I just think it would’ve been nice to know. Get some closure.” Such closure Jack was lucky to get with Farrier. He had moved on.

Genevieve looked down at her hands, empty, and sniffed loudly before drawing a pillow from behind her to clasp it in her chest.

“I don’t think that’s the sort of closure I need,” She said quietly, pressing her mouth into the pillow.

Jack avoided looking at Genevieve. He could feel his neck and ears filling with a red shame. Part of him knew perhaps he should have waited. The two days had been so taxing on her mentally, this was probably the last thing he needed. Swallowing, he instead glanced at Stella who was slowly falling to sleep.

He spoke quickly, already stood up, “I think she needs to change into her pyjamas. I’ll do the honours, don’t worry.”

Whisking her away to the changing mat on the floor, Jack kept his eyes trained on Stella. Her legs refused to straighten, jerking sporadically. The carnation that had been behind Jack’s ear had fallen to her right cheek, the petal gentle in its contact.

“Sleepy?” He asked quietly as Stella yawned with tremendous effort, “You and me both. Bet your Ma’s more tired though.”

While it took some time to settle in, Genevieve now felt the force of her comment’s connotations. She was upset that she’d embarrassed him so, not to mention the implication that closure she wanted contradicted what she had previously said on the matter. It was a lovely suggestion too, after the whole name betting with Farrier. Over the pillow, she spied her tags on the bedside table.  With care, she leant over, collected them, and wrapped the bootlace around her fingers, traced over the name engraved as part of the Big Six: COLLINS J. She thought about what Jack must have been like upon signing up, and the immense joy of finally getting his tags. Did he call his parents? Show off with his fellow trainees? Did they celebrate by going out to a pub, in their fresh blues? She’d never really asked about him just before the war. Baby to teenage years, yes, but never in his early twenties. Putting her pillow back behind her, Genevieve saved this question and its many tangents for another time.

Her finger stroked over her wedding ring on the bootlace, still awaiting their reunion. It made Genevieve let loose a tear at the thought of being able to wear it again. Jack did not see this, too busy adjusting Stella’s mittens so that she wouldn’t hurt herself while she slept.

“Bring her to me please,” Genevieve asked, her arms already outstretched while she sniffed.

That was when Jack spied his old tags tangled in her fingers. But he said nothing, lifting Stella over and into her mother’s care again. They watched as Stella rubbed her cheeks with the mittens with a yawn stretching her features.

Lowering herself back into the bed, Genevieve turned to her husband, “I knew you wanted another J. Collins in the house.” And she let out a wheeze at her little joke. Jack laughed along to pretend he knew what she meant, unsure about the variety in her behaviour. He only realised the weight of her words when she spoke again:

“Lucky for her, Stella Josie Collins has a nice ring to it. But I don’t think we should make a habit of naming our children after our first loves.”

A heavy sigh was the prologue of Jack’s second – and this time genuine – chuckle. His head dropped, his chin against his chest, shaking with relief that boiled over in his body. Seeing this as approval, Genevieve gestured for her husband to lie beside her again, which he did with mild exhaustion. There, she took his left hand to kiss his wedding ring, snugly tucked on the scar from when he gotten it trapped in a car door. Jack could only snuggle closer to her, turning on his side but still propped up.he kissed a spot on her neck, trying to hide that he was crying a fair bit. Jack sniffed, wiping a tear away in time for another to run down his cheek.

“I love you so.”

“I love you too.”

As Jack made a stronger attempt to stop crying, Genevieve watched him pull a face similar to the babe in her arms and let out a loud laugh. Her head fell back into the pillows as she muffled it to a snort before looking back down at Stella.

“She looks a bit concerned,” and the new parents leant together to catch their daughter’s eye, “Why’s your Da crying now? Hmm? Why’s he doing that, Stella?”

While she teased, Jack watched Stella’s frumpy face blinking up at him, slow as she began to doze off. He touched Stella’s cheek with curled fingers to be gentle on her skin.

“I’m being a silly boy, Stella. Worrying about nothing. Loving your everything.”

________________________________________________________

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

[1800areyouslapping]

Yandere Shimada bros for older ordinary female reader please? Maybe either all human OR Hanzo and Genji are oni/naga that have accepted reader as their mother after she helped/raised them briefly? Noncon and nothing underage of course

Non-Con/Yandere/Naga!Shimadas/Psuedo-Incest/Oviposition/Breeding. Sheesh, this is unnecessarily long, sorry lol But for some reason this woke me out of my creative hibernation, it’s all I got, and now it’s time for me to go back to sleep. Around 4k. 

As a little girl, you were the type to run off into the neighboring woods and come back with a wounded animal or two, much to your parent’s dismay. A dog; a homeless kitten you were permitted to keep. One time it was a turtle you found on the sidewalk in town. He lived in your backyard’s pond until the day came when he just wasn’t there anymore. Another time, a lost baby duck in the middle of the road, nearly run over by a car. Your mother called a local wildlife conservation group to come and pick the poor thing up. It couldn’t live with you, mother had said, the cat would tear it to shreds.  

You loved taking care of them, mothering the motherless. Giving love, and feeling needed.

In your mid-twenties, you inherited your childhood home on the edge of the woods (father died of a heart attack, mother succumbed to cancer.) During your grief, you came across two of the most precious, mythical creatures. Both of whom needed your motherly love more than any helpless creature you’d ever stumbled across. Two naga boys. Brothers who lingered around your home, stealing yard ornaments, sneaking in through the doggy door to take food.

You “caught” them one night. To your great suspicion, your instincts told you the boys wanted to be caught. They lingered at the edge of your bed, peaked over the mountains of blankets, watching you sleep. You’re not sure what it was that kept you calm. You didn’t scream, didn’t kick nor fight. Whether it was the numbness from loss, or your overwhelming urge to coddle, to mother, to feel loved; the two adolescent boys with human torsos and lower halves of snakes didn’t scare you. You hardly questioned their existence in your universe.

The older one, Hanzo. The younger one, Genji. They had lost their parents just as you had lost yours. They had nothing to fear from you, they latched on the right sap.

You raised them; watched them grow; they were your world. And boy, did they grow. Grow and grow ‘til your little home couldn’t accommodate them anymore. Not that it ever properly housed two nagas; you would come to accept that they needed your loving nurturing, your babying, your presence more than your roof or your food; they much preferred hunting wild animals. They turned from baby-faced teenagers into sharp-featured, stunning, otherworldly creatures within the blink of an eye. Handsome boys; your boys.  

Grumpy Hanzo with his perfectly kept beard, and his man bun fade; you caught him preening all the time. He loved getting caught, you knew this. Because that meant you’d come and do the preening for him. Casanova Genji, he would have broken hearts if there were any around to break with his charming, hypnotizing smile, and his unruly hair; you had to beg him to sit still, and had to wrangle the boy every time he needed a trim.  

Both of them with their unique shimmering, long, and powerful tails. Hanzo’s dark blue, Genji’s a forest green. The first time you bathed them you found that their scales responded to touch; they changed colors. From sea greens, to light purples, shiny golds, rich silvers, and even hints of pink on occasions. Both of them with their fine, soft mains that line their tails from the small of their back all the way to the tip of their body, fanning out. The hair was always a favorite of yours to comb and run your fingers through.  

Rasing them into adulthood was no easy task. They were territorial from the moment they accepted you as their mother. No neighbors pet was safe (no matter how far their homes might have been from yours), they all ended up dead, toyed with, and eaten. Their remains, in your yard. You chided them for hunting the animals, they continued to do it. You wrote it off as something that was in their nature, there was nothing you could do to change it.

They would also steal things. They’d sneak into their homes and bring you back gifts, leaving them at the foot of your bed for you to find in the morning. Before they’d grow out of stealing and pilfering household pets many of your neighbors would move, stating they no longer felt safe living near the forest.

“Today it’s a necklace, tomorrow it’s dear old fluffy from down the street,” a former resident had gripped to you. He dropped by before he took his family and left, an oddly traditional fellow. He shook his head, placed both hands on his hips. He had no idea you were harboring the source of the problem. “The next day? It’ll be one of my kids going missin’.” He looked distastefully at the forest. “Somethin’ sinister’s made a home in there.”

You forced a smile, wished him well. Tried not to let the offense you took from his words spill out of your mouth. You felt protective, ready to verbally tear his head off. They didn’t know any better, would never hurt a human.

They longed to stay with you, but it was in their nature to find a cave and make a nest for themselves in the woods. A treasure trove in the woods. Luxuriously made up, every time you visited they had new things. More blankets, more oils, more trinkets, more jewelry. You questioned where exactly they got their things from. They would state that perhaps your ignorance was for your own good.  

Turned out they hadn’t grown out of the petty theft after all.

They were always less active during the fall, nearly slept all day by the fireplace in the winter. When they grew out of your home, you’d check up on them in their den to find them curled around the natural hot spring located deeper inside of the cave. Woe is the life of a cold-blooded creature.

Another winter has just passed; cold and long. It’s the first spring day where the rise in temperature is noticeable. Bees are buzzing around your garden. Birds incessantly chirping trying to entice mates. You have a good feeling the boys will be up and about, lively as they ever are at the start of spring, and will be expecting you. You’re shocked they haven’t shown up at your doorstep yet, each dragging along the corpse of their fresh spring kill.

You know the way to their den by heart, naturally finding the entrance shrouded by vines and moss in no time. You enter, you know you’re welcome, careful not to slip on the dewy rock underfoot. There’s murmuring coming from deep inside the cave. You walk forward finding the boys lounging in the hot spring, rather than around it, deep in conversation with one another.

Genji notices you first. His attention whips to you. He slithers quickly out of the water. So swift you can barely comprehend his movements. He gasps. “Mama!” Genji exclaims. He grabs your shoulders, kisses your cheek deeply. “We were just speaking of you.”

He rears up. Stands tall, towering over you. Water rolls down his chest, his hair is messy with it. You’d like him to get back down to your level so you can tidy it. “Were you?” You look around Genji to Hanzo, who looks perturbed for what reason you don’t know yet. With him, it could be anything. “Sweetie, how was your hibernation? Each time I trekked for a checkup the both of you were too out of it to even acknowledge I visited.”  

Neither of them answer. Genji searches your face, his tail flitting back and forth wildly. Restless, like he needs to blow off steam. Hanzo continues to stare, his own tail doing the same thing across the service of the steaming water, mouth in a hard line. Something is… off.  

“You smelled of a man,” Hanzo says. “You still smell of that man.”

Your mouth drops open. That sounded like an accusation. “A-and?” You look up to Genji, shrug your shoulders. “I was lonely.” You reach out to brush your hand over his arm. “I didn’t have my boys to keep me company.”

You’re not sure why you find yourself explaining. Telling them that he’s a nice man, who could fulfill needs they aren’t responsible for. You think that one day he may even be trusted enough to be introduced to them. It’s the vibe they’re giving off, the same kind of vibe they’d bring back with them after they had slaughtered yet another beloved pet, and laid it at your feet.

“It is as we thought,” Hanzo says. He emerges from the water. Is at your back faster then Genji was at your front.  

Genji nods in agreement, his tail whips faster. His energy is giving you a fleeting feeling in your belly. Hanzo places a hand on your shoulder, instinctively you place your own hand over his. “You’ll always be my special boys, no matter who else comes into my life,” you reason. Hanzo’s grip tightens; your heart races.  

Genji’s eyes brighten as if he has the solution to the unspoken problem. “There is no need for anyone else.” He eyes your body, his hand trails down his front. His cloaca opens slightly, his sexes peaking. Your breath catches in your chest, you understand now. The aura in the room, the cave is thick with a sexual charge. They’re fully mature now, and it’s mating season.

You pat Hanzo’s hand. “What you’re feeling is natural, but,” you shake your head regrettably, “I can’t help you with this.” You feel sorry for them. You’ve never seen another naga, and you haven’t the slightest idea of how they could satisfy their urges without another one around.

“You can,” Hanzo says. His grip tightens. His hard body presses against your back. “You fulfilled your role as our mother to perfection, now you will be just as good a one to our clutch.”

“No, no.” You attempt to pry his hand from your shoulder. His fingers are digging. It is unwise for you to remain here. “I should go,” you say.

Genji reaches out, cups your face. His cocks pop out, one smaller, one bigger, both symmetrical to his size. Hanzo’s do the same. Pressing hot against your back, leaking on your shirt, the wetness sliding down your spine. You shiver, smack Genji’s hand away, and tear your shoulder from Hanzo’s grip.

“That’s enough,” you demand, mustering all the motherly authority you have in your body. “Put those things way, you can’t mate with me.” You’d argue that they shouldn’t be mating the same person either, but you don’t feel that the reminder that they are -brothers- matters much at this moment.  

“But we can,” Genji says with earnest. “Our birth mother was human.”

Your eyes glass over, you’re dizzy. You’ve never been frightened of them before. Now that they’re crowding you, they smell of sweat and hormones. Their primal instincts have taken over their sound minds… the back of your shirt is soaked. You’re scared. Their feelings are misplaced, and not because they’re naga, but because you are you and they are who they are.

Out of all the times they had spoken of their parents they never once mentioned their mother being human. You feel a jarring pang of resentment from this. What else have they been keeping from you? “Well,” you gulp, bring a shaky hand to your chest, “I said no, and that’s the end of it.”

You try to slip out from between them. You can’t believe you’re going to run but you are. You’ll never receive the chance. Hanzo scoops you up. Effortless, one arm wrapped around your waist. White-hot pain surges through your shoulder, brief, it’s gone in an instant. Not even enough time to scream before your limbs are falling limp, useless to your sides. Your toes droop, pointed towards the floor, your head lolls to the side.

“Hanzo,” you whimper. He licks languidly at the bite. His fangs may be pointy and sharp, but he didn’t tear, didn’t writhe his head like he does when he bites into the prey that he means to eat. You’re not bleeding too badly, the wound isn’t fatal. His venom paralyzes, it doesn’t kill.

Now you’re a weeping, living doll at their mercy. This isn’t the first time you’ve been bitten by one of them. The first time it was Genji, he was young. He was playing with you and got too rowdy. He bit you, instantly falling into a sobbing mess when you screamed and clutched your arm in pain. He didn’t know any better; they… still don’t know any better…. he wasn’t fully grown so the venom took longer do its job.

You fell to the floor in your kitchen just short of getting to the phone. The analog clock shined brightly. You watched the minutes tick by while Genji cuddled and sobbed into your neck, blubbering about how Hanzo would rip him apart when he found out he had killed mama, and he’d let him. He wanted to die, he didn’t want to live without you. You found the sentiment to be rather melodramatic, if you could have laughed it off, you would have. Now seeing the lengths they are willing to go to keep you to themselves, you realize that their feelings really do run that deep.  

Hanzo holds you, Genji removes your clothes. Piece by piece it all falls to the floor ‘til you’re bare, and there’s not a thing you can do about the chagrin you feel from being utterly exposed in front of your boys. They explore your body with unabashed interest. Groping, tugging, caressing. Praising the softness of your skin, marveled by the bumps that raise from their touch.  

“Humans kiss with their tounges,” Genji says. They are no strangers to how human sex works or physical human affections. You never bothered to police what they consumed through media. Never monitored their internet time. While this is the first contact they’ve had with a female body (to your knowledge) they’re not totally ignorant. Regardless, something tells you that instinct is going to be a greater teacher than anything they ever found on the internet.

Genji lifts your chin with a finger. Kisses you once, testing. Kisses you again; slips his tongue into your mouth. He reaches further inside, exploring just as he did your body. He breaches the back of your throat. You gag. You can’t breathe, fantom limbs reach out to push Genji away. He realizes this and withdraws his tongue. He pets your face apologetically. “Sorry, sorry.”  

The venom doesn’t wholly inhibit your ability to speak but does make it a daunting task that takes far more concentration than it usually would. Thank God, because you probably would have told him it was okay.

Hanzo curls his tail into a seat, places you in it, holding you upright with the thinnest part of his tail wrapped tightly around your waist. He spreads your legs so they can explore more. Genji looks, while Hanzo continues to open you up. Using curious, rough fingers to spread your folds and prod at both of your holes. Commenting on your warmth and how the smell of you makes his stomach tighten and his cocks throb.

Your skin tingles all over, your face is hot. You’re paralyzed, not numb. Can feel every touch, every bit of Genji’s fevered breath as he lowers himself and hovers over your pussy, tongue flicking out to lap at your labia. Hanzo’s powerful chest. His stomach muscles flex and ripple against your back. The solid muscle that is his tail under your thighs; the cool, smooth scales that protect it. His erections twitching and leaking, sticky against your bare skin.

Hanzo licks along the shell of your ear. Hums when you moan: a strangled sound. Genji decided to explore your sex the way he explored your mouth, reaching much farther than he was able to go in your throat. “Feels good?” Hanzo questions. “Do you see now, mama? We can fulfill your every need.”

You don’t want to see, eyelids stuck open in a perpetual stare, you have no choice. Genji looks serene down between your legs. The widest part of his tongue disappears between your slit. His wet lips meet the wet folds of your pussy. The long, slick muscle writhes and circles around your insides. It isn’t physically painful, what they’re doing to you. That doesn’t change the shame; this isn’t right. Doesn’t change the betrayal of trust that keeps a steady flow of tears streaming down your face.

But your tumultuous feelings also doesn’t change that it -does- feel good. The venom forces you to relax; forces you to hard focus on the sensations running rapidly through your body. Hanzo’s curious tongue and soft lips on your neck. His low, gruff grunts. The scent permeating your nose that is so distinctly male. The frustrating pressure in your belly. Genji’s merely enjoying his time, there’s no finesse to his method, without meaning to he’s keeping you on the edge.  

Your clit pulses, crying out for attention that it won’t be getting. Genji retreats his tongue, buries his nose into your folds and breaths deeply. Keeps doing so all the way up to your belly, eyes shut tight, completely immersed in your scent. He opens his eyes and he gazes up at you wistfully, drunk and happy. “Mama, you are so pretty,” he sniffs again, nuzzling his face into the soft parts of your lower tummy, “smell so good, you are perfection.”    

Genji backs off with a delighted smile.  

Hanzo drapes you on your back over the midsection of his tail, supports your neck by curling the thinnest part around it. Hanzo holds your hips steady with a bruising grip, presses the tip of his smaller cock to your entrance and sinks in. He hisses out of pleasure, the apples of his cheeks flaming red. Hanzo’s thicker, longer length slides between your cheeks, pokes into your back. You almost mustered up the strength to request that he take it slow. It’s too late now.

The stretch burned enough to pull the air from your lungs; but you’re wet, he’s messing your walls with precum, so you adjust quickly. Hanzo doesn’t thrust, rather moves you up and down on his cock. Taking more of him each time ‘til he’s pressuring your cervix, opening it a little more with each jab.

He’s priming you to accept his clutch. At first, you wince at the foreign feeling. Then you start to feel high, thoughts swimming, a rush of endorphins coursing through your veins. His seed is doing something to your womb. Numbing it, turning it into a tingly heating pad within your body.

Hanzo’s eyes smolder, bear longing. Even as he has you in the exact way that he desires you. He bounces you, fully seated, on his cock. Faster and faster ‘til your heels are bouncing steadily off of his sides, lewd, wet slaps echo off the walls of the cave, your arms swinging deadweight. The frustrating pressure that Genji left in your belly finally comes to fruition. You cum, and so does Hanzo. Thick, healthy ropes of it, so much it seeps and spills from your body.  

The room spins, your vision blurs. The exchange between his two cocks is near unnoticeable. Only when he hisses, long and drawn out, his fingers dig painfully into your hips, and the first egg stretches you wider, do you realize he made the exchange. The egg moves at a snail’s pace through your canal. Bulges through your pubic mound, lower tummy, and disappears when it finally exits his cock and settles, weighty inside of your womb.  

He pushes out another one, baring teeth, and closing his eyes in concentration. The egg easily joins its sibling, swimming in a sea of seed. He sighs blissfully. “That is much better.” Hanzo rubs your belly. “They will fertilize by morning, grow bigger. You will be so round, mama.”

You swallow to bring moisture back into your hoarse throat. “How do you know these things?” you ask.

“Father left behind a journal.” His fingers fan out over the expanse of your belly. Adoring, and in love with the small baby bump. “He was able to teach us, even though he is gone. I think I will do the same, for our children.”

A journal. You had spent so many years doing your own research, sifting through the plethora of false information and fairy tales in pursuit of being as educated about them as you possibly could be, and there has been a journal written and containing information from an actual naga? If you could slap him, you would. You want to beat your fists against both of their chests.

Speaking of Genji. For a boy that you know to be restless and impatient, he has been exceedingly quiet, up until now. “My turn, Hanzo.” His voice is strained, nearly as shot as your own is.

Hanzo agrees. “Take care,” he says has he hand you over to him, “the eggs can–”

“I know this,” Genji snaps. “A lecture on being careful is unneeded.” Poor thing is pent up. Frustration painted all over his face. What is normally a cheeky but kind face is hardened and hungry as he splays you in his lap the same way Hanzo did.

Hanzo lets the attitude slide with a grunt. Too tired, far too satisfied to argue.

Genji keeps you secured with the tip of his tail wrapped around the section just below your breasts. Nothing’s slow or careful about the way he enters you. He’s all in in one fell swoop. Leans forward and holds onto the both of your tits, grips tightly as he thrusts with vigor. Intensely looks you in the eyes. He pants, you can feel his hot breath on your face. Sweat beads in his hairline. It rolls down his forehead and drips onto your lip.    

He cums loudly, his stomach convulses, his pecs flex. He whimpers, as if the pleasure felt so good it hurt. How much cum he left inside of you, you can’t tell. Can no longer feel anything but the tingling and the eggs. Genji doesn’t remove his hands from your breasts. He’s latched on, they’ll be black and blue by the time he’s done. Rather he slithers and shifts, thrusts until his egg-laying cock meets your cunt, and slips inside with ease.    

“Oh, mama, mama, mama,” he chants while he pushes. The sound of it sends electricity through your abdomen. Your face flushes from how much it affects you. The wanting and neediness in his voice is unfair and chips away at your will. Genji chokes out a one last “mama.” Your stomach rounded another inch with the inclusion of two new eggs.  

“Genji,” Hanzo yawns, “keep her elevated.”

“I know, I know,” Genji says. Tone much more agreeable now than before. “Until the plug forms, I remember.”

The moment’s pass. Both of the boys fondle your belly. Hanzo assures you that the venom should be wearing off soon, but does not apologize for using it in the first place, it was “necessary.” He’s not wrong. They converse about your living situation as if you’re not seated, naked, legs thrown over Genji’s shoulder and rump pressed against Genji’s stomach, his arm curled around your thighs. It’s decided that you’ll be living with them now, it’s time they took care of you.  

When they feel its time, Genji opens your legs, and Hanzo inserts two fingers inside of you, taps on something hard formed over your cervix. “It is there, we can bathe her now.”

Hanzo lifts you up bridal style. He carries you over to the onsen. Slithers in and lets the hot water do most of the work. Carefully he leans you back into the water so Genji can wash your sweat-matted hair. He takes extra special care. Scratching your scalp, massaging your temples. The water helps awaken your muscles. Your toes flex, your fingers twitch.

You’re able to hold your own head up again, even if your exhaustion makes it feel near impossible. Hanzo cradles you against his chest, gliding a hand over your back. Genji is casually speaking about how they’d like you to name the babies when they’ve hatched. He doesn’t doubt you’ll be their favorite person, just as you are theirs.

“Do you think they’ll listen to me, the way you two do?” A rhetorical question. Not meant to be funny, but they chuckle.

You fall asleep with both eyes and hands on your belly. You admit to yourself, you like the way it feels. Smooth, hard like the pregnant bellies of friends and coworkers that allowed you to touch theirs. You’re not sure what it is, whether its the shock or the mother in you that keeps you calm. It’s certainly the mother that looks forward to the process, to being pregnant. Four little nagas, that’s a lot of work; that’s a challenge. That’s a lot of love to give and receive.

[thalmiherzsi1975-blog]

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[youremarvelous]

May I request 51 please?

51. “What the hell are you wearing?”

The idea first enters Viktor’s mind at a grocery store in Hasetsu.

Mari is busy trying to mentally calculate the price differential between the six versus ten pork cutlet packets when her attention is drawn by a soft gasp and the faint tug of fingers grasped in her sleeve. “Please tell me Yuuri wore outfits like that.”

Mari glances up at Viktor and follows his dewy-eyed gaze to a grubby-handed toddler clinging to the hem of his Mother’s skirt a few displays over. He’s dressed in baby blue overalls with a bear face embroidered on the pocket. It doesn’t do much to detract from his vociferous wailing from what Mari can only assume to be a tantrum over denied sweets, but on a scale of giant centipedes to grumpy blonde Russians, it’s cute. Kind of.

Mari shrugs, sighing as she regains her focus and tries to remember where she left off on the sale to coupon to membership card computations. “He’d pretty much wear whatever Kaasan picked out for him.”

“Pictures?” Viktor takes the packets of pork from her hands, placing one in the cart and the other back on the display. “That one’s the better deal.”

Mari raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “It’ll cost you.”

“Mevius?”

Mari’s features relax into a smug smile. If she’s destined to have another brother, at least this one is quick on the uptake.

“He’d wear whatever I laid out for him,” Hiroko confirms later that evening. She and Viktor sit at the kitchen table, huddled over stacks of pastel baby albums—long-cooled tea and daifuku at their elbows.

“I wondered where these had gone,” Hiroko rests her cheek in her hand, wistfully trailing her finger around the yellowing edge on a snapshot of baby Yuuri chewing a banana peel.

Viktor can just make out the embers from Mari’s cigarette outside the kitchen window. He turns his eyes back to the album and flips the page, clasping his hand over his mouth to suppress a squeal at the sight of a roughly two-year-old Yuuri reaching for a sippy cup with a fluffy, dog-eared sweatshirt and a bare bottom.

Hiroko looks over at Viktor’s find, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I could never get that child to keep his diaper on.”

Viktor reflects on Yuuri’s sweaty, scantily clad body grinding against him amidst a throng of their colleagues and various other important figures of their field and barely manages to hold back a comment about how some things never change.

“Ah, look, Vicchan!” Hiroko slides an album across the table, nearly knocking over the tea in her excitement. “This was right before Yuuri left for Detroit.”

“He looks so handsome.” Viktor touches his index finger to his lips, wishing not for the first time that their paths could’ve crossed earlier.

“It took me ages to find the right clothes,” Hiroko says. “The winters are much colder there, you know.”

“You were still dressing him at that age?”

“Oh yes,” Hiroko confirms, starting to stack the used plates. “All that boy ever cared about was skating and Vicchan.”

“His dog?” Viktor gathers up the cups, depositing them next to Hiroko at the counter.

Viktor can just make out a small smile in the corner of Hiroko’s mouth when she lowers the dishes into the sink. “Mmhmm.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says weeks later when they’re back home in Russia. He’s flipping through fabric samples on the couch, the lamplight gleaming off his reading glasses. “What are your feelings on chambray?”

Yuuri glances up from his game, clenching his toes on Viktor’s thigh. “I thought we already decided on an open bar for the wedding?”

Viktor observes him for a moment—the collar of the sweatshirt stolen from Viktor’s closet dipping low on his chest, revealing the swooping dip of his clavicle. “That’s right—” he rubs Yuuri’s ankle, trailing his fingers up the curve of his calf—“must’ve slipped my mind.”

A few months into their marriage, Viktor strikes. He lays out the chosen outfit while Yuuri is in the shower: a soft blue button up, heathered to match the cuffs of Viktor’s own top, and a casual jacket the same color as Viktor’s slacks. He waits with bated breath on the bedroom bench, pretending to be occupied with his phone when Yuuri finally exits the bathroom, toweling off his hair.

Yuuri drops his towel on the floor—a habit that would normally make Viktor cringe, but is completely forgotten when Yuuri reaches for the laid out top without question, slipping it from the wood hanger.

Yuuri starts to button the shirt, pauses halfway down to look at Viktor. “What?”

Viktor honest to god jumps. He shakes his head, glancing back down at his phone. “Nothing,” he clears his throat, “just thinking.”

“Oh!” Yuuri gasps and Viktor’s head jolts back up with alarm. He’s certain he’s been found out this time, but Yuuri just zips up the waist of his slacks and bends to the floor. “The towel, right?” He holds it up triumphantly, smiling—his wet hair tangled in messy curls around his face.

Viktor kind of really wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t want Yuuri climbing out of the outfit he worked so hard to get him in.

“I’ll remember eventually, I promise,” Yuuri winks, carrying it back to the bathroom, nodding. “No towels on the floor.”  

Viktor becomes more brazen after that. He adds hats and pocket squares, bow ties and scarves, all in coordinating patterns and colors until his and Yuuri’s couple’s outfits comprise the vast majority of their collective wardrobes.

Yuuri never says a word. Partially, Viktor likes to think, because he’s kept Yuuri’s tastes in mind—populating their outfits with plenty of soft knits and cuffed pants. But also, he knows, because—as his sister and mother-in-law had asserted—Yuuri really, truly does not care.   

It isn’t until a few months down the line when Yuuri has an after-brunch facetime call with Yurio that Viktor suspects anyone even notices. He watches Yuuri over a pile of mail at the kitchen table, his head in his hand—covertly admiring his husband’s ensemble of salmon suspenders and custom poodle-printed sport shirt.

“No, no, the music’s okay, just—” Yuuri rubs his earlobe, a pained look in his eyes.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll keep looking,” Yurio groans, then pauses, leaning towards the webcam with squinted eyes. “By the way, what the hell are you wearing?”

                        writing prompts  |  my yoi drabbles  |  kofi

[whatiputonmyface]

Margaret’s Summer Product Diary

MORNING

I wake up at around 8:00 am, which, to paraphrase the president, is my personal Vietnam. I feed my plump cat, Clementine (catnip banana for scale), and then head into the bathroom, screaming at my Google Home to play my shower jams playlist. I drink a full bottle of water while waiting for the shower to get hot.

First I wash my hair with Drybar Blonde Ale Brightening Shampoo; it’s violently purple and helps neutralize the brassy tones from bleaching my naturally brown hair. I follow up with Rita Hazan Ultimate Shine Gloss in Breaking Brass. Both of these products are a bit drying, so once a week I use Rita Hazan Weekly Remedy Treatment. This two-step conditioner is the shit. My hair has never felt so soft and healthy – I was forcing coworkers to touch it all day after my first use. 

I cleanse my chest and back with the Body Shop’s Tea Tree Skin Clearing Body Wash (hooray for sweaty summer breakouts), and wash my face with Ole Henriksen Oil Control Cleanser.

When I get out of the shower I wrap my hair in an old t-shirt, because the internet told me to. I immediately apply La Neige Lip Sleeping Mask to my perpetually chapped lips.

I start my skincare with Belif Hydra Sebum Control Essence. It smells delicious, and I like patting it on, but it doesn’t really control oil that much. Then I apply a couple drops of The Ordinary’s Salicylic Acid 2% Solution all over my face.

As you can see in my picture, I have a lot of hyperpigmentation due to sun exposure when I was an idiot teenager. I’m currently on the hunt for a vitamin C serum, suggestions welcome!

The salicylic acid is topped off with a very thin layer (like, a pea-sized amount for my whole face) of Belif Aqua Bomb because it’s hot and I turn into a greasy swamp monster with anything heavier. It smells just as good as the essence.

IT ME.

Okay, skincare’s done! On to makeup. I refill my water bottle. Drinking 32 ounces of water every morning has… maybe helped my skin?

I smooth on CoverFX Mattifying Primer with Anti-Acne Treatment, which provides a great smooth base and also mattifies and provides even more salicylic acid to incinerate zits.

On my eyelids, brow bone, under-eye and cheekbone I apply CoverFX Illuminating Primer; I got it as a sample but I’m way too ~naturally dewy~ to use it all over. It provides a very subtle glow to the eye area and plays well under eyeshadow. In the summer, I use it in lieu of eye cream during the day.

I use Tarte BB Tinted Treatment Primer as foundation. I want to use this the rest of my life: it’s mattifying, pore-minimizing, covers quite well, AND has SPF. It should be called a foundation, not a primer, TBH.

Why yes, I DO use three primers. I’m a prime bitch.

A couple dark marks are still visible, so I dot on Nars Creamy Concealer in Custard (not pictured). I’ll set all that with Too Faced Peach Perfect Setting Powder, which actually smells like peaches, and tastes very nice if you get some in your mouth. I do blush and bronzer after setting powder because otherwise it makes me look washed out.

Then I apply blush (Tarte Amazonian Clay 12-Hour Blush in Paaaarty, which was the Sephora birthday gift last year, and it is Fine), and contour a bit with a matte bronzer (Benefit Hoola, also a sample). (Blend that fucking neck!!!!)

To finish off my facial canvas, I sweep Fenty Beauty Killawatt Freestyle Highlighter in Hu$tla Baby on my cheekbones and orbital area. I am now Rihanna.

This is exhausting. 

Most days I use Too Faced Sweet Peach Eyeshadow Palette; today I’ve used a pretty rose gold shade from it. I then do a small cat eye using Kat Von D’s Tattoo Liner; when I’m dead, I want tattoo liners scattered on my grave every Christmas. I follow up with Too Faced Better Than Pizza Sex Mascara, which is fine but not really worth the hype to me? Again, it was a sample. I subscribe to Sephora Play and use whatever mascara they send every couple of months.

Side note: I seem to have a lot of Too Faced in my routine, but somehow did not pay for any of it.

The last step in my makeup regimen is also my least favorite: brows. I have sparse brows that seem to grow straight down. Using an eyeliner brush & small strokes, I apply ELF Eyebrow Kit gel in Light. I try not to make my brows too dark, and follow up with Benefit’s Gimme Brow.

All this time, my hair has been air drying. I got a keratin treatment a couple months ago, but it’s starting to wear off, which means my not-so-luscious locks are starting to get puffy and frizzy again. I attempt to smooth things a bit with IGK’s Mistress Hydrating Hair Balm, and then blast my roots with the blow dryer. I end up twisting my hair into a topknot to ensure it looks really horrible later.

Finally, I brush my teeth and dab on Nars Velvet Matte Lipstick Pencil in Cruella, a bright red that looks like a rosy lip stain if used sparingly.

Here I am! I don’t know how to pose?!

FINALLYYYYYYY, at 9:00ish, I go to work. I am a sweaty swamp monster from the second I enter the subway station.

MIDDAY

Blot blot blot blot blot with those toilet seat protector things. It’s the only decent ~life hack~ I’ve seen on Buzzfeed.

Makeup is holding up well, aside from lipstick (I forgot to bring it to reapply) and hair looks less terrible than expected. I drink 3-4 bottles of water at work.

EVENING

I leave the office around 7:00 pm. During warmer months I walk about 2 miles home through Central Park. It’s the most beautiful and relaxing commute, but the downside is I arrive home with a wicked case of boob sweat.

I throw my hair into a bun and hop into the shower again to cleanse my body and soul of sweat and general NYC grossness. While I’m in there I wash my face with the same Ole Henriksen Oil Control Cleanser.

Clementine guards me whilst I bathe.

After showering, I lube my body up with Eucerin. While that soaks in, I stand naked in the middle of the apartment and get stoned.

Before bed, I remove any lingering eye makeup with a couple drops of The Ordinary’s Moroccan Argan Oil (not pictured), and use a cotton ball to apply The Ordinary’s Glycolic Acid 7% Toning Solution. This toner RULES, and is frequently sold out, because it is a HUGE bottle and only eight goddamn dollars, and a dupe for Glossier’s toner.

Continuing on The Ordinary train, I pat-pat-pat a few drops of Hyaluronic Acid 2% + B5 into my face, and follow up with The Ordinary’s Niacinamide 10% + Zinc 2% serum. Niacinamide is great for treating acne, but isn’t in a lot of products yet. It’s anti-inflammatory and this serum can be worn under makeup.

Once again I apply Belif’s Aqua Bomb and then smear on Estee Lauder’s Advanced Night Repair Eye Cream. It’s kind of greasy, but I believe eye cream is a scam and refuse to spend money on it. Samples only for this gal. I’m so fiscally responsible!

After all this is complete, I brush my teeth, braid my hair and get in bed at about 10:30. Goodnight!

[thedeskside]

How To Embrace Skinimalism

After over a year at home, it only makes sense that we are trying to make our self-care and beauty routines feel renewed without necessarily focusing on all of the newly launched formulas that seem to be popping up left and right.

What is Skinimalism?

This new trend is all about scaling back to achieve the ultimate "glow up." Becoming a skincare minimalist is about taking a less-is-more approach to your routines. However, mixing your skincare and makeup routines is also up for grabs. Think of it as the next level of nailing that no-makeup look. Products that have multiple benefits and clean beauty essentials are a must.

Things To Consider

We are embracing slow beauty here, so what does that mean for you exactly? You may want to take another look at your current arsenal and cut it down from there. A couple of months ago, I completely purged all of my products that were never going to see the light of day — at least not on my skin only after I shopped through my collection of serums, cleansers, and masks of course.

How To Create Your Regimen

Time to create your new routine, but this is also my favorite part: using your stripped-back routine and products to create your own “natural” look. If I have a Zoom meeting, I take advantage of trying to make an effort by using very minimal makeup. A little concealer dabbed in those problem areas, and a light swipe cream blush with a matching lip balm. It’s a very quick and easy and routine, and yet I feel so polished.

To create your own regimen, start with the basics. A great cleanser is the foundation of this beneficial routine. SPF is also essential to helping you achieve great skin for years to come. Next, think about the kind of skin issues you’re most concerned about, and find a serum, moisturizer and go-to mask treatment focused on correcting your biggest woes.

Makeup is just a fun add-on for those days that you want to look and feel glam, minus the cakey look and feel. Go for sheer formulas and creams that are easy to blend and give a more natural color payoff.

Clean Beauty All-Stars

Try these cult-favorite products to aid you in achieving your best glow yet.

Beauty Counter Think Big All-in-One Mascara

Farmacy Honey Drop Lightweight Moisturizer

Herbivore Aquarius Pore Purifying Clarity Cream

Youth To The People Superclay Purify + Clear Power Mask with Niacinamide

Biossance Squalane + Vitamin C Rose Oil

Caudalie Vinopure Natural Salicylic Acid Pore Minimizing Toner

SEPHORA COLLECTION Hair Cleansing Scrub

Tata Harper Water-Lock Moisturizer

Saie Glowy Super Gel Lightweight Dewy Highlighter

Maison Louis Marie No.04 Bois de Balincourt Perfume Oil

Everist Waterless Body Wash Concentrate

WESTMAN ATELIER Baby Cheeks Blush Stick

Jillian Dempsey Cheek and Lip Tint

RAHUA Hydration Shampoo

ILIA Color Block Lipstick

This post is adapted from an original post that I created for the Glitter Guide. Want to read the original post on GG? Click the button!

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