#decanting day

[elslittlestories]

The end of the long sleep

or Decanting day #2

All it takes is one comment, and here I am writing more about how clone are born! It was fun figuring a way to write Tech's mind (and possibly hinting at a thing or two). Hope you like it !

This is part of a series of snipets of the batch's early life. Follow the whole series with the #Dita's nursery for deviants and divergents

Words count : 745

POV: Tech

The long sleep is finally over. My ears are the first to wake up—beeps, louder than in my dream, and new sounds—then the cold sets in. I shiver. My eyes flutter open—bright!—and close. Something hums next to me. I try opening my eyes again, slowly. Why is the white so bright?

“Greetings CT-8324. Your decantation was a success. Please stand up and put your uniform on.”

My name is CT-8324—What is decantation?

I blink, squinting my eyes until the white isn’t so blinding. I prop myself up and flex my fingers and toes. My body tingles. I am CT-8324. I am awake. The medical droid—round shapes, yellow eyes—stares down at me.

“He-hello,” I say.

The sound vibrates through my throat and mouth. I try again, it’s less shaky. I smile. I can talk!

The droid helps me with my clothes—blue pants, blue tunic—What does that symbol on the shoulder means? My limbs are stiff and it’s hard to get them out of the sleeves. When I’m done, I skip off the bed—Cold!

The hard floor under my feet surprises me. I test the feeling, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. My head is at the mattress’ height. I take a small step. I can walk! I never walked before, but it’s as if my body knows what to do on its own.

I circle around my bed—blurry screens, metal arms coming out of the wall, big machines—with the droid hovering behind me, insisting that I put on my shoes. On the next beds, two boys—dark hair, cupper skin, round cheeks—lies with a small machine attached to their face.

“What happened to them?” I ask, approaching the first one.

“CT-8956 suffered a brain aneurism during his decanting. It’s unlikely he’ll wake up.”

What is an aneurism? —What is the decantation? Oh no, I remember this one. It’s like birth—Why can’t he wake up?

“Why?”

“His brain sustained heavy damages. The probability of him being terminated is high.”

“Terminated?”

“Yes.”

I frown. I’m not sure what the word means, but it sounds like the end. I reckon it’s a bad thing. I turn to the other boy.

“What about him?”

“CT-9732 woke up too soon and went into respiratory distress.”

I look at the machine covering his mouth and nose, and listen to the sound that comes and goes with the rise and fall of the boy’s chest.

“He can’t breathe?”

“That is correct.”

“Are you going to terminate him too?”

“There is still a possibility that his condition improves. My estimation is a 68% chance of recovery.”

68%. That’s a big number. It must be good. I step closer to the bed and look at the screens behind him. A blur of blue and white and yellow and red.

“Are there only three of us?”

“You are part of the 36th batch, which consists of…”

The droid’s eyes flicker.

“…1849 successfully decanted clones.”

That’s an even bigger number! —Where are the others? —I am a clone—What is a clone? —If I am from the 36th batch, how many clones are they all in all? —Oh! I remember now, a clone is a being created from another being, like a copy. Then are we all brothers?

Before I can pick a question, the door whooshes open and a woman—blue coat, brown hair, pale skin—steps in with another medical droid. She kneels before me—gray eyes, mole on her cheek—and smiles:

“Hi, Honey. How are you feeling?”

I tilt my head. She smells strange. How do I feel?

“Awake,” I tell her.

She raises her eyebrows and chuckles.

“Fair enough. I’m Dita, and this is Zee.”

She points at the droid. It looks exactly like the one I spoke too before, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to differentiate them.

“We’re here to take you to the nursery.”

I look back at CT-9732.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back for him when he wakes up.”

I nod and wiggle my toes. The floor feels nice. I hope he wakes up.

She stands up, asks Zee to take my shoes from the other droid and holds out her hand to me.

“Would you like me to carry you or do you prefer to walk?”

“Walk!”

She chuckles again. I like that sound.

“Go on, then. Breakfast is waiting for you, you must be hungry!”

I frown. Am I?

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, 501st Legion Members (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) Additional Tags: Inspired by Fanart, Birthday Fluff, Dialogue-Only, Clone Troopers Deserve Better (Star Wars), Fluff and Fun, short fic Series: Part 11 of The Clone Wars One Shots, Part 36 of Fandom Shorts Summary:

Random takes and scenes in space and time for various fandoms I love as inspired by Fan Art and the Fandom in general.

Happy Decanting day, Commander Cody!

Part of Fandom Shorts // The Clone Wars One Shots series

[id-be-home-with-you]

I was already so damn intrigued by the genetic dynasty part of empire and then they turned it into a fucking trajedy?? I’m eating this shit up so bad

[malzanya]

time to do stuff (read webcomics & play games yay) for a couple hours then store time. la la la

[saturn-sends-hugs]

Ask and ye shall receive:

Ok first off, I’m gonna try to keep this somewhat short since I have WAY too many of these uh…

Literally longer than my longfic rn 🫠. And this is discounting ones just floating elsewhere (and about 99% (heh. ow.) of it is angst) so I’m just gonna pick three happier headcanons for the Batch. Which are still very, very long 😅

1. Cooking

Tech cannot cook. He reads the recipe, he will follow it to the T, but for reasons he can absolutely never understand (substituting ingredients for things that would work in theory but very much so do not), what he ends up with is dubious at best and dangerous at worst. (Never let Tech near a microwave. Ever. He will get ideas)

Hunter thinks he can cook. He knows how to make packaged meals and simple stuff like that, but he cannot cook. Omega would absolutely never ask him to cook because no one wants the space equivalent of a plain baloney sandwich for every meal of the day.

Wrecker can cook, he just doesn’t like to. You’re telling me I have to spend two hours putting these ingredients together for a meal when I could just eat them as is? He doesn’t see the point of making sides or extra stuff instead of just making the food edible as soon as possible. (Not to say that he doesn’t like all the extra stuff, he just would pretty much never spend the time to make it himself)

Crosshair could cook. If he wanted to. He does not.

And ofc Echo can cook, his very first shore leave he went out to buy cooking tools and sat with Tech to modify them into scomp attachments. He learned since he’s always been a picky eater and just liked something other than ration bars most of the time. But also since he’s a picky eater, a lot of the times he’ll cook for the batch and make something completely separate for himself. And maybe for Omega. Cause she wanted space mac n cheese too. (am i projecting here MAYBE MAYBE LISTEN— i could go on abt my autistic/picky eater echo headcanons (100% self-inserts) all day but that’s for another post lol)

2. Sleeping

Tech sleeps like a cartoon character, ass directly in the air with his pillow all fluffed under his head.

Wrecker sleeps completely starfished on his back snoring louder than one would think possible.

Crosshair sleeps like the dead, arms directly at his sides and he wakes up the exact same way, just opening his eyes and slowly levering up to sitting like a mummy or something.

Hunter sleeps like a normal person (lol), but he has big sound canceling headphones since his senses would never let him sleep with Wreckers snoring.

Echo doesn’t like sleeping, but when he does, he sleeps curled as tightly as possible with his back to the wall. Eventually the batch get him a weighted blanket and Tech makes him a heated mattress, but he still never likes sleeping :)

3. Swearing (once Omega is with them):

Tech isn’t usually one to swear anyway, so it’s not difficult for him to just not when Omega is around.

Wrecker would make up fun replacements like cheese and crackers or H E double hockey sticks-type things.

Hunter would try his best, but he would get like halfway through before he changes it like “Holy shiiiiiiiitaké” yknow?

I’m a bit undecided on Crosshair, he would either act all cold and tough but absolutely never swear around Omega and flick toothpicks at whoever accidentally does, or he just wouldn’t care. Fully like “Fuck you, dipshit,” and Hunter would just glare at him until Cross fixes himself like “Sorry, sorry, I meant asshole.”

And Echo would be the one enforcing the rule. He’s the one glaring at Hunter when he accidentally slips up and starts to swear, he would cover Omegas ears when there’s people at Cid’s, he’s just the mom.

However. He’s an arc trooper. He was in Anakin’s battalion, he’s Fives’ twin, and he straight up says “What the hell,” within the first few minutes we meet him. Omega knows more curse words than the average pirate, but she has no idea that’s what they are because every time Echo swears around her, it goes like this:

Echo: *long string of botched mando’a swears*

Omega: *repeats them*? What’s that mean?

Echo (immediately blushing and freaking out): Nothing, nothing! It’s super boring, it just means… uh…….. socks…

And Omega would never know until she repeats it to one of the others and they all just turn to glare at Echo as he desperately tries to melt into the floor.

And lastly, bonus from the dredges of my notes app:

I have SO many more but I’m gonna stop myself there 😅 And uh, while I was scrolling through my notes I found a TON of stuff I just?? Never posted?? So idk, I’m thinking of doing like a weekly headcanon/wip/notes-app-whatever post just to put them out there or something, idk. (Should I?)

Gonna tag @gentle-hero-blog @phis-writing and @jealous-sloth77 since y’all wanted this lol

[vgilantee]

look okay i know i have wips and desperately want to get the cody smut out ( i think about it often) but also what if someone requested a decant-day celebration with cody drabble? what if somebody suggested a request so that it isn't me ignoring my wips but is me writing something small as a request hmmmmm

[ladyshivs]

If you don't mind me asking, how does Richard celebrate his birthday, if he does at all? What was it like when he was with the rangers and what is it like now?

Oh! Thank you for the interest 🥰🥰 He never celebrated during his sidestep days and managed to avoid any birthday shenanigans by consistently telling Ortega his birthday was one month prior to whenever Ortega was asking. There was an attempt by Anathema and Ortega to throw a party, which Richard opened the door to, said "Nope," turned around and left.

As of rebirth, retribution and hntf, he's done his best to avoid any mention of it/thinking of it.

Danny finding the note detailing his decanting day was an incredibly unwelcome event. He could be convinced to do something private with Daniel and Edith but it would take a lot of prodding and he would do it make Danny happy rather than because he would want it.

He doesn't really see any point in celebrating his existence or memorializing his 'birth'. Richard doesn't want any attention on himself and any celebration of himself just makes him feel slightly nauseated.

[some-stars]

do any perfume nerds follow me, i just tried robert piguet's fracas (the modern formulation) and im having an out of body experience. i keep sniffing the tiny patch of skin i applied it to and making rude guttural involuntary noises

[lightthewaybackhome]

New Halloween shirt! How cute is this???

I love the days when my work is more physical even though they are more fatiguing. Wednesday and Saturday are typically my two high physical activity days. And boy, howdy! Today was busy. Started early, ran errands, planted my lavender, my coral honeysuckle, and some ranunculus. Decanted some more of my laundry room, made cranberry wassil, tossed old food, froze the soup I made on Saturday, wrote an article for the blog, and caught up the dishes! I'm beat!

Thrifted cool bucket:

Decanted more of my laundry supplies! Looks so pretty!

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Ben Reilly: Scarlet Spider (Vol. 1/2017), #20.

Writer: Peter David; Penciler and Inker: William Sliney; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[elslittlestories]

27 stars

or Decanting day #3

The last of this 3-part short story revolving around Tech and Wrecker's decanting day. I feel like my writing is still rusty but it was fun to play around the different POVs. If you want to discuss this or my AU in general, please feel free to slide in my DMs 😉

The whole story is available on AO3

POV: Dita (my OC)

Words count: 1 238

“The decanting process of CT-8324 [ndla: Tech], CT-8956 and CT-9732 [ndla: Wrecker] has begun,” says Zee.

“Honey, Sunshine and Baby,” I silently correct them as they start broadcasting the kid’s bio-charts on the main console.

I’m not allowed to access anything else, but after over two years of those charts have become as informative as a holovid. I can tell from Baby’s heartbeat rate that the anesthesia isn’t kicking in…I drag a stool in front of the console and sit. Please let there be a good outcome this time! I don’t think I can wait another 2 months with the nursery empty…

Ten minutes is, Honey and Sunshine seem to be having a smooth decanting, but Baby is awfully tachycardic. Soon he’ll be in respiratory distress, they always are when the anesthesia fails. Poor thing, I wish the Kaminoans would find a way to prevent that!

And here it is. Baby’s CO2 levels are skyrocketing. I clench my fist. What are they waiting for? This kid needs to be intubated!

A flash of red distracts me from Baby. Sunshine’s blood pressure has dropped dangerously! My throat tightens. Brain hemorrhage. A massive one judging by the numbers plummeting. Same thing that took the two kids from the previous batch and many more before. I don’t know what the Kaminoans are trying to do, but they’re obviously messing with something they shouldn’t if this keeps happening!

I take a glance at the board where all my kids are pinned. 17 pictures. 26 stars…They’re going to keep Sunshine for observation—and whatever experiments they’re doing—during the next 24 hours, but I already know he’s going to be the 27th star.

At least Honey is doing fine. They’re going to call me in to pick him up in a little less than an hour. Baby should be fine too in a day or two, and this place will finally be alive again.

After one last look at the screen, I slid off the stool and head to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I smile to myself. I’ve filled it with enough blue milk to feed a squad or two. I overdid it, but I’ve been dreaming of pouring some in a baby bottle for months now!

I don’t care what the doctors say, this is the smoothest way to acclimate the kids’ tummy to proper food after having been fed through an IV for so long while they’re in their tubes. Besides, those mad scientists would have to give an ounce of care about what I do here to find out about it. As Nala Se put it during my job interview, I’ve been given total freedom to achieve their goal. Which is good little soldiers that follow orders…

I wake up with a start and it takes me a moment to remember I settled in bed with Honey to help him fall asleep. He’s curled up against me, his hand is griping my collar, and his head is resting on my arm. That’s what awoken me: I can’t feel my left hand and the rest of my arm are pins and needles.

Carefully, I shift him on my chest and flex my arm to regain sensations. He mumbles, wiggles a little before going still, his little body rising and falling to his breathing. The cards I gave him earlier are scattered all over the bed. He’s already memorized all of the species! I’ve never seen a kid like him. Asking so many questions and grasping some complex concepts so easily.

It’s a shame these children are brought to life in such awful conditions, and meant to become soldiers, but I can’t help but be thankful for the little time I get to spend with each of them. I squeeze Honey into a hug and peck the top of his head. Officially, I’m here to ensure they become obedient enough for the Kaminoans’ standard. But I’d be damned if I didn’t do my best to give them as much love and care as I can while doing so!

I hope Baby will join us tomorrow. His vitals were last time Zee checked, but like most of the kids who experienced a bumpy decanting process, he’s taking some time to wake up. It’ll be good for the boys to be together. One thing that never changes is how clones hate loneliness.

I try to focus on Honey’s breathing to prevent my mind from wandering off to those who left. I can’t help but think about 99, alone and out of reach in the main training building. I’ll have to send him a message. He’ll be happy to know about the newborns. For now, it needs to only be in…and out…and in…

Sunshine’s charts glow red on the console. Below them, Baby’s are all nominal. It’s been 24 hours, the doctors are going to call it for both of them any minute now. I twirl the star-shaped pin between my fingers.

From the corner of my eyes, I can see Honey downing his blue milk, sitting on the floor by the window. A rare ray of sun pierces through the clouds and casts its light on the floor. He reaches out to touch it, or maybe just feel the warmth.

The console beeps. Sunshine is offline. I purse my lips and walk to the board. That’s 27 little stars now…I’m not sure there’s anything waiting for us after we die, but if there is, I hope they all found each other.

“CT-9732 [ndla: Wrecker] is ready for transfer,” Zee informs me, bringing me back to reality—How long have I been staring at that board?

Honey snaps his neck to me.

“Can I go with you?”

I don’t have the heart to say no. I don’t think the doctors would care anyway. I hold out my hand and wait for him to stand up and come to take it.

“He’s still sleeping, though,” I warn him.

“How do you know?”

I point at the screen, “His heart rate is slow.”

Honey squints, then lifts his face up to me, frowning.

“It’s still early for physiology lessons,” I chuckle. “Come on, they don’t like to wait.”

We make our way to the lab’s med bay, Honey ahead, pulling at my hand me all along. I’m amazed he remembers the route! Although, the feeling is washed over by a burst of anger when I see Sunshine’s body have already been dealt with. His bed empty, the monitors turned off. It’s not exactly a surprise, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fast they discard these poor kids.

I force myself to focus on Baby who’s lying on the next bed. Zee gently removes his captors and I bend over him to wrap his covers around his necked body. I slip my arms under the boy, lift him, cradle him onto my chest and adjust his position so his head nests in my neck. Someone left a gurney nearby, but I want Baby to experience human warmth as soon as possible.

Honey pats his brother on the back. With a tilt of my head, I invite him to follow me outside. There’s no need in staying in this awful place longer than we have to. As I walk out, I can feel a tug on the covers where Honey has grabbed onto the fabric. This, at least, softens my heart.

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-3636 | Wolffe Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, CC-3636 | Wolffe Additional Tags: CorrieWeek2024, CorrieWeek, CC-1010 | Fox-centric, CC-1010 | Fox Day (10/10), Fluff, Fox Day Bonus Fic, Cosplay, 100x500, Spooktober Series: Part 10 of CorrieWeek, Part 26 of Spooktober, Part 5 of 100x500 Summary: Fox is playing some dress-up with Wolffe and then lets his Arooo! out.

Inspired by fanart of @catawampuscorner


@corrieweek

*** “Hey Foxy, wanna do something fun today? It’s your decanting day after all!” Wolffe was visiting his bff and having some ideas on how to spend the day. “Waddaya having in mind Wolffie?” “Well, I got us these.” Pulls out two sets of costumes, one of a wolf and another of a fox. “You serious?” “Totes!” Fox was getting interested though. Getting up, after downing last of his caf, strolling over to Wolffe and his oversized tote, as this was supposed to be a fun day after all. “Well, gots the good stuff here of course, courtesy of Toast and Soup.” Wolffe then pulled out two flasks of the Brew as concocted by the two clones keeping up the party going for the clones.Fox picked on bottle up and checked the label one it. The skull and bones donning it, without too much else. “Yeah, Soup and Toast!” Fox chuckled. “Gotsta love them two and their famous concoctions. They're fiery if nothing else!” Indeed the liquors the duo concocted were famous and notorious as well, alas no complaints so far. Well none too many anyway. There was that one incident… “So, you wanna head out?”“Yeah, Wolffie, let’s go!”

CONT on AO3

***

[facultyloungecosplay]

https://instagram.com/arboretumnorwich?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Oh my goodness, it IS very up my alley! They even went sans electricity for full Victorian vibes (and from what I know of UK goings on, an energy crisis).

Time to hunt my area for equally pristine vintage bars. 🥲

[bluberryfields]

Yes, Empire

LEE PACE Foundation S02E01 "In Seldon's Shadow"

[gastronominho]

Em outubro acontece o Decanter Wine Day

Tintos, brancos, rosés e espumantes de mais de 60 produtores de vinhos estarão em degustação no evento da importadora em São Paulo

Tintos, brancos, rosés e espumantes de mais de 60 produtores de vinhos estarão em degustação no evento da importadora em São Paulo O evento é uma oportunidade para apreciar cerca de 200 rótulos selecionados por Adolar Hermann, fundador da Decanter, e a equipe da importadora, que conta com o premiado Tiago Locatelli como head sommelier. 30% do valor serão revertidos em créditos para compra de…

[peachesofteal]

sighs Price/Simon/mama (female reader) 18+ mdni - threesome M/M/F, spit, daddy, praise, size, lactation, breeding kink. The softest dub con. This is an AU to the original story, Through Me. Price has a wife in Through Me and Simon has mama, neither of them would ever share.

It starts with a dinner.

Red wine decanted. Red meat rare, bleeding all over a plate. Price sits across from Simon at the table, with you at the head. Fixed between them like a flower sprouted in rock.

They're here because Simon has seen the way he watches. He's noticed how his captain considers both himself and you, the way he cocks his head to left and trails his eyes up and down your body.

It's reminiscent of days old. Nights passed when he and John bent pretty things to their will, split open and overwhelmed, gasping and clawing as they systematically broke them apart.

A wild ride. A way to blow off some steam. A thing never meant to be more than what it was. Secret nights in the dark.

There was a wild gleam in John's eyes, weeks ago. Simon only caught the fractured glimpse of it, there one second, gone in the next, but when they locked eyes afterwards, he knew.

They both did.

He wouldn't be doing this unless he trusted his captain implicitly. Trusted him to care for you, to give you what's needed, to see it all the way through. There's something digging around in Simon's brain about it, some imagery he can't escape.

The best way out is through.

They end up in the living room, after dinner. There's still half a bottle of wine left, and when he pulls you in for a kiss it's there on his tongue, purpled fruit and acid, alcohol loosening the tension in your neck, your spine.

Simon sits on the couch next to John. Not yet touching, but if both were shift their legs, they'd be there, knee to knee. "C'mere mama." Simon spreads wide, patting the inside of his thigh, indicating where you're to sit, and when you settle on his lap, half turned to face his captain, he rests a hand on his thigh. "Did you enjoy dinner, sweet girl?"

"It was very good." You peek at John through your lashes, demure, shy. "Thank you for cooking."

"Was my pleasure." He smiles, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and you return it as Simon rubs circles on your waist. He can feel the fabric of your thong beneath the dress you chose tonight, thin, narrow fabric stretched over your cunt, nearly non-existent barrier separating you from the craven.

It's important you're not so worked up, too early. He needs to keep you torpid, wine drenched and saccharine, before working you up to a frenetic pace, so he moves his hand to your back, stroking up and down slowly, using an aimless conversation about work as a distraction. "Think Laswell's gonna be out for this next one?"

"Don't know. Suppose so. We'll need her. Can't get over half the hurdles without her support." His legs spread, marginally. enough that his knee is touching your feet, your toes, and you glance down. Simon observes your thought process in real time; intrigue, confusion clearing before it ever really takes root. You brush it off.

But he sees the opportunity, target hot to strike.

He moves his hand under the hem of your dress, up your thigh. You tense, blinking at him in confusion, and he brushes his lips against your ear. "Relax, honey." He finds heat between your legs, circling over your panties, and you squeak, locking onto his wrist.

"Si-"

"John was so nice to have us over for dinner, wasn't he?" You nod, shakily, as Simon peppers your cheek, your jaw with kisses. "Fed us so well. Don't y'think we should say thank you?" His cock is solid beneath your ass, and he flexes his hips, driving the point home, still stroking over your panties. John is locked in, watching the flutter of your dress, staring beneath your knees.

"Um, I," he presses directly on your clit, stealing your words, whatever you meant to say dying on a whine. Your lips part beneath him, already slick, already wanting.

"Put your heels on John's thighs, mama." You stare at him, eyes wide, and he gives you an encouraging nod. "Don't worry. We'll take care of you." The angle provided when you lift your feet tilts you, and John turns.

"Gonna touch you, love," he carefully palms your knees, "right here," turning so that you're now facing him head on, toes flexing on both of his thighs. Simon peels your dress back, shucking it up around your belly, and then parts your legs. His captain huffs a short groan.

"Jus' want John to be able see, is all." He hooks a finger into the cotton, and pulls to the side, exposing your weeping pussy to both of them, glistening in the evening light. "Look at you, sweet girl. All wet and ready for us?" You whimper, staring at John between your knees, no doubt shocked. Scandalized. "Isn't she pretty?" He nods.

"Very." He reaches, and you flinch when his fingers trace down your slit, but Simon holds your hips still. "Need some attention, eh? Little thing, already swollen." He flits back up to your bud, pressing next to where Simon has a thumb on you, and they work in circles, both swirling, your hips jerking with each cycle.

John pulls away, it's a slow game, this one. One they've played before, and he stays focused between your legs, letting Simon lead you, submerge you in the experience, plunge you into it. He applies more pressure, enjoying your gasps, the way you grip his shoulder.

He's almost there, almost got you, and then-

"Daddy-" John smiles. So does Simon. He pushes a finger in your hole, searching for that spot, the soft one that makes you scream, heel of his palm firm against your clit. "Ah, fuck, p-please-"

"You're so wet, mama. Soakin' my hand. Do you need to cum? Want to show the captain the way your pussy flutters?" You moan, head tipped back, pulse throbbing in your neck. You tighten around his finger, and he draws back to slide in two, carefully stretching, sawing you wide. Your knees try to close, probably on instinct, but John pushes them open again. When you hold them there, he murmurs low.

"Good girl. Keep em open for me. Want to watch your hole, see how it's going to take my cock." A shudder rocks you, muscles in your lower belly tensing, and your spine curls forward, fingers knotted in the collar of Simon's shirt.

"There it is, good, mama, that's so good. c'mon-" You squeeze, and squeeze him, and then explode, crying out, legs shaking, chasing the pressure, carnal lust glittering in your eyes.

Simon doesn't give you a reprieve. Your sopping cunt cries on his hand as he pulls free, and they both move, John's cock coming free from his pants, thick, tip red and leaking, and he slaps it against your clit. You're still dazed from the orgasm, gripping onto Simon, and he pulls you against his chest, hands behind your knees, folding you open. Your pussy flowers for Johnny, blooming for them both. Simon's so hard he aches, and he manages to shuck his pants down, cock hard against your back.

It occurs to him, John might want to have a taste of you. Drink from you, enjoy how sweet you are. "Let's get this off." He curls you forward, and tugs at your dress, deliciously pleased when you help the effort, arms twisting behind your back to try to free your heavy tits. He shifts you so you're more on his thigh, cock straining against your hip. He groans when he brushes your nipples, dots of liquid beading, slick honey spilling over the curve of your breasts. He squeezes them, making eye contact with John, who licks his lips.

John dips his head, you jerk back into Simon. "Easy," he coos, hand firm on your belly, "John's gonna have a taste. Don't want this all to go to waste, d'you? Don't wanna be selfish sweet girl." His captain's mustache brushes against the sensitive skin, mouth closing around your nipple and sucking, a sensation you seem to enjoy, because you tip your head back on Simon's shoulder and groan.

"Oh, oh. God." John's jaw connects with Simon's fingers, where he's still helping squeeze you into his mouth, and he reaches between your legs, feeling for the weight of his captain's cock, giving him a firm squeeze before lining him up with your entrance. He pulls off your breast with a satisfying pop, mustache wet, chin glistening.

He pushes, slowly, and your muscles go solid, legs instinctively shifting. John grips the back of your thigh, burrowing into the fat there, still forcing his way inside you. They're both so much bigger than you, wider than your pussy allows, longer than you should be able to stretch. "Relax, love." He coaches, pulling out to only batter his way back in, and Simon's hand roams between your legs, feeling the curve of your hole struggling to take his captain, stroking up his length to feel how much is left. You're panting, squirming, and John laughs, echo of a chuckle pulling a smile from Simon.

"J-John." You gasp, cunt stretched tight, and when his pelvis meets your ass, the tears spill over your cheeks. "It's t-too much, you're-"

"Fuckin' hell." He snarls, snapping in and out, bending at the waist to close his mouth over your nipple, big hands cradling your thighs. It's nasty, foul, the slick slap of his balls swinging into you, the wet sound filling the air over your wild moans. Simon plays with your clit, sloshing over and over it, holding you steady as you writhe. Your second orgasm approaches like a freight train, so fast, so violent, and Simon urges you on.

"Cum on my captain's cock, honey. Yeah, that's it- let him feel it." Your toes curl and you explode, squeezing so tight John has to seal his hips to you to keep himself inside.

"Christ." He curses, and Simon smoothes a hand over your forehead.

"Such a good girl, huh? Never felt anything better." He coos, kissing your temple, John grunting out an agreement of sorts, grinding in a circle before pulling long and spearing you open again, bucking into your cunt like a wild animal. Your tits bounce with him, eyes closed and pretty mouth parted, Simon licking inside, dribbling spit onto your tongue that you swallow, again and again, until John's pace becomes frantic, and he bites out a demand.

"Ask your daddy if I can give you my cum, love." You're delirious, overwhelmed and greedy now, pliant with two orgasms and promises of more.

"Daddy, daddy, p-please, can he... can he?" You manage the bumpy plea between bounces.

"Y'want him to pump you full of cum, mama? Want him to give it to you?"

"Y-yeah, yeah. Give it to me." John's jaw is gnashed so tight, Simon can see the muscle flexing, and he slams into you, shoving you further into his arms.

"Here it comes, fuck-." He snarls, and then he shoves forward once more, head tipped back, gladiator in his glory, battle won.

He pulls away, cock slipping free, covered in you, curly hair at the root soaked, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Simon tucks his fingers inside, feeling the mess of his captain's load, scooping some out and bringing it to your lips. "Suck, honey. Lick 'em clean f'me." You do, wrapping your tongue around them, swallowing hungrily with half lidded eyes.

"Sit rep?" John grunts.

"Y'okay mama?" He palms your belly.

"Mhmm." You're suspended in a dream, voracious appetite soothed.

"Need you to take more, sweet girl. Can you do that?" He will honor it, if you say no. Clean you up and get you home, tucked into bed-

but you nod, blinking, and John smacks your ass. "Up, then." He pulls you onto all fours, massive hands pulling your cheeks up and apart, exposing your tight little furl to both of them. Simon glances over, and John sucks into the pocket of his cheek. He follows suit, and-

they spit onto your asshole, shiny, iridescent globs coating it, soaking it, slipping down to where you're leaking strings of John's cum. He thumbs your ring, pushing, testing, slowly sinking inside as you twitch and try to push him out. "Gonna take this one day." It's a promise for another time, and you turn over your shoulder, eyes wide. "Gonna stretch your little asshole out with my cock, mama."

"Simon-" Your voice borders on cautionary.

"Not tonight." John stands, sinking to his knees on the opposite of the couch, half hard cock starting to fill as it looms in front of your face, and Simon lines himself up from behind, impaling you on his cock in one swift thrust, jerking your hips back to meet his.

You scream. Mouth open wide, and at the same time, John shoves forward, cock finding purchase in your mouth, hands cradling your jaw. "Easy, pretty girl." He strokes your cheek, natural rhythm of Simon fucking you deep forcing you on and off John's length, soft turning quickly to hard, stretching back towards your throat.

"Fuck, mama. Feel so fuckin' good. So wet, full of cum already." You're still so tight, so warm, soaking him to the bone. Your pussy squelches around him, and you jerk back to meet him, hips rolling as much as you can stand it, sharp moans vibrating from the back of your tongue. "Not gonna last." He warns.

"Me either," John's biceps are strained, corded muscle looping all the way to his wrists. "Mouth's so good on 'er. Gonna fill you up from both ends tonight, love." You're crying now, Simon can hear the change in your tone, the way your voice breaks, and it only makes him fuck you harder, desperate, primal urges roaring to life in the back of his mind.

"Gonna put it deep, mama. Give y'another baby." You clench. "You like that? Want daddy to fuck another baby into you?" You make some sort of sound, unintelligible, but it doesn't matter. "We won't know who's it is. Could end up with John's baby, yeah? Get nice and fat with him inside you. Belong to both of us." he groans it, thrusting and thrusting until he's slamming into you and so is John, both men sweating, grunting, gripping onto you like their lives depend on it.

It doesn't take much more than that before Simon is curling over your back, chest pressed against you, arm snaked between your legs. He pulls you into another orgasm with him, your thighs clamped around his arm, and John holds you up by the shoulders, spilling down your throat as Simon floods your womb.

The silence that follows is old hat, but new with you. John disappears to grab water, warm, wet wash cloths, and Simon rocks you on the couch, holding you tight, kissing every spare inch of your skin. "Did so good for me, mama." You sigh, cozying closer, and when John kneads your thigh, you spread them, allowing him to wipe between your legs, clean you as best he can, before settling on the other side.

They stay like that, for a while. In the quiet, the sound of your breathing, before Simon manages to get your dress over your head and to the door.

There's no goodbye.

There never is.