javetethewriter-blog

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no one to see, in our hollow tree

yo, back at it again with the overwatch fic. this one is a sequel to honey drip, a mcgenji fic, though you don’t really need to read it to get this one. just know that this is a AU where Genji is in his early twenties and never tried to leave the shimada clan. everyone else are their same ages.

paring: shimadacest 

rating: mature

enjoy~

alternative link to ao3 here

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Read More Now!

Read More Now!

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What to say during sex

ooh

ee

ooh ahh ahh

ting

tang

walla walla bing bang

[javetethewriter-blog]

What to say during sex

ooh

ee

ooh ahh ahh

ting

tang

walla walla bing bang

[javetethewriter-blog]

An Enlightening Excursion (1/2)

Inland Conquest

Fandom: Homestuck

Pairing: Kankri Vantas, Cronus Ampora

Warnings: Xeno, NSFW, sexual content, fluff, silliness. Unplanned pregnancy in later chapter. 

This story is a commission requested by sebbysgirl. I had a lot of fun doing this one, and the second chapter is almost finished. As you can guess, the first chapter is all the smut, the second is all about Kankri with grubs. 

Chapter 2

Ao3

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An Enlightening Excursions (2/2)

Sea-side Snuggles

Fandom: Homestuck

Pairing: Kankri Vantas, Cronus Ampora

Warnings (this chapter): Fluff, silliness, sexual jokes, unplanned pregnancy, mild panic, birthing.

This story is a commission from sebbysgirl. Had fun balancing out the smut from the last chapter with the snuggles this round. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1

Ao3

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DualSign for the soul

I don’t know.

This was part of my art trade with the lovely and wonderful Hasana.

I hope you enjoy~

–TW: NSFW, blackrom, biting, spanking, foreign objects, insults–

Title: The Waltz

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based off this post

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bad things to say when you nut

whoopsie-doo, here comes the goo

it’s slime time

have some brogurt

a shot of goo from me to you

gonna splurt the ‘gurt

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Found this on Reddit and it really works!

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*screaming* JUST WRITE DICK i promise its 10000000% sexier

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rather take off.

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Giving those tiddies some love <3

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butt

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Flashing Lights and Raisins: A Brief Study of the Strider in His Natural Habitat; Bro and Dave Strider, SFW

Don’t let anyone say you don’t love your little meteor baby, but… the guy’s a bit of a handful, literally and figuratively; when you carried him from the crash sight, he was barely big enough to cover your palm, sleeping quietly, a picture perfect little angel. Of course, that hadn’t lasted long. You almost wish you would have snapped a picture of him before he turned into a screaming little monster.

His skin is just as dark as yours, his hair just as pale; his eyes are red as blood and when he opens them in the brightness of the Texas sun, he starts to scream, face scrunched up like a little raisin of rage and terror. You realize you have no idea what to do with a baby, and you stand stock still in horror for almost a full minute before you pull him close, cradle him to your chest, and cup your hand over his face. Once the bright light is gone, he calms, though he’s still a tearful, hiccuping little mess, far too shaky, his little fists balled up and pressed to his cheeks.

You name him Dave, because ’Dave’s Coffee’ has always given you free refills on cold days, and he reminds you of a little coffeebean right now, all small and curled up and brown. That, and because all the other choices suck, and you’ve always been shit at naming things. You realize then, that the only living thing you’ve ever cared for was a fish named Puke and you killed it in a week.

Can babies die from overfeeding?

Dear god you hope not.

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More Cowbell, Please; Dave and Dirk, SFW

He wants to strife with you.

Of course he fucking does- here he finally has someone else who’s been through the same rigorous training as him, someone on his level, someone who understands that a strife, to him, is more than just a play fight,  more than just a simple clash of swords- but that doesn’t make you feel any better about it. You aren’t a coward, no, but you can’t help the way your hands shake as you hold your sword out in front of you, waiting for the hint, the change in the air that signals the beginning of a fight.

There. A breath, a shift of a foot, and you’re both off, flashing around each other, and the first bite of steel on steel rings through the air and the sound of it makes you trip over your own two feet and tumble back, nearly falling.

“I guess I’m a little rusty,” you say; he just stares at you, like he can see right through you, like he knows every single thing you’re thinking and it’s so much like Bro that you almost throw out your fist and punch him. But you’re good. You can handle a little sword fighting. You’re okay.

It’s just a strife.

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Tummy Rubs and Dickings [Though Technically No Dicks Are Involved]; Erisol NSFW

For bunlux and rawrimamidget, because I am an enabler and also weak towards requests based around cute snuggles.

You’re reading when you first hear it.

You aren’t deaf, after all, and you’d need to be in order to miss the groaning coming from the bedroom; at first you think Sollux must be having a bit of alone time with himself, without you, and you feel slightly jilted, but then you hear him whine and roll around and you’d told him to stop at three, but he’d ignored you. Well, now look who’s utterly miserable.

You begin to count. At precisely ten seconds after the initial moaning fit, he comes wandering out of your room, hair a mess and glasses missing, wearing nothing but your shirt, which hangs like a sail from his small frame. He’s gorgeous like this, even mussed from sleep with a bit of translucent yellow drool on his cheek; the only thing you currently dislike about his appearance is the look of pain on his round face.

“I told you,” you say, and he scoffs at you, turning his head away even as he clambers up into your lap; you have more than enough space for him, his body small compared to your own broad frame, your last molt having been rather generous in the height department and his… not so much. You had grown a good two feet and gained about a hundred pounds of sheer muscle; he had seemingly shrunk three inches and widened by about five, his hips round and curved against the palm you place on his waist to keep him steady as he climbs you like a tree.

“Fix it,” he demands, pouting, his fists curling in the fabric of your shirt, his horns headbutting your book out of the way, “Hurts.”

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