#copper chatter

[copper-sands]

an update post on the commission goal

the main thing is, my girlfriend isn't meeting up with me anymore due to her personal concerns, so i am removing the donation goal. if you want a refund, let me know (and if you requested stuff for your donations from @elkkiel or @inv3ga, let them know as well), but i won't be able to refund every single one due to the visa fees having already been paid (i am still planning to travel, meeting up with my gf was just one part of the trip). if you don't want a refund but still requested something from either of the people mentioned above, the requests will still be fulfilled. thank you all for your help, and i'm sorry it did not work out.

[copper-sands]

apotheosis propaganda:

Ultimate Word Tournament!

adieu (French) [a.djø] Literally, "Go with God", originally said to someone as a final goodbye and a wish for good luck in the rest of their life. Nowadays, it can be said for any farewell or goodbye.

apotheosis (English) [əˌpɑː.θiˈoʊ.sɪs] The process or event of ascension to godhood or similar status.

[valoisfulcanellideux]

A little bit of behind the scenes lore for REanima

Art by Sabira / @floweroflaurelin

If you've read REanima, my short story set in a dystopian future about bounty hunter Saiziege (MythicalSausage), the augmented Copper King CuprePaxi (Pixlriffs), and copper golem Parlse (PearlescentMoon) then you may have wondered what happened to all the other copper golems that made the repair of little Parlse something that had to be kept so secret.

Since I've been going through my notes this morning, trying to find something else, I thought I'd type up a bit of lore that I jotted down but never included in the story, mostly because it only came to me weeks after I'd posted it on AO3.

These are literally only notes transcribed from the notebook that I always carry with me, and they're also not fact-checked/heavily researched, so they're mostly just to give some flavour to the backstory of the character of CuprePaxi.

Be warned: this is heart-wrenching.

Behind the cut with you!

In the past, CuprePaxi created innocent, childlike copper golems as companions for people (maybe even as 'eternal children' for those who couldn't have them, due to the excessive amount of pollution in the city causing high levels of infertility). Each one took a long time to make, as they were hand-crafted, and he regarded them all as his children. Because he knew that - at some distant point in their future - he would probably be called upon to repair them, and he didn't want to cause them any distress when he did that, he programmed each of them to regard him as their father, their protector.

Copper became incredibly scarce because so much of it was needed for the infrastructure (wiring, piping, etc.) of The Wall. (This touches on the impending copper shortage our current world is looking at.)

At some point in the recent past all the known copper golems were confiscated by the authorities... and - in one giant crucible - they were melted down.

CuprePaxi lives to this day with the knowledge that circulated soon after this event: that workers in the foundry were horrified to hear hundreds of small voices calling out for 'father!' as the crucible was heated.

Because of his underworld connections, Saiziege had advance knowledge of the impending copper golem confiscation, and so he hid little Parlse away. When the officials arrived to check his home, he managed to convince them that he couldn't afford a copper golem of his own, and so Parlse escaped the purge.

Even CuprePaxi himself sometimes gets eyed up as a potential source of the metal because of the liquid copper channels embedded in his skin. Whenever he's visited by an official who brings him an android for repair and he spots them looking at those channels, he immediately puts on a show of vanity, explaining that the copper is synthetic and he had the channels inserted because he thought they looked good. And all the while, he knows that - just as easily as they melted down his children - so would they gladly gouge out his copper channels without a second thought if it meant a bit more of the metal to build a bit more of The Wall.

[terabyte-teddybear]

fabian seacaster stimboard for anon!

X X X X X X X X X

[rhvpsodos-fr]

maaann everyones plushie dragons seem so much cooler but this is my girl Button! I found her egg in the training fields on xmas day so she was like a lil present! I always thought her goat eyes were like buttons hence the name and plushie theme

I must admit the proper button eyes look a little weird on her 😅 what do we think?

[copperpup]

Simply I’m too horny for my own good

[copper-sands]

there's something about aqua regia and the gold on vessel's new mask and the new gold body paint that's starting to show almost as if breaking through the black but idk how to articulate my thoughts on it

[blackwaxidol]

Had a nightmare, took my 10am medication at 5pm... but I finally showered, and changed my bedding... I also found a necklace I was worried I'd lost somewhere. I don't like jewellery very much but I make an exception for this because it is not particularly shiny.

It's a very unphotogenic necklace in my opinion. Sort of looks like a cursed artefact no matter how I try and capture it. Too much overhead lighting.

Copper(?), and a thing of raw kyanite. I'm too much of a knuckledragger to have recognised kyanite other than it being something I mined in Subnautica, but I like that game a lot so it was nice to see the real thing.

The weird sun... interesting story, my mother bought this necklace for me for my birthday specifically because she'd had the Sun tarot card drawn for her when she went to a reading before I was born. That, and the necklace chain is very short; I've always expressed an anxiety about losing necklaces because of how long the chains are and that the jewellery is too light to be noticed if it is missing. This necklace has a short chain and an unmistakable presence on the skin. Bueno 👍.

[take-it-on-the-run]

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

[00valentina-writes00]

hello! I’ve read like twenty of your stories in like two hours. I’m in awe. And I’d like to request a Sevika x reader story? Maybe one where reader is feeling rather self conscious and Sevika tries to get through to them with words but that’s not what the reader needs (sex). (Im heavily implying smut) but you don’t have to, I just wanted to compliment your works!!

♡♥︎ Mine ♥︎♡

Warnings: ⚠️ NSFW (18+ only) | Dominant Sevika | Body Worship | Praise & Possessiveness | Insecurity/Body Image Themes | Use of Strap-On | Rough Sex | Sevika Being a Menace | Reader is Soft but Sevika is NOT Letting That Slide | You Will Be Appreciated, Whether You Like It or Not

You wake up to the faint hum of Zaun’s undercity, the distant clatter of machinery and the occasional burst of chatter from the streets below seeping through the thin walls of Sevika’s apartment. Her arm is draped over your waist, her hand resting lightly on your stomach. The weight of it feels comforting, protective, but today it makes you tense. You’ve been avoiding this closeness, this intimacy, for days now. Your insecurities have been gnawing at you, whispering ugly truths in your ear. Your thighs are too thick. Your stomach is too soft. She’s not going to want you like this.

Sevika stirs behind you, her chest pressing against your back as she shifts. Her voice is low, gravelly from sleep. “You’re thinking too loud.”

You stiffen. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

“Bullshit.” Her hand tightens slightly on your stomach, fingers brushing against the soft curve there. “You’ve been dodging me all week. What’s going on?”

You shrug, trying to shake her off, but she doesn’t budge. Her grip is firm, insistent. “It’s nothing, Sevika. Just leave it.”

She exhales sharply, her breath warm against the back of your neck. “Don’t give me that. You know I don’t do well with cryptic bullshit. Spit it out.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give voice to the thoughts that have been plaguing you, but you know Sevika won’t let it go. She never does. “I just… I feel disgusting. Okay? My body’s… it’s not good enough. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sevika snorts. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You whirl around to face her, your cheeks burning. “It’s not stupid! You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” she interrupts, her voice sharp. Her grey eyes lock onto yours, piercing and unyielding. “You think I give a damn about what you look like? About a little extra weight or whatever the hell you’re obsessing over? News flash, darling—I don’t. I never have.”

Her words hit you like a punch, and you blink, stunned. Sevika’s never been one for sugarcoating, but this feels different. There’s a rawness in her tone, a ferocity that makes your chest tighten.

“But…” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“But nothing,” she growls, sitting up and leaning over you. Her copper prosthetic arm glints in the dim light as she braces herself on the mattress, caging you in. “You’re mine. Every damn inch of you. And I’m not letting you talk yourself out of that.”

You stare up at her, your heart pounding. Her presence is overwhelming, as it always is—towering, muscular, scarred. Her dark hair falls across her face, framing those sharp, angular features. Her lip piercing catches the light, drawing your eyes to her mouth, to the way her brownish-black lipstick smudges just slightly at the edges. She’s beautiful, in a way that’s all hard edges and raw power, and it makes you feel small in comparison.

“Sevika…” you whisper, your voice trembling.

She leans down, her nose brushing against yours. “You need to stop thinking so damn much,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me show you how much I want you. How much I need you.”

Her hand moves from your waist to your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. You shiver, your breath catching as she grips you harder, pulling your leg up to wrap around her hip. The movement is possessive, demanding, and it sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” she demands, her voice low and rough.

“I… I want this,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She smirks, a wicked, predatory thing that makes your stomach flip. “Good.”

She doesn’t waste any time. Her hands are on you, rough and insistent, shoving your shirt up and over your head before you can even think to protest. Her mouth finds your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as she works her way down. Her prosthetic arm moves with a precision that’s almost unnerving, the cool metal brushing against your ribs as she strips you bare.

You’re exposed now, completely vulnerable under her gaze. You want to shrink away, to hide from the intensity of her stare, but she doesn’t let you. Her eyes rake over your body, cataloging every curve, every imperfection, and instead of disdain, you see something else. Hunger. Need.

“you’re beautiful,” she growls, her voice thick with desire.

You shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not—”

She silences you with a kiss, hard and bruising, her tongue pushing past your lips to claim your mouth. It’s not gentle, not tender—it’s possessive, demanding, and it leaves you breathless. When she pulls back, you’re panting, your chest heaving.

“Don’t argue with me,” she snaps, her eyes blazing. “I don’t have the patience for your self-loathing bullshit. You will not disrespect my girlfriend like that.”

Her hand moves between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness with a rough, almost careless ease. You gasp, arching off the mattress as she teases you, her touch just this side of too much.

“See this?” she murmurs, her voice a low purr in your ear. “This is how much your body turns me on. How much I fucking crave you.”

Her fingers sink into you, deep and unrelenting, and you cry out, your nails digging into her shoulders. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, her rhythm punishing as she fucks you with her hand. Your thighs tremble, your body tightening around her as she pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Look at me,” she commands, and you obey, your eyes locking onto hers. Her gaze is intense, unwavering, and it feels like she’s staring straight into your soul. “You’re perfect, alluring, and godlike. Every fucking part of you. And I’m not letting you forget it.”

You cum with a strangled cry, your body arching off the mattress as she works you through it, her fingers relentless. When it’s over, you’re shaking, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Sevika smirks, pulling her hand away and licking her fingers clean with a deliberate slowness that makes your cheeks burn.

She moves off the bed, and you hear the sound of her rummaging through a drawer. When she turns back to you, she’s holding a strap-on, the thick, curved silicone gleaming in the dim light. Your breath hitches, your body already thrumming with anticipation.

She straps it on with practiced ease, her movements confident and unhurried. When she climbs back onto the bed, the weight of her presses you into the mattress, her body hovering over yours. Her grey eyes bore into you, and for a moment, it feels like she’s looking straight through you, past all your walls and insecurities.

“Tell me you you’re pretty,” she says again, her voice a growl.

You nod, your voice trembling. “I’m…I’m pretty Sevika..”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t wait, doesn’t give you time to second-guess. She pushes into you in one smooth, brutal stroke, the stretch of her filling you completely. You gasp, your back arching as she bottoms out, the sensation overwhelming.

“Fuck,” she groans, her head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so hot. So fucking perfect.”

She starts to move, her hips pistoning into you with a relentless rhythm. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans. Her hands grip your love handles, holding you in place as she fucks you, her pace unforgiving.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her voice rough with desire. “Mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you cling to her, your nails digging into her back as she drives you closer and closer to the edge. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve alight with pleasure.

“Sevika, I’m— again-”

“Cum for me,” she demands, her voice a low snarl. “Now.”

You obey, your body shattering as pleasure crashes over you in waves. She fucks you through it, her rhythm never faltering, until your entire body is trembling with the force of it.

When she finally stills, her body pressed against yours, you’re both panting, your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. She drops her forehead to yours, her grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re mine,” she repeats in a whisper, her voice rough, “and I’m not letting you forget it.”

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yours,” you whisper back, your voice trembling.

She smirks, that wicked, predatory thing that makes your stomach flip. “Good girl.”

And then she’s moving again, her hips rolling against yours, and you realize with a gasp that she’s far from done with you.

“Sevika—”

“Shut up,” she growls, her voice low and dark. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[wileys-russo]

Emily Fox, “we should really get up.” “we should….but we won’t.”, cuddling in bed on lazy morning

lazy dayII e.fox

your girlfriend should have known the moment she woke up that she was a goner.

for one, it was a sunday, and with arsenal playing on a rare saturday afternoon emily had the day off. but despite that had insisted on filling it with an itinerary that extended from breakfast to dinner, and it all started with the first of the five alarms she'd had set.

you knew it normally took at least the first two before she'd get up the morning after a game, body sore and limbs aching after a rough match against aston villa yesterday in which as usual she'd played nearly the full ninety.

which is why you'd argued that the two of you have a lazy day, the plans she'd floated about not needed as you assured her despite the rarity of a sunday off together you were perfectly content just spending it with her.

but with how uncommon it was for the pair of you to have a mutual day off, and an entire day at that, the defender pushed that the pair of you make the most of it.

always chattering randomly about things you wanted to do together emily seemed determined to shove all of them into one gloriously busy day in which it seemed you'd step foot in every corner of london, starting with breakfast and coffee at a cafe you walked past everyday on your way home from work.

you were always sending her photos of the lavish pastries in the front window, knowing just how much your girlfriend appreciated her sweet tooth, yet somehow the two of you had never actually gone there to try any of them.

then came a trip to portabello road market, both you and emily having wanted to go since making the move to london but never actually following through.

that was to be followed by a walk around hyde park, autumn making the paths drowned in shades of burnt oranges, auburn and copper reds as the dead leaves crunched beneath foot.

then emily had been begging you to go to the natural history museum since you'd gone together to the one in new york, the defender forever fascinated with fossils and history you often teased her for it but did find her excitement utterly adorable.

then just when you assumed that was the end of your plans she'd thrown in that she'd booked for the two of you to go to dinner at sexy fish, and then get tiramisu at the small family run italian restaurant at the end of your street which was infamous for having some of the best around.

all in all you were exhausted before your day had even begun but unable to say no to the way the americans eyes lit up as she recounted her plan you couldn't say no, far too head over heels to deny her what she wanted.

however when that first alarm rang, your own lower half aching from last nights...celebrations, you were quick to sit up and click stop, though to your surprise you heard the defender beside you stir.

"morning." came the raspy grumble, hands tugging at your hoodie and pulling you back down into her embrace, inhaling and smiling as your face pressed into her chest, arms wound around and a hand rubbing up and down your back.

"is that rain?" emily broke the bubble of silence you were wrapped up in, pausing as neither of you dared to breathe, sure enough the gentle pitter patter of raindrops splashing against your window sounded, growing heavier with time.

"noo our plans!" the defender whined tiredly making you chuckle. "you do remember that we live in england now babe? and it's autumn? and a day without rain is like a needle in a haystack?" you lifted your head with a smile.

"don't remind me." the girl grumbled, pout locked into her lips as you let out a quiet laugh. "don't! babe its not funny, i have to re-organise our day now." emily huffed but as she tried to reach over for her phone you quickly moved to lay on top of her.

"hey!" she laughed in surprise now as you pinned her arms to the bed. "or we raincheck? if you'll pardon the pun." you winked as she gagged playfully at the dad joke.

"we should really get up." emily encouraged as you smiled coyly. "we should, but we won't." you shook your head as she cocked an eyebrow up at you in amusement. "oh we won't will we?" your girlfriend questioned as you shook your head.

"em, baby its cold, its raining and we have an entire day off. we can have a lie in, order brunch, watch the new season of outer banks, maybe a couch nap?" you wiggled your eyebrows making her smile and yank a hand free, honking at your nose.

"have a lie in, so british!" the brunette teased, shifting herself beneath you as her hands now free snick up the sides of your her hoodie. "lazy day together, and then we can still go to sexy fish later, get some tiramisu-" you ducked your head and kissed softly at her neck between words as she exhaled happily.

"mm, that feels nice." "does it? shame if we got up and i had to stop." you kissed beneath her ear as her eyes closed and her hands squeezed your hips.

"you are dangerously convincing when you want to be." "well you're dating a lawyer miss fox, what else did you expect?"

[valoisfulcanellideux]

Uh... did I say 'short story'?

I may have meant to say, "Oops, I think I've just come up with the next long-ass story i'll be writing once These Stones Remember is finished..." 👀

Copper King | Phantom Assassin darkfic, huh? Hehehe!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Days of Yore

Warnings: some dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You show up uninvited but are welcomed nonetheless.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

Day Twenty-Five of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -an unexpected guest at the holiday get together.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Wow,” you gape up at the immaculate array of lights strung across the facade. “This place is amazing. Who’s house is this?” 

“A friend of a friend’s, I don’t know,” Wendy shrugs. 

“A friend... Oh? Are you sure it’s okay we’re here?” You wonder with a furrow between your brows. You now feel a bit foolish for getting all done up when you might not even have been invited. 

“Open invite! Besides, no one will notice,” she assures you. 

“Right,” you mutter doubtfully. 

“Loosen up. What else do you got going on, huh?” She grabs your hand and pulls you through the open iron gates. They accentuate the medieval effect of the house. Now you don’t feel done up enough. 

“Not much, I guess,” you admit. If anything, you’ll get a bit of free food then ditch. It's not the first time you’ve unintentionally party-crashed with your wayward friend. 

“You know Sienna, it will be fine,” she tuts and comes up to the front doors.  

Again, you’re awed by the aesthetic of it all. You notice that the lights aren’t coloured, but only white, and the decor doesn’t bear the typical Santa or candy cane theme. In fact, it all has a historic tint. Traditional in a strange way. Dried oranges hung on long strings and holly twisted into bunches. For a moment, you’re remind of that dusty history degree hidden in the back of your closet. 

Wendy knocks with the heavy iron knocker. She waits and chatters as she wiggles her legs below her short skirt. She didn’t dress for the temperature. She searches the door frame and grumbles. 

“You think someone who could afford this place would have a doorcam or something,” she chuffs out a cloud of steam. 

The door opens and startles you both. You look over as Wendy as good as jumps inside. She seizes the woman who keeps a hand on the door. 

“Kami! You look... nice,” she holds her and gives her an eye up and down, “is this velvet?” She drags her hands down the green fabric. 

“Designer,” Kami pushes away her touch. “You brought a friend.” 

“Yeah, Sienna said so--” 

“Mm, sure, it’s just... whatever. No one will notice,” Kami rolls her eyes. “You have to come. Lucas has the funniest story! I was just dying.” 

Your shoulders fall and you clasp your hands together. You trail after, unwelcome and unacknowledged. Uninvited. You frown and silently configure how you can excuse yourself and leave. If you wait long enough, Wendy will forget about you. It might be easier to sneak out. 

You stop to hang your coat with all the rest and Kami makes a point of telling you to take your boots off. The floors are old wood, polished and well-kept. The entire house is immaculate. An antique on its own. 

You follow them into a high-ceilinged room adorned in strings of threaded popcorn and dried clusters of flowers. The air is fragrant as mulled cider steams in a heated bowl on a table, copper cups waiting to be filled, and dishes of appetizers in a line. The smell makes your stomach churn hungrily. 

“Who the hell owns this place?” Wendy asks the question nibbling on your ears. 

“Oh, he’s a funny guy,” Kami chuckles. “A bit... eccentric. Sienna’s been trying to loosen him up a bit, I mean... look at this house. That’s a good bag.” 

You try not to show your disapproval. You don’t have much luck with men but hearing the way some of your friends talk about them, you don’t know that you’re cut out for it all. It really doesn’t seem that anyone is out for a genuine connection, they just want a good set-up.

Can you really blame them? You’ve been handwashing your clothes since your building hiked up the machine prices. Turns out a couple quarters can really break the bank. 

Your guilt compounds as you realise that you’ve cosigned this entire extortionate affair. This party seems to have been a ploy by a hopeful prize winner. You know Sienna and she’s always sure to show you her Fenti and point out the label, though she can never remember the name of the man who bought it. 

“So what? He gave her full run to do all this? It's not really her... style. I expected more pink,” Wendy scoffs. 

“Nope, he’s a tight ass apparently. They were up for nights making the decorations and the food.” 

“What?” She squeals in surprises as your whispers from your mouth. That’s a lot of work. 

“Very old-fashioned,” Kami remarks. “But he’s not just rich you know, he’s fucking hot.” 

“Ah, jackpot,” Wendy giggles. 

You keep behind them, as good as hiding behind them. You bob and clutch your purse as Lucas excitedly hugs Wendy and Sienna drunkenly echoes him. You know a few of the partygoers standing with them but none of them even look in your direction. It seems Wendy’s already forgotten you. 

This is why you said no at first. This is how it always goes but she begged and begged, guilting you fro making her show up alone. What about you? Why is it okay to ditch you every time? 

You glance around. There are just as many strangers and none of them seem eager to mingle past their trio or pairing. You wish Wendy mentioned the dress code. You don’t think your H&M clearance rack attire is very suiting. 

As an elbow hits your arm, you back up. No apology. You’re a piece of decor to these people. You back up and turn. Well, no one else seems to want to indulge. What a weird party. 

You go to the table and take a cup. It’s times like these that you enjoy being invisible. College was tough, you longed to be noticed, to be like the other girls. Since then, you’ve grown comfortable with just being there. It’s much safer. 

You ladle the cider into a mug and the steam roils from the top. A slice of blood orange and a few cranberries float in the rich amber liquid. You blow over it and retreat. The warmth is a comfort. It makes you feel a little less out-of-place. 

As you turn, you nearly collide with another. You bring your other hand up to steady the cup and barely keep from sloshing the cider all over. You squeak and step back on your heel, your eyes skimming up the large figure in front of you.  

You haven’t seen eyes like those since... 

“Geralt?” You utter dumbly. 

He looks down at you. He looks different but not. He always had his own vibe. The white hair, the bright eyes, he wore his individuality without meaning too. Yet some things are his own doing. 

When you were in Early Modern History or Medieval Weaponry and Warfare together, he always dressed as if the clocks were set back to the Victorian era. Stiff jackets, high collared shirts, even a pocket watch. He was a bit of a dweeb then but too big for anyone to say so. And he was the only person who wanted to talk about history outside the lectures. 

Now he wears a tunic, silver trim on black, slightly less stuffy but just as dated. Half of his hair is twisted back behind his head, the tails of it spilling past his shoulders. 

He says your name and tilts his head, “I didn’t invite you.” 

It’s a statement that makes your heart sink. You peer down at your cup then around the room. “I’m sorry, my friend, she knows Sienna, she--” 

“It’s good to see you,” he interrupts. “It’s been a very long time.” 

You wince and dare to look at him again. “Yes, college was a while ago.” You slanted your lips and press your hands to the hot metal cup. “This is your house? It’s very nice.” 

“It is. I don’t often entertain, so mind the cobwebs,” he intones. He still has that way of speaking; so matter-of-fact. “It wasn’t my idea.” 

“Mm, right,” you nod. 

“Is the cider good? I found the recipe in an old journal from 1764.” 

“Of course you did,” you hold back a laugh. 

“Of course...” he begins to repeat curiously. 

“It’s all very you, is all,” you say. 

“I suppose,” he agrees. 

You smile shakily and swallow. You make yourself try the cider. It’s hot but not scalding. A very spiced. Not in a bad way, you just don’t expect that much. 

“Mm, it’s... heady.” 

“Mulled for days,” he explains. He shifts on his feet and smooths his tunic. “Can I show you something?” 

“Um, sure,” you accept. “It’s not the door, is it?” 

He lets out a small snort, “leave the cider.” 

You peer around and he takes the cup from you. He puts it down on a leather coaster on a tall wooden table and beckons you after him. You peek back as you sense a hush and notice that Sienna and the rest of them are watching. Great, they already don’t care much for you. 

Geralt stops and waits for you to catch up to him. The staircase is wide enough for both of you. Your ascent is quiet, almost torturously so. 

“You did not bring a boyfriend?” He asks. 

You nearly laugh at the abrupt question. You get to the top of the stairs and he gestures you left. 

“Well, I’d bring my cat. He’s the only guy sleeping in my bed,” you kid. 

He hums but doesn’t comment. 

“So, how’d you meet Sienna?” You ask. 

He shrugs and stops to open a door. He pushes it inward and reaches around the frame to turn on the lights. He waits for you to enter first. You do with a gasp at the interior. 

The walls are hung with various weaponry and you can tell at a glance that it’s genuine. It’s like walking into a museum. You traipse forward as you stare and barely notice the door click shut. 

“Wow, how—Geralt, how the heck—what do you do? I mean, how can you afford all this?” 

“I make replicas for TV and stage productions,” he explains. “This is my personal collection.” 

“It’s... wow,” you hug yourself, feeling even smaller than before. 

He’s quiet again. That’s just how he’s always been. He never said more than he needed to. It made studying very easy. 

“You asked about Sienna. She is persistent but we are older now. I don’t see her as viable,” he says. Again, just a fact, nothing emotional. 

“Oh, uh, well, I heard otherwise. Maybe you should tell her that,” you chuckle nervously as you admire the executioner’s sword with its blunt tip. 

“Perhaps,” he agrees as he slowly crosses the room to stand next to you. “I’m... pleased that you showed up. It is a coincidence, isn’t it?” 

“Sure, must be,” you agree. 

You keep your eyes on the groove in the blade as you feel his on you. You sidle along and turn your head away from him. The door is shut. He stays close. 

“Here,” he steps around you, startling you. 

You spin as he goes to a large wooden chest on a table. “The smaller things are in here. Thumb screws, some daggers...” he flips open the lid as you turn and follow, keeping your distance. He holds up a curved blade, possibly a jambiya. “Hm, come,” he waves you around as he reaches in again, “you’ll like this one.” 

You sway before you move, hands clasped to each other. You slowly pace around to him and he moves so quickly you nearly stagger. In a moment, there’s a weight around your wrists. You cry out and raise your manacled arms. 

“Geralt!” You exclaim. 

He laughs. You don’t hear that often. You look at him and tug on the chain. 

“Centuries old but they are strong still, yes?” 

You frown, “please, it’s not funny. I don’t like it.” 

“Aren’t they wonderful?” 

“No, Geralt, please, take them off.” 

“Hm, I’d have to find the key...” 

“Don’t play,” you warn. 

His laughter trickles off and his face returns to its stoic mask. He stares at you. Silence rises and roils around you as the chain clinks in the loops of the cuffs and you fidget. You wait for him to pull out the key and undo them. 

Instead, he hooks a thick finger around the links and tugs until your arms are above you. He holds you like that, trapped and prone. You shudder as you stare up at him, terrified at the glint in his pale eyes. 

“I’m not playing,” he intones. “I’ve been waiting to get you in those. Far too long.” 

[copper-sands]

ty for the tag :]

post your lockscreen, last song listened to, and last saved picture of a famous person (last two swapped for post formatting)

i guess?? this twitter screenshot counts???? it's also way too funny to pass up sorry (also go listen to Dom Zły do it it's GOOD)

Thank you for the tag @pastlink and @im-suchanicegirl I really appreciate it 🥰

Post your lockscreen, last song you listened to, and last saved picture of a famous person

^ Meant to send that to you Lilia! 🥰

I'll tag @goth-automaton @lonelyvomit @figmentrinzler @because-its-eurovision @chaoslaura @man-made-misery if you want to 🥰

[eggedbellies]

Thank @cyphlyncolours for this one! Title: All Bets are Off Wordcount: 3327 Kinks: breeding, oviposition, cum inflation, knotting, egg laying, bondage (?), breeding stocks, overstimulation Synopsis: Ashe (she/they) is a human on an alien planet. Hanging out in an alien bar and playing games sounds like great fun... until the bids are raised higher than before. If she wins, the prize is a great amount of money. If she loses, well... the breeding stocks always need a new body.

-

The sultry air in the Aura Rainforest was something that few humans enjoyed, but Ashe had found herself coming to enjoy. It wasn’t impossible to encounter other soft-skinned folks like herself in here, but it was definitely something rare. She liked how comfortable it was, in only the barest modicum of clothing, and the Selesians seemed to enjoy the novelty of seeing such an unusual creature in their midst. The human settlement nearby had been tolerated when they’d first landed; the reptillian locals were not huge in numbers, and friendly enough, even if it had taken some time for communication to be established. That was hundreds of years ago now, and Ashe was part of a generation that was long since settled… although interactions between the two communities was a little more distant than it really should have been.

Ashe, though? They’d never given a damn what was expected of her. The thick leafy foliage was part of the building; the air was heavy with moisture, and her crop top – barely containing her heavy chest - and light yoga pants were not enough to stop sweat dripping down her back. For the scaled creatures that were her friends and compatriots, it was clearly pleasant – they found her strange, soft nature to be fascinating. Eyes drifted around the space before settling back on the hand of cards she had. It sometimes made her think of saunas she’d seen on footage about Earth, and always enjoyed it…

The last few games had been disastrous; an upsetting shift in pace from Ashe’s previous luck. This game had been one she’d learnt here, on the very first, nervous visit – a friend had heard her talking about wanting to try some of the local delicacies, and had almost mockingly recommended Aura Rainforest. The silence that fell when she’d first stepped in, a half-dozen sets of slitted eyes turning to look, suspicion that spoke of perhaps some crueller visits in the past. Yet, upon learning what kind of person they were? Ashe had been accepted with open arms.

The game was fun, but tense; a little like poker, a little like chess, even if it was played from the compressed-leaf ‘cards’, able to tolerate the balmy temperatures. The pile of money in front of them, though, was drawing tension. The space around had a low chatter, but many eyes were fixed upon the two players. All the others had dropped previously, and now, it was only Ashe and her opponent – Manna. She was a stunning creature, truly. Six foot two, glossy green and gold scales with touches of warm copper, brilliant orange eyes. She reminded Ashe of images she’d seen of cobras; the way her natural head shape flared out like a hood or even long hair… her own brunette locks felt unremarkable in comparison.

She was also the owner of Aura Rainforest, and one of the most skilled N’ic players that Ashe had ever faced off against.

“Damnit.” the human sighed, sitting back slightly, dropping her cards down in front of her. “I concede. I don’t have anything else to bid.” “Hmm…” Manna’s voice was as warm as the air, and she smiled in that languid way the reptillians had. “There is something else you could raise…” she murmured. “One more game. If you win, all this…” she gestured a clawed hand down at the pile. That was a good amount of money – enough to cover her rent for the month, at least. Brows drew in, trying to consider what was being suggested right now – before the black claw pointed across the room. Ashe turned, and her eyes settled on – ah. ‘The Stocks’, she’d heard them called, although they weren’t like any stock they’d ever seen before in their history docs.

It wasn’t a structure designed to hold the wrists and neck, no – it was something entirely different, something she’d rarely seen used but – there was a deep throb of heat that sunk straight to her core. Maybe, as Ashe looked back around, she saw Manna’s nostrils flare – but she could have imagined that, surely? “One night.” she said, with a grin, “Anything goes. I won’t let anyone hurt you, of course – standard rules would apply.” Yes, Ashe had seen that before – although never taking too close a look, just in case, not wanting to seem overly interested – that little translator in their brain working to shift the words to something she could understand. No hurting, no suffering, nothing overly… permanent. But, still… that was a hell of a thing to gamble on… eyes drifted back to the money. She remembered the last time they’d seen a body in the stocks… the moaning and gasping from the monitoresque Selesian as she’d been fucked hard, over and over… maybe… maybe the risk was worth it.

“You’ve got it. Deal me in.” she said, giving a grin that Manna reflected back, gesturing casually for the cards to be shuffled and redealt. As each one appeared, she inhaled slowly, well aware that every eye in the space was fixated on the game. She lifted the hand up, staring – trying everything she could to not reveal just what her eyes were fixing on. Impossible. There was only one hand in the game that could possibly beat this. Her own blue irises flicked up, focusing, don’t give it away… the tension held between them, then, finally -

“Marshall.” Manna declared. Ashe’s heart lifted, and she beamed, slapping down her own glimmering purple hand - “Full basilisk.” she declared, sure that Manna had overreached, but the snake was smiling, wider now, and that delight twisted to fear as - “Good hand, Ashe. But …” she laid her own down. “White sail.” “What? No! That’s – how?!” Ashe jolted to her feet, hands on the countertop. Manna began to laugh, throwing her head back before she stood, moving to the human’s side. “Looks like you have a night with us.” she whispered, just the faintest hint of a hiss in her tone. There was laughter all around, now, the rest of the bar delighted at her failure.

“Let me get you a drink.” Manna murmured, “You’re going to want it.” they waved at the bartender; a moment later a shimmering shot was laid in front of her. They stared at it for a moment, knowing just what that was; something she’d never tried, because it was expensive and – well -

“Are you sure?” Ashe murmured. There was a ripple of laughter in return; Manna nodded, leaning in her face close to the back of the human’s head, breath surprisingly warm for a mostly cold blooded creature… reaching out, her fingers caressed the cool sides of the glass before throwing it back. The ‘venom’ shot was made with – well – venom, from a particular species of Selensian – it was rare, and the price came from more than just how hard it was to obtain. Almost immediately, a new kind of heat was suffusing Ashe’s body, making her gasp.

“I always wondered just how it might work on a human.” Manna murmured, and now her slender hands were sliding over Ashe’s hips, then up – scooping under her crop top then the bra, cupping her heavy breasts. Ashe gasped roughly – her hips ground back instinctively, pressing against the growing bulge in her pants. There was more laughter, rising, but seeming so very unimportant in comparison to the throbbing heat building in her own crotch, the wetness soaking through her tight fitting pants. Those cool, unexpectedly soft scaled hands were massaging her now, rubbing over her nipples with a fascination that could only come from someone who didn’t have them. Then the fabric was being pulled from over her head, baring her in front of the entire group.

She found she didn’t mind.

Now the hands were slipping down, into the edges of her pants. Everything was becoming blurry beyond the desperation growing between her legs. As they were led through the bar towards the ‘stocks’, hands reached out to caress the soft skin, stroking her and fondling her, a whisper of what was to come…

There was a soft pad here; they’d never noticed before. But, well – they’d never been on this side of it before, after all. She let them lay her forward. There was a thick bar that settled over her hips, holding her in place, a deep soft curve in the ground, surprisingly comfortable as it was locked into place. There was a hand gripping their ass, stroking over the curve it, tantalisingly close to her desperate, aching hole…

Then something soft was pressing her clit, rubbing against it – she squirmed, bucking, letting out a loud moan.

“You know the rules!” she hissed at someone unknown. “I get first breeding. You lot get to go after. Remember – two drink minimum to use the fucktoy!” and there was a roar of laughter, the clatter of the bar picking up, and then – oh, God, yes – yes – sweet relief – there was something sinking into her. It was surprisingly slender and cool compared to the burning emptiness that was Ashe’s body right now, the venom making every nerve alive. Manna dug her claws into the bits of Ashe’s hips that she could reach.

“You’re such a wet toy. Oh… we need to find more humans to test this venom on. Or maybe it’s just you. I saw the way you looked at it when I raised that bet… I bet you wanted to be here, didn’t you? Wanted to have everyone in this bar lay their eggs in you? You’re very lucky… I can see Snaa is looking at you. We’ll have to let her go last… when you’re all fucked open and ready for that monster, hm?” she laughed again, and the noises made her tremble inside, Ashe clenching around her member. It was just like Manna. Strong, long, slim but irresistible as it drove into her. Over and over, rough, uncaring almost, yet it felt like bliss.

She was getting closer, now, so close, feeling the liquid heat building and building, thrumming into her centre. There – there – and – no – Manna was pulling away, thick strands of cum still drooling from the tip of her cock. “I could’ve given you my clutch… but no. I want to wait until you’re a little more broken, pet.” she slapped Ashe firmly across the rear, and the human clenched, moaning wantonly. Her hands dug into the padding below her, breasts scraping against the soft material… her whole body twitched hungrily, still feeling that throb that was now dancing away, only --

“Ah -” the moan escaped her throat – Manna was still hovering nearby, but there was someone new lining up. Something thick and surprisingly blunt slid slowly down the crack of their ass, rounded and textured. It was so different from the owner’s slender tool, but – surely this wasn’t Snaa’s cock? They knew her – she was the komodo who sat in the back corner, downing huge jugs of the simmered palm ‘beers’, some kind of labourer with a beautiful muscular set of arms and oh, god, she was being split in half, this couldn’t be Snaa but what if it was already? They’d never be the same again. It felt so good; they were so slick and hot compared to the blunt, unstoppable intrusion…

“Fuck!” Ashe cried out as she came, clenching, yet the cock slipped all the way in, and the high laughter above her wasn’t Snaa’s, no. It was hard to think beyond just how full she felt, each ponderous thrust slow, steady, driving all the way in then nearly all the way out. Pre was drooling into their body, doubled up on the slick from Manna’s first filling, and then – oh – oh, they were moving faster, rougher. Each blow all the way in rocked her in the ‘stock’, whining and drooling into the padding. She truly was a toy, being used, the venom making her blood sing and body shimmer all over… a bliss that she didn’t imagine she’d ever feel again.

Somehow, that cock was getting thicker. At the base now, swelling – bigger – they couldn’t move even if they hadn’t been held. Twitching, pulsing, almost squirming where it was packed into her tunnel. Each pulse of cum had nowhere to go but in, the knot preventing anything slipping out. Ashe howled, then babbled, hearing the rising and falling of laughter and excited talking. Someone carressed her face, tilting her head up as if to check she was still alive. Her belly was aching – she’d never felt so full. Then there was a soft hand on that too, rubbing it – they could feel how it hung, packed with cum, into the scaled palm. Manna was talking, laughing, and the idea that she might be proud of just how well Ashe was taking the breeding… it sent another tremble of pleasure through them, making them clench again.

“Oh, it liked that.” a deep voice rumbled, and she finally realised it was Kroak. They had been knocked out in the first round of the game, entirely unable to hold anything like a poker face, but clearly didn’t seem to be all that disappointed. “Rub it again.” then that hand was pressing against her swollen womb and she was howling as she came once more, panting, gasping. “It’s like she was made for this.” “You’ve had your turn, pet. Move on.” slowly, the cock slipped out of her. The balmy air was cold for a moment against her swollen, open cunt; then there was another slipping inside. She let out a breathless little whimper, legs trembling against the sensation. It wasn’t bigger, but it was so ridged, lumpy and pressing in just the right places against their twitching, spread tunnel. She dug her nails into the padding again, realising through the fog just what the curve below her was for now. Oh, God. This had barely begun, hadn’t it? Her mind drifted; just a mess of pleasure, legs shaking, knowing that if they even tried to stand now, they wouldn’t be able to take their own weight. Another knot – yet more cum, unstoppable, as she came and howled and thrashed and their belly filled with the thick seed…

“Now, my dear… sip this.” Manna murmured, gently holding a glass to their sweaty lips. Ashe sipped, expecting more venom, but no – it was just water. Sweet and cool and fresh. “You’re doing so very well. Not too many left now, but…” she chuckled, reaching down to cradle her breasts, stroking over the rock hard nipples. Ashe whimpered, tender, squirming. “Well. All that cum sloshing around in you… isn’t it about time we got you some proper young, hm? Can’t waste it, after all.”

“Wha..?” Ashe mumbled, so lost in the sensations that they could barely register. Then there was another cock splitting them open, sinking in. Slow. Almost gentle, as if knowing how sore she was. They began to rock, bouncing her against them, then rougher, clawed hands adding to the marks on her butt. They added scratches, too, scraping into that flesh. Making it clear that they belonged to the patrons… it sent another tingle through their body, clenching, whimpering…

“Good toy.” the gruff voice whispered, and they laughed, “Good, good. Give in to it. We all know you wanted to be our breeding.” breaking off with a moan, there was that swelling. Different now, though – not quite a knot. Hips rolled. The lumps shifted. The starfish at the tip was flaring open, pressing into her cervix, and yet Ashe could barely feel it – no pain, only pressure leaning into pleasure. The eggs were thick, oblong, bigger than a Chabbit’s – slowly spreading the tip until it deposited into the pool of slick that filled them. A keening whimper escaped Ashe’s face, and that cool hand gently stroked her sweat-soaked features. Yes… she was doing well, wasn’t she? Oh… they would all be so happy with Ashe…

“Made to be a pet.” Manna murmured. “Might be something in that, sweetness. Oh…” she pressed a thumb to Ashe’s lower lip, and without hesitation the human pulled it in, near enough suckling on it, pupils blown wide… “Good. Good.”

The eggs continued to slip inside her, rounding that belly out further. Now the curved padding below was struggling to support her burgeoning frame. They moaned weakly against the thumb… more, more eggs… bigger, fuller… a low whimper of disappointment when that cock slipped from her hole. The last, of course, as promised, was Snaa. Huge, clumping her way towards them, wasting no time. It didn’t matter that she was rough – Ashe was so fucked open they could barely register anything beyond pleasure. Pounding against her cervix, pushing deep into her. Rough, wet slaps – the exhausted patrons cheering as Snaa pulled hard enough to loosen the lock on the stocks. Manna exclaimed a warning, but the night’s abuse and the powerful pounding – there was a clunk as it pinged open. Wasting no time, her thick hands wrapped all the way forward, grasping Ashe’s tits. They massaged them roughly, then those digits gripped her by the torso and lifted her up. Belly dangling, Ashe cried out, a weak howl as she was hefted like a sleeve.

Up and down, belly bouncing even with how tight and full it was. The clutch didn’t waste time – the eggs just as hefty as the creature releasing them. Each pushed sunk another inside her, bulging visibly on her front. A half dozen later, and the clutch was done; Manna lurching forward to help take Ashe’s weight and stop the human being dumped on the floor like a wet paper towel.

“Good girl.” Manna whispered, stroking a hand over her cheek. “Let’s get you out back and laying down, hm? I think you’ve earnt some sleep…”

--

She woke with a lurch.

It was cooler out here; the soft silky fabric of the couch below her. Ashe tried to sit up, then moaned. Her whole body felt utterly fucked out, sticky and sore. But beyond that, was another sensation. A low aching thrum. A pressure. Unresistable. Oh, fuck – the eggs had gone in. Now they were fertile, and … -- “Ah, yes. Humans. You’re so quick. Up to you if you’re lucky or not.” Manna was lounging against the wall, arms folded, completely naked, her tail curling languidly on the ground. “If you were like us, pet, you’d have to waddle around that for at least a week. Relax. Lean back. Enjoy it. I promise it’s going to feel ever so good.” she chuckled, moving closer. Ashe cried out again. Her overworked clit twitched. There was a throb, a hint of pain, and then heat rushed down through her tunnel. Liquid dripped; the eggs were moving. It stretched her out, but nowhere near as much as Snaa had. More leathery than she’d expected. Thankfully her body seemed to know what to do, rippling clenches and pushes… the first egg plopped wetly out of her. Manna was kneeling next to her now, stroking her cheek.

“Good pet. Good, good pet.” she murmured, low and syllibant, right by her ear. Ashe cried out and tried to buck, but her body was too heavy. No – there was no stopping this. Another egg, then another, until each was right on the tail of the prior. They whimpered, feeling fresh sweat dripping down their neck. “You know… I think you’re a natural.” she whispered, tenderly. “Let’s get these eggs out of you, and then, well… I know you don’t like your job, Ashe. How about considering becoming the permanent stress relief for the bar?” Manna chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve made this much in months after all.” she paused. Ashe moaned, squeezing, the egg slowly slicking loose then popping out onto the others. “Maybe I’ll wait until you can think past that big belly of yours, mm?” they murmured, patting the swell. Ashe howled – and came again, as yet another egg escaped...

[copperpup]

You ever break out the vibrator for some serotonin