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midnight-mourning · 2 days ago

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Finding the Meaning

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 9💘💘

LATE BUT ITS HERE, something sweet and silly with Zen's au with their oc AC and Moon!

Prompt: :o !! Um, gosh. Okay so idk how familiar you are with my Moon and his staffbot buddy AC, but I'd love to see one of them learning about Valentines day and doing something for the other. (In aa friend/platonic way) But like they love each other and never had a word for the feeling before. They dont realize that valentines day is for a difderent kind of love. Theyre both naiive robots learning how to feel. If you dont wanna do that, then just do Moon x Reader with the same idea. (Sorry for having such a specific request its just what came to mind x_x)

Word Count: 1372

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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The outside world is calm, quiet, as AC dares to peek out of the closet. It's dark, meaning it's safe, but one could never be too careful. As he takes a step, he jumps as his foot lands on something crunchy. A quick glance down reveals it to be a heart shaped piece of paper. He tilts his head to the side, confused, but curious.

With a slight wobble to his balance—this whole having legs thing was still a bit confusing—he bends down and picks it up, looking it over closely. It's pink, with white lacy trim around the edges. Across the front is loopy script with a printed phrase that reads 'Will you be my Valentine?'.

If AC could furrow his brows, he would. Unfortunately, they're merely painted on with that golden yellow. The same as—No. Best to not go down that train of thought. He's safe. It's dark, there's no light to be found. He's okay.

Speaking of, where was his friend?

The bot scans the room, finding no sign of his signature. At first at least. It takes a moment, but finally he picks up his signal over by the daycare wall. Looking up himself, he finds that his damaged sensors are indeed correct.

Moon sits atop the wall, crouched, facing out towards the Plex proper. He seems to be watching something. AC can't tell what from here. So, with slow steps, he walks over to find out.

The naptime attendant doesn't react to his approach, gaze set on whatever is occurring outside. It takes AC lightly tapping on the wall below the lunar bot to grab his attention. But it works well. Moon jump slightly, then glances down to where the curious former staff bot looks up to him, head tilted as if to say 'What are you looking at?'.

"Ah, hello friend. I'm sorry I didn't let you know it was time to come out." Moon extends a hand down. "Here, why don't you join me?"

AC hesitates, stepping back slightly. He didn't want found out. Didn't want to take any risks of being found out. He had to stay safe, he had to stay safe, he had to stay safe—

A touch to his shoulder.

Moon's now leaning over to meet AC eye to eye, legs hooked over the wall to keep balanced.

"You can sit backwards, if you want." Moon's faceplate spins once. "That way no one can see your legs."

A pause. Then, AC nods. With both hands, Moon pulls the other bot up onto the wall with him. Making sure to sit him backwards so his legs are hanging on the inside of the wall. From there, AC can twist his torso to watch what's so fascinating outside.

Further out into the main body of the Plex, there are several employees hard at work. At first, this alarms the bot, but he then remembers not only what Moon told him, but also that he's well hidden over here in the shadows. It's okay. He's okay.

Taking a closer, more relaxed look, he sees that they're putting up decorations. They're a bit hard to make out, mainly just the colors are visible. Reds and pinks, on banners, streamers, shapes that hang on their own, and all over the numerous flyers being posted.

Seeing all the decorations stirs something in AC, beyond just curiosity. Before being, damaged, he very much enjoyed the holidays. They brought with them a different energy to the Plex. Happier, more chaotic, but also calmer.

It was a pity he couldn't get to witness them anymore.

"What's that you've got?"

AC startles, looking over to see Moon is pointing to the heart in his hands. He lifts it up, head tilting to the side and eyes closing. His best attempt to show he was 'smiling'.

"Looks similar to the decorations they're putting up." Moon nods in thought. "I wonder how it got in here..."

AC shrugs, then points to the script on the heart.

"What's a Valentine, do you think?" His friend asks in the quiet.

Another shrug. Then, he makes a typing motion with his hands.

"Look it up? I suppose I could try. One moment."

AC waits patiently as the other bot searches online for an explanation, swinging his legs idly and patting his hands against his upper thighs. He tends to move a lot when not trapped in the closet.

The lack of movability almost makes him fidgety when he's out and about. Something that's so, human of an action really. He doesn't think too long on that.

Moon suddenly unfreezes, shaking his head once. "Ah. Intriguing."

AC tilts his head again in question.

"It seems to be a holiday for expressing one's love for another. Which can be done with gifts, cards, or just general declarations." Moon says, stare not entirely focused, he must still be searching. "The day of celebrations is the 14th of February. Next week."

AC nods, also thinking.

Love.

Now that was an interesting one.

A human emotion he still didn't quite understand.

AC knew the bad emotions well. Sadness, anger, fear. Something that should be out of his capabilities as a machine, and yet, he knew them well. Almost like old friends at this point.

But, he also had a new friend now, and that friend had shown him new emotions, new feelings. Compassion, security, comfort, kindness. All things that he had maybe been able to recognize before, but not truly understand.

AC had an idea.

He turns to Moon just in time for his friend to speak up. "What if we were each other's Valentine? Oh, was that what you were about to suggest?"

AC nods quickly, giving a thumbs up, to which Moon laughs lightly.

"Alright then, next week we'll celebrate."

AC claps his hands, and in his excitement, almost tumbles backwards over the wall, thankfully caught in time by Moon before that happens.

As the next week passes by, both bots think and work tirelessly on what to do for the other. From what they both can find individually, it's supposed to be grand, romantic gestures. Which, internally, they both panic about.

Little did the other know the struggle that was occurring with them. Each knew they felt something for their friend, but as to what, it was much more complex than that.

Security, friendship, comfort, happiness. The laughter they shared, the melancholy. All of it, good or bad, it made each bot feel warm inside at the thought they had each other to spend it with. But as for what that was if it wasn't 'proper' love, they didn't know.

But, week's are short in the grand scheme of things, and so before either knew it, it was time to share their surprises.

They met as they always did, in the middle of the darkened Daycare, nervous, toying with the items they each held behind their backs.

"Well, are you ready?" Moon asks.

AC nods. There's a fluttering feeling in his circuits he can't quite describe.

"You first then."

AC pauses, then rapidly shakes his head, pointing to the other bot.

They bicker back and forth about it, fueled by worry, when finally, it's agreed upon to display their gifts at the same time.

"Alright, on the count of three. One, two, three."

They both bring their gifts out to present them.

AC has gotten Moon a new stuffed animal, a panda bear. It's old, and a bit tattered, but it's still cute. He thinks at least.

Moon has gotten his friend a coloring book, to use during his time stuck in the closet all day, complete with some—slightly used—glow in the dark crayons.

"This is, wonderful, AC. Thank you." Moon gently takes the bear, as AC almost vibrates with excitement upon getting the coloring book. In turn, he hugs Moon, and after a brief moment to recover, the naptime attendant hugs him back.

Simultaneously, both robots feel, something, in their circuitry upon seeing their gifts.

The thought that someone else cares so much for them, to get something so thoughtful, it sends a certain feeling through them. Maybe it's not romantic, maybe it's not perfect, but in that split second, both realize exactly what it is.

Love.

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Thank you for the cute request @zenkaiankoku!! It was fun learning about these two, hope I did them some justice with this hehe

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fic #mm dca valentine's #kinda of a more philosophical/retrospective one #but i very much enjoyed it hehe #these two were fun to write for #also shout out to Lucky for coming up with the title I was stumped

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dreamsy990 · 2 days ago

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heres my designs for all the important gods (I FORGOT HEPHAESTUS SORRY) in epic

thoughts/explanations behind the designs + sketches under the cut

general notes: my biggest headcanon for the gods designs is that they can be just about anything because they (within some limits) choose how they appear. so a god can look like just about anything, but its almost always mostly human. the only real rules to that i think are that 1) their design should usually try to incorporate their main symbols/domain in some way (in some way allows for a lot of range though, so athena for example is very much a bird creature since shes very associated with owls, but aphrodite has just some roses and shells in her hair, and 2) things like scars and such cant be hidden. this rule mostly only matters for athena. i realize i incorporated gold into almost all of their designs but that wasnt intentional lol. anyways let meee talk about the specific gods now. also for fun, no god has normal eyes. theyre either shadowed out entirely, weird shapes, or have no pupils. or all three! i think weird eyes is what distinguishes a god in my designs. i havent done this in my circe or calypso designs but since theyre not quite gods but adjacent i might give them similarly weird eye shapes but also pupils. idk we'll see!

aeolus: so my aeolus design is originally from a sketch i did in class. i was trying to draw telemachus with long hair based on a friends fic and then i was like "oh this looks like how i imagine aeolus would" and the next thing i drew is pretty much Just this final design. i drew aeolus very loosely, he has a clear shape but he should never be fully defined if that makes sense? so when coloring it i decided fuck it he looks like a weird mass of clouds now. its fun! i might change that but idk. also its subtly trans colors because i believe in transmasc aeolus supremacy. i imagine him moving around very freely and seeming to appear and disappear out of nowhere

apollo: so i think apollo is actually the oldest design here? which is to say that i drew apollo ONCE in my sketchbook at the start of my epic hyperfixation and got really into this specific design. i sort of wanted to color him similarly to uh, if you know ginjaninja their design for their oc kynthia? but i ended up going with more just white and gold to keep it simple. i LOVE tiny color palettes lol. the original outfit i believeee was inspired by gigi's hermes actually? but i havent looked at that design in a while so its probably changed. he has a halo that originally looked more like the sun but ive simplified it a bit. why? its cool. also i mightve stolen that from somebody else but i literally CANNOT remember. anyways one fact about this design is that the first time i drew it i labelled it WHORE. you can see i did that in the sketch here too. in his honor.

hermes: little freak guy!! theres honestly not THAT much to say here about hermes. i drew him with a little messenger bag once and i cant NOT draw him with it now i think its cute. i draw odysseus, ctimene, and telemachus all with a gaptooth, and i've never drawn anticlea but i've had the conscious thought that id give it to her too, so fuck it! hermes gets it. it comes from him. the family gaptooth is from him i hope youre happy hermes erfgfrefgfr. color scheme wise i wanted to keep it mostly simple again, i always pictured hermes with silver/white hair for some reason idk why but thats here! and he has rainbow. because is it even hermes without rainbow. i might darken this palette a bit but i am pretty happy with him.

athena: so my athena design ive drawn a ton and shes changed a lot over time. i didnt originally want her to look tooooo birdlike? and then i committed to owlthena because its just FUN man. anyways her silhouette is meant to look very closed off, her "cloak" covers most of her body, just generally shes supposed to seem sort of unapproachable. (note: hes not here but i do this with odysseus too! both because i wanted a similar kind of closed off look for him, and that i wanted him and athena to have visual parallels). her cloak is actually just her wings though! i doodled them unfolded so you can see her without them, as well as without her helmet. her helmet covers one of her eyes with a shadow (again to make her look like shes sort of hiding something), which was a design choice i made BEFORE we found out she lost an eye to zeus, so! coincidentally its good for hiding that scar :]. i doodled her with long black hair ONE WHOLE TIME and its stuck in my mind since so i have to keep that design element forever now. sorry official brunette athena youre not real to me. her color scheme was a STRUGGLE for me though. i knew i wanted to fit blue in there somewhere, but i wasnt really sure how? i eventually caved and made her mostly black and silver with a bit of blue in there. the blue and black gives more magpie energy to her than owl, but i dont know, i like it. i might mess with it more, but yeah! athena! shes really fun to draw lol. i imagine shed be animated in a very constrained sort of way most of the time like her design sort of implies. she doesnt really make big gestures or unnecessary movements she would be sort of uncanny in how still she is most of the time i think.

aries: ive had an aries design for a while so i was basically just finalizing it here. he was supposed to look both very similar to athena and very opposite of her. so they have nearly identical outfits, they both have a helmet shadowing their eyes (but it shadows both of aries' here), theyve both got a lot of animal features (although aries is less visible here, he's a bit dog inspired. you can see his tail eheh), etc. the main difference is that aries is meant to look a lot less, for lack of a better word restrained? his scarf (because its really more of a scarf than a cloak like athena has) only covers part of his face and absolutely none of his body, so it think it gives him a look more like hes ready to fight at any second than athena. i also wanted him to look very scarred/like his armor is scratched up. he and athena are both war gods, but aries is much more likely to throw himself into things and get hurt, while athena plans things in such a way where shes almost never actually hit. brute force vs strategy and whatnot. i sort of wish id made his scars golden too, to look a bit more like athena though. originally the black was red, but it looked really bad, which SUCKS because i wanted the red to contrast with athenas blue. but he just has red eyes here.

aphrodite: very little thought behind this one because my first sketch of her was like two days ago and very inspired by gigis. i sort of wanted her to look doll-like and have a cupids bow lip, but otherwise i got NOTHING girl. shes got pearls and shells in her hair to allude to her connection with the sea though. also roses because i wanted to put in one more symbol and that was a nice way to get a bit more red in there.

hera: im the least happy with this design, almost entirely because of the coloring. i sketched it being more purple, but then i realized that 1) peacocks are a lot more green and 2) IM STEALING FROM JUNE AGAIN!!! THATS HOW JUNE DREW THEIR OC IN A MIRACULOUS AU GODDAMNIT. so the colors are traditional peacock and im NOT happy with them at all. the design is also still basically stolen from june once again i am SO sorry their work is just so integrated into my mind that its a part of me now i do it without thinking. very little notes here otherwise unfortunately,,,,

zeus: weirdly enough i think this is my favorite design? which is WILD because i basically thought of it on the spot like two or three days ago for a shitpost based on a silly manwhore au-adjacent fic i read. the design over all is inspired by neal's? but honestly i think ive done my own thing with it a bit. i didnt really want to do clouds in his hair because id associated that with aeolus in my head, but then i thought of it fading into a dark grey like stormclouds, and having his scarf like lightning? and then he appeared fully formed in front of me. bro is BARELY dressed dude put a shirt on. also his eyebrows are cloud shaped like ursaluna. i fucking hate this dude but im happy with this design

poseidon: OKAY SO POSEIDON IS THE MOST OUT THERE DESIGN HERE I THINK. hes definitely the most inhuman looking one despite us having literally a bird right there, but that was somewhat intentional? and also somewhat because i had a very clear vision of him and needed to make it real exactly as i first thought sorry. anyways, for some characterization, i think with my idea of the gods choosing their appearances and poseidon being a lot more monstrous, you could say he CHOOSES to look unnerving. side note, this is very personal to me but i really like the idea of athena looking more like poseidon than any of her other family. i dont know WHY i just got really attached to that idea. so they have the same hair and somewhat similar faces i think. the resemblance isnt major but it is THERE for sure.

and thaaaats all the gods! i hope you like them :] im going to go review for a test i have tomorrow now

#doodles #epic the musical #aeolus #hermes #athena #aphrodite #zeus #poseidon #aries #apollo #hera #thaats all of them i think #i put a lot of love into these designs i hope people like them

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breedable-heath · 2 days ago

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David Blane teaches high school English. He’s been planning to start a family for ten years. Knowing that his students would relentlessly make fun of him for being pregnant, he planned his pregnancy so his due date would land in August, and he would start the school year on paternity leave. That way his pregnant belly balloons during summer vacation when he doesn’t have to work.

Being hyperfertile, getting pregnant wasn’t the problem. In fact, his husband was able to bury twins deep into his womb.

Mr. Blane enjoyed his summer off keeping cool indoors where the shame of his massive belly won’t haunt him. His husband pampered him with ice cream, belly rubs, and plenty of good fucking.

Mr. Blane’s problem is that it’s Labor Day. School starts tomorrow, and he is 42 weeks pregnant with twins.

The first day of school has record-high temperatures, and the district hasn’t turned the AC on in their buildings yet. Mr. Blane has the windows open and three fans blowing. The burden of passing out classroom expectations and tactifully weaving his massive belly between desks leaves him with V-shaped sweat stains soaking through his polo.

He learns that lecturing for ten minutes while this pregnant leaves him breathless. Between classes he has to relieve himself since two babies press down on his bladder. He waddles slowly between the stinky mass of adolescents into the nearest staff bathroom. Every time he is late back to class because getting off the toilet takes a whole minute.

By seventh hour, Mr. Blane is sore, hot, aching, sweaty, and just plain miserable. The students are excited to go home by this time of day and are more energetic and outspoken while Mr. Blane is about to send someone to the office for clicking their pen.

“Damn, Mr. B, you put on weight over the summer. That’s a whole new type of beer belly.”

“Firstly, watch your language.” The student mutters an apology. “Secondly, I don’t want to talk about it during class time. We have a lot to get through today, and we’re already behind.”

“But it’s the first day of school,” a second student remarks.

Mr. Blane gets ready to explain the rigorous course structure that comes with reduces class times and more standards to teach, but instead he feels a dropping in his torso. His belly tightens and pain shoots through him.

“Holy shit, did you see that? His beer belly moved,” a student whispered to a friend. Mr. Blane’s eyes are closed so he can’t tell who said it and he can’t punish them.

Hands spread across his desk, three droplets of sweat fall down as he breaths deep. His stomach hangs incredibly low. Stretching like this he can feel cool air touching his lower belly. His shirt must’ve separated from his pants. He straightens himself up and pushes his shirt down. He doesn’t know that it slowly rides up anyways.

His students can see the dark line down the center of his rock-hard belly. They can see his naval poking through his polo. By god, it’s obvious now.

“There’s more to do this year than in previous years. There will be lots of homework. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the school board,” he explains while trying to maintain a steady breath.

“Back to our syllabus.” Mr. Blane tries to stand next to the board and point at all the highlighted parts of classroom expectations, but his back aches so terribly. Several times he had to remove his hand from his back in an effort to look not pregnant. Finally, he decides to stop subjecting himself to suffering and Mr. Blane teaches the remainder of the class from his swivel chair because his back and feet hurt so badly. The students don’t mind and don’t ask why.

His belly hangs between his legs and he is forced to lean back in his chair. Mr. Blane is more baby than he is adult. He uses his feet to inch himself around the front of the classroom during their brief work time.

The bell rings for dismissal, and Mr. Blane shouts over their sudden chatter to turn in their writing samples on their way out. The class empties, and with fewer bodies in the room it feels more cool. Mr. Blane wheels his swivel chair in front of a fan and he slowly rubs his belly.

Another strike of pain hits him then, and he takes deep breaths. There’s a knock on the door. It is Mrs. Katy Sampson, his next door neighbor and the peer that is platonically dubbed his ‘work wife.’

“One of your kids dropped by and told me that you pissed yourself in the middle of class and kept teaching. He said he had ‘mad respect’ for you.”

“I didn’t piss myself,” David snaps. He just wants to be alone and deal in his quiet classroom.

“No, you didn’t,” she says as she calmly walks behind his desk to gather his bag. She opens her phone and sends a quick text. “Your water broke, David.”

“What?” He leans forward as if he’d be able to see his own crotch, but can’t. Instead he sends a hand down there and he feels the wetness in his pants.

Katy steps behind him and starts pushing the swivel chair. “I already texted your honey for you. He’s going to meet us at the hospital.” Her voice is calm and cool.

“Us?”

“You’re not driving.”

“Like hell I’m—” he’s cut off by another surge of pain. His hands grip his belly. His arms and legs are all coated in sweat. He groans in pain.

Katy pushes him down the hall while he works through the long contraction. “Eeeeexactly,” she says in a sing-song voice, “I’m driving.”

#mpreg #male pregnancy #mpreg story #mpreg kink #mpregnancy

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kimmi-never-dies · 6 hours ago

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Yandere!Hyun-Ju x fem!reader head canons

(A/N): I know the poll is still up and is likely gonna change when I'm in the process of finishing this up but I had time now and this prompt was in the lead so I just decided this is what I'm writing.

TW: yandere, obsessive behavior, mentions of but never graphic violence, mentions of stalking and implied kidnapping, drugging.

Her behavior:

Again, she’s definitely a hopeless romantic, Hyun-Ju seems like the type to crave intimacy, affection, and all the other cheesy romance things, but never knows how to ask for it.

And adding that, along with the fact that society practically turned its back on her the second she wanted to openly be the woman she was on the inside, kinda turned her into an obsessive, clingy person.

She doesn’t mean to be this way, she’s just scared of being abandoned again.

Hyun-Ju never thought she’d end up becoming so infatuated with someone, but when you entered her life, everything changed.

You were so different from everyone else, you accepted her, you were so understanding and gentle…

She needed you more than life itself…you were a lifeline for her.

I kinda see Hyun-Ju being two sub-types of yandere, delusional and dependent.

She’d definitely disguise most of her delusions as jokes, for example:

“What do you mean you’re going on a date? But you’re my wife! You can’t be unfaithful!”

But her dependency is very clear, but dependency can be easily explained by abandonment issues, so you’d never guess it was really because she was practically addicted to you.

But she really can’t help it! After the games…after all the people she’d lost…she needed to keep you safe, she needed you to stay.

Dealing with rivals:

Definitely a jealous type, literally wants to scream, cry, and physically rip you away from anyone who’s not her.

Hyun-Ju doesn’t wanna share your attention, you should only focus on her!

HYUN-JU WAS A SARGENT IN THE SPECIAL FORCES

She is SCARY.

If she did happen to somehow gain a romantic rival she’d first stalk them online until she’s figured out everything about them.

She’s gotten a lot of people cut off from your life by digging up old tweets…

But if that doesn’t work, she isn’t above getting her hands dirty…

I don’t think Hyun-Ju could actually bring herself to just straight up murder someone, I know she went crazy on those guards but ACTUAL murder I don’t think so.

But she’s definitely not afraid to follow someone home and beat the ever-loving shit out of them as a warning.

Confessing to her darling:

There’s two ways this could go, and it really depends on you: Tonight was *finally* the night, Hyun-Ju was gonna tell (Y/n) how she felt about her! Everything was prepped and ready, she decorated her apartment with fairy lights, lit a couple of (Y/n)’s favorite scented candles, and made dinner. Hyun-Ju was now just getting dressed and awaiting her sweet-girls arrival.

She was dressed up in a beautiful forest-green dress with a gold necklace with an (your first initial) shaped pendent, which she got a while ago, playing it off as “there were no H’s and it made me think of you.” Her makeup was also simple, her signature brown winged liner, some mascara, and a bit of red tinted-gloss

The silence of Hyun-Ju’s apartment was suddenly interrupted by a knocking at the door.

‘She’s here!’ Hyun-Ju thought to herself excitedly as she rushed to open the door.

She could’ve fallen to her knee and proposed right then and there…

(Y/n) was stunning…her dress/suit hugging her body in all the right ways, and her hair was done perfectly, just like always…

-a few hours later-

After a while of eating dinner and watching some stupid comedy movie, Hyun-Ju finally worked up her courage and turned to face (Y/n). Her hands were shaking as she paused the tv, looking into her (e/c) eyes with nothing but love and a small twinge go something…darker…

“Sweet girl…I know we’ve been good friends for such a long time but…over these past few years I’ve wanted something more, I love you, and I wanna be your wife one day…so with that being said, please…will you be my girlfriend…?”

You sat shocked for a few minutes before responding to her, you couldn’t help but notice the desperate yet hopeful look on her face.

“Oh Hyun-Ju…”

Yes

"I'd love to..."

did she hear that right?

yes??

she would grin from ear to ear, pull you close as gently as she could, and kiss you.

this first kiss and every kiss after that would be full of love, passion, and happiness, masking the obsessive and violent feelings that got here to this moment, here with you...

And she was never letting you go...

"I'm sorry...I don't feel the same...but I'd love to still be your friend."

friend?

FRIEND??

all of this, following you everywhere, taking all those pictures of you, fighting off rivals left and right, only for you to wanna be FRIENDS!?

Hyun-Ju was NOT accepting this, but luckily she already had a backup plan.

struggling didn't help much when she lunged at you, pinning you to the ground effortlessly as she pulled something out of her dress pocket.

and once you felt that prick in your neck, and the sedative hit, you didn't struggle at all.

don't be scared sweet girl, she won't hurt you.

she'll make sure no one can hurt you...or even find you again...

#squid game #cho hyunju #hyun ju x reader #yandere x reader #yandere

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jon-snows-man-bun · 2 days ago

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By Turns

Chapter Fifteen

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Much misogynistic language. Mentions of religious trauma, off-screen violence, off-screen sexual assault, off-screen drug use, off-screen cannibalism. Heavy-handed symbolism. Aisling has a small racism flare up.

Moodboard by amazing beautiful spectacular @olenvasynyt, the light of my dashboard

As I’ve learned how to write these chapters have tripled in length. 2.5k words and calling it good? Who was I, one year ago??

Eris started awake, so certain that the slap Aisling delivered to him had been real that he felt his jaw for tenderness.

The skin was unbroken – of course, it had been only a dream – but… It had obviously been her dream. In his dreams, she lay underneath him dark eyed and desperate, whispering filthy things into his ear. She didn’t slap and claw and cry, or ride his cock so ferociously that – yes, he’d cum in his sleep like he was a lovestruck teen with his first crush.

The fire in the hearth was so hot it was almost blue. Eris groaned, letting the linen bedding fall back, running one hand down his face. He stared up at the green drapes over the four-postered bed and contemplated just how pathetic that was.

In the Court of Nightmares, Aisling had been clever and flirtatious but very self-contained. Whatever Rhysand and his ilk were doing to her, wherever they had her, it was turning her wild and angry.

And vicious. Eris touched his chest where she had clawed him, heart still racing beneath. His cock was still achingly hard – he’d never let a female fuck him like that, but that slap… her blue eyes had been burning with the force of it and she’d been hot and raw with the feeling in his arms. He wished she’d done that when they quarrelled in the Hewn City, rather than slipping straight through his hands.

He huffed out a laugh. He’d been worried about them breaking her.

Eris rolled over, and was met with the solemn eyes of Ticru, the grey hound drooling quietly onto the other pillow.

“You are not allowed to be on the bed,” Eris informed him, which the hound damn well knew. Ticru only sneezed in his face, then grunted and shuffled until Eris relented and scratched his ear the way he liked.

“What will you do when Aisling is here? That’s to be her space. You’ll be ousted to the floor,” Eris mused, as Ticru’s eyes closed in delight. No, the hound’s expression seemed to say, you will be ousted to the floor.

He’d scheduled his entire day for the most unpleasant of the problems that plagued him, thinking to consolidate the suffering to get it over with: meeting with a few of the estate owners in the morning, his brother in the afternoon – a special kind of headache.

Damien had been in the Forest House more of late, rather than governing his own territory on the border with Winter. Eris used the term ‘governing’ rather loosely, given that Damien was often bored by it and absconded whenever possible. After putting him off for a few weeks Eris could do so no longer, finally agreeing to hunt with him as a cover for a delicate conversation. Damien never had anything good to say during these meetings – it was always, always something Eris didn’t want to deal with. He’d been that way ever since he was a youngling, running to Eris for help with every problem, so certain his eldest brother would fix it.

Eris was still mulling on how to manage all the moving pieces while whipping in all the loyalties he needed when he stepped out of the door that lead to the stable yard. The empty stone courtyard greeted him, oddly deserted for the time of day; no horses were tied up on the metal rings mounted to the walls, no grooms or hunt servants on exercise, no hounds baying from the nearby kennels. The only sound was an irate, unhappy horse kicking its stable door rhythmically, somewhere in the stone stables.

Stepping into the mouth of the stable proper, the breezeway with its rows of wooden boxes stretched out before him. No horses hanging their heads over their doors – only his own grey, Bayard, and Damien’s mount already tacked and tied, waiting.

Bayard, who didn’t like to be stood in tack, eyed him impatiently and looked like he was deciding just the angle he was planning on tossing Eris. Neither were kicking, and still the clanging -

“Damien.”

The kicking stopped, and he heard the scuffle of boots on straw.

“Yes,” came his brother’s drawl, a bit muffled. Eris crouched for a moment, glancing down between the row of partitions, and – there, two pairs of boots in one of the stables. Eris hissed through his teeth.

“Are we hunting today or not? You called me here, brother.” Eris threw enough heat on the last word to scald. He could faintly hear some whispering.

“Five minutes,” Damien called, and it took a great deal of maturity for Eris not to set the straw aflame as he untied Bayard.

It was fifteen minutes by Eris’ count by the time Damien cantered up to him on his bay mare, pushing his brown hair off his face carelessly, jacket missing, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t apologise or excuse himself, merely shrugging as if to say What could I do? Damien breezed past him through the gates, stinking of sex, and Eris followed.

The forest stretched out before him, and as always, Eris felt some tightness leave his chest. The Forest House was oppressive and unrelenting, but the forest itself was the only place he felt himself anymore. The trees bowed and sighed and bent themselves towards him, already whispering, already soft with dappled sunlight.

His forest. His trees. His land. By blood, law, and magic.

“Telling Mother I had a consort was foul play,” Eris said, loosing a deep breath as they rode beyond the wards. Bayard danced underneath him, snatching at the bit.

“And yet you admitted to it so readily,” Damien’s teeth flashed, and his tone was flippant. “You should have come up with a lie of your own, then, instead of using mine. How is the darling boy?”

His name for Lucien, heaped mockingly on Lucien’s head after their mother kept calling him that well into puberty.

“How should I know?” Eris didn’t want any of his brothers knowing Lucien’s business – or that Eris had been in semi-regular contact with him. His brothers were sly, though, and cut from the same cloth he was; Damien was particularly good at knowing what he shouldn’t.

Eris hadn’t seen Lucien since that night in the human lands a few weeks ago. He’d let Lucien and Jurian dig for more details about Aisling and all that transpired, giving a choice few. Mostly to rub Lucien’s nose in the fact that he had a mate whom he had fucked, while Lucien’s ignored his existence and preferred to dig for worms in the mud.

Lucien had agreed to see what he could when he went to Velaris, because Lucien was largely a better male than the six other Vanserras combined. In exchange, Eris would continue to rebuff Rhysand from Spring. It was an easy agreement to make; he was invested in Spring’s stability regardless. The largest landowners that were his staunchest supporters in Autumn were largely all along the southern border with Spring, and had been his allies until Tamlin’s latest failure. They wavered now, their wealth and power hinged on the soil fertility and the potent, latent magic that suffused the seasonal courts. Tamlin’s performance supplied a great deal of that magic, and without it, the magic of the land would begin to falter. He had perhaps a year before the bad harvests well and truly bit them, and his allies would leave him to support Beron who still wanted to expand into Spring.

Eris had wanted to create a proper alliance between the seasonal courts for a while, even before Amarantha; he knew it was a necessary step to balance the dominance the solar courts enjoyed. Damien knew this very well, though; and he knew how much Beron and his circle of ancient, traditionalist advisors opposed it, believing in the old ways of isolation and no inter-court alliances.

“Has he kissed and made up with the beast? Someone needs to put him on a leash. The southern lot are growing frantic.”

“Been in Spring, have you?”

“You know me,” Damien shrugged insolently. “I get around. So does the gossip. I hear an awful lot about you, brother.”

Eris felt his face harden when Damien leaned over and grabbed his wrist, winnowing them – horses and all – to a small glade, bordered with bone-bright birch trees. Eris felt the pressure of strong wards, and then the truth of the glade was revealed to him.

A small wooden hunting cottage, nestled between the birch trees and complete with a small well outside and a lazy curlicue of smoke from the chimney. It was a lesser fae’s cottage, built to a slightly smaller scale than would be comfortable for a High Fae; it was pokey and quaint. Somewhere up north, nearer Damien’s estates, judging by the sudden cut of mountains against the horizon.

Eris had spent more than a few nights hiding in variations of these cottages, left abandoned when the brownies and korrigans that occupied them fled Beron and Amarantha. They made good refuges, particularly for High Fae younglings that didn’t want to be found by furious fathers.

“I need to show you something,” Damien muttered, hopping lightly off his horse. “I don’t….”

His jaw firmed as he decided against whatever he was about to say, then abruptly turned on his heel for the cottage.

Eris studied it critically as he waited, Damien stooping to get through the front door. These cottages and shacks had a natural sort of protection, some of the lesser fae’s distinct magic, which Damien had enhanced and built on. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing around the tree trunks and Bayard chewing his bit quietly.

Abruptly, the wooden door shot back open. And of all the things he expected Damien to emerge from the cottage with, a baby wasn’t one of them.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” Eris barked.

“Don’t swear in front of my daughter,” Damien admonished, but he couldn’t quite smother the frightened look in his eye. Eris was suddenly reminded of the way he’d run to Eris when he was little, a broken vase or torn tunic in his hands. Eris, fix it, please, he’d beg, brown eyes making the same pathetic little expression they were right now.

Damien shifted the baby nervously. Not a baby, Eris realised now as he swung off Bayard, a little older than that. A female. All auburn curls and pale little fat limbs. Damien thrust her at him nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“How did this happen?” Eris demanded as Damien all but threw her into his arms. The toddler blinked her eyes open muzzily, and Mother help him, her eyes were the exact shade of Beron’s brown. She yawned, then nestled her head back against Eris’ chest, rubbing her face against the green wool.

“Well, I don’t know which hole you like to stick it in–“ Damien hissed as his shirt sleeve caught fire, flicking it out quickly.

Eris waited him out, still staring at the toddler, wishing he could clatter Damien across the face if it wouldn’t rouse her. She carried so much of Beron in her features that it was actually a little frightening – had Beron ever truly been a child like this, or had he sprung out fully formed and already vicious? It was unpleasant to think on.

“Her mother is of Winter,” Damien supplied, inspecting the charred hem of his shirt with a frown. “Despite her looks.”

Eris saw the problem at once – this was an Autumn child, through and through – but still asked, “She couldn’t keep her?”

Damien hemmed and hawed for a moment, drawing closer to stare at the toddler as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Well,” he finally said. “She’s already married. So that was a bit of an obstacle, really.”

Eris did punch him then, one quick closed fist to his left eye.

“It is so like you to fuck up my politics for the sake of some cunt,” he seethed, as Damien reared back with a welt over his cheek, teeth bared. “Fuck’s sake, Damien, Winter? Kallias is already tricky enough since Beron –” was a massive prick to everyone and everything and currently engaged in a minor trade war over the price of timber, not that he could voice that aloud anywhere in Prythian – “insulted Viviane, now you’re getting bastards on his nobles too?”

“It’s not my fault,” Damien groused, the toddler starting to kick her legs and squall at the raised voices. “When she told me she was pregnant, she said she was still fucking her husband so we both sort of just hoped –“

“What a brilliant strategy, you absolute prat.”

“- that the youngling would be the father’s, but…” Damien gestured lamely at her, her face starting to scrunch up, sensitive to the anger of the males around her. “And then her husband nearly threw her out. But he agreed to stay married so long as the child wasn’t in his household, so I put her here with Brunna.” Brunna, his brownie servant, who’d looked after Damien since he could crawl – and now, apparently, Damien’s ill-advised by blows. It was as if Damien had forgotten all about the fact that he’d helped hold Lucien down while Lyam tortured his lover. If there had been a bastard baby involved as well…. Eris shuddered.

“Why can’t she remain here? In secrecy?” Why tell me and drag me into this mess at all? Eris nearly shouted, and it was then that the toddler let loose her first wail and the dead leaves beneath his feet caught fire in a little burst of sparks.

“Because of that,” Damien said brightly, looking pleased at the display of magic.

Eris’ body remembered what to do with a child, the same he’d done with each of his brothers. He fell into the slight rocking and patting that soothed them, stroking her hair as she snuffled, deciding whether he’d like to strangle his brother with his bare hands or run him through with a sword.

To father a child while Beron still lived was an act of carelessness so monumental it bordered on criminal. To have no contingency plans was even more criminal, and very unlike his brother; Damien had obviously panicked, if the way he kept studying the youngling like he could turn her icy blonde and blue-eyed was any indication.

“Her mother called her Niniane.”

Brunna wouldn’t be able to look after her safely if she was already summoning fire. That was Vanserra magic and needed to be trained by those who shared the same. She looked up at him, Beron’s brown eyes wide and trusting despite the lingering tears and miserable sniffles. She stared, and very carefully reached out to touch his face – a child who’d never known not to touch the males around her, who trusted whoever held her to comfort her.

Damn him, they were all so fucking stupid. Every one of his idiot brothers, and him too.

“Not anymore,” Eris decided, as her pudgy little hand touched his cheek. “She can’t have a Winter Court name. Call her something else.”

Damien’s face grew less taut at this. “Nynyve?”

The Autumn Court variation. Eris considered it then nodded shortly, making Damien’s shoulders drop slightly. She touched Eris’ face, then her eyes and hands wandered to his earrings.

“He needs to die,” Damien said, still staring at his daughter. “Whatever you need. I’m behind you. Whatever I….”

He trailed off, and such was the grip that Beron held on them that they still couldn’t give voice to it. But Eris understood. He nodded once more, watching as Nynyve grabbed a handful of his hair – a close match to her own, more crimson than her auburn but still undeniable – and shoved it into her mouth.

He’d forgotten this propensity to gum everything. He winced, Damien chuckling as he carefully extracted the soggy lock. She was a year, if he had to guess. No words yet but she was big and curious, nearly ready to walk. Fire at a year old was precocious; her mother must have been a strong magic wielder.

“Your magic came in early, too,” Eris mused, thrusting his niece into his bewildered brother’s arms. Damien took her willingly, letting her grab on to the gold chain around his neck.

“I’ve always been exceptionally talented.”

Eris ignored that. “Before she’s two,” he said lowly, unwilling to part with too much. Damien had exposed himself to Eris, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust his own brother with the plan he was shaping. It was quick – almost too quick, he doubted it would be enough time to foster more support from the loyalists and the isolationists, but he had his own vulnerabilities to protect. Aisling couldn’t cope much longer, and his nerves were stretched to a wire tautness from every pressure heaped upon him. “Brunna will need to cope until then.”

The hour had come upon her to go to Velaris. Azriel had insisted on waiting until nightfall, despite the politest request she could muster, so Aisling had huffed around the moonstone palace for hours after the High Lord left, only growing more nervous.

She didn’t have a suitable cloak, really – it was one constant temperature in the City, so clothes were more for decoration than functionality. Nuala had tried to press one of Azriel’s on her and Aisling launched it through the window, refusing to wear Illyrian clothing on principle.

Nuala eyed her cropped, gauzy shirt and skirt with clear criticism in her eyes, skimming over her bared waist.

“As you wish, lady,” she finally said, grey arms crossed over her chest in clear opposition. “If you wish to freeze, it’s your choice.”

Azriel looked like he’d like to be anywhere put participating in that conversation, staring resolutely out the window until Nuala huffed and sighed. Finally, he cautiously extended a hand to Aisling as if she’d bite it off, such were her nerves.

Aisling didn’t hesitate to take it.

They stepped through the shadows together, and Aisling could feel more distance than she ever thought possible slip by. It was frightening, especially now that she was aware of what was happening – she could feel the pull of shadows elsewhere, wanting to spit them out, like running down a corridor with many doors. The shadows were all connected in one great web, pulsing and alive and very unhappy that she was caught in it.

She gasped for breath when they emerged, releasing her white-knuckle grip on Azriel’s arm. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. The first thing she noticed was that Nuala had been right, annoyingly, she was freezing cold.

The second thing she noticed was the rain. It was a fine, gentle mist; she could faintly see it falling but she felt it landing, settling in her hair, on her bare skin. Aisling shivered in exquisite pleasure, feeling like a raw nerve. The drops clung to her eyelashes and she was delighted, having to wipe them again and again – her hair was wet, her clothes were wet, what a gorgeous feeling –

Azriel was watching her with what she thought was amusement, or maybe derision. Aisling glanced up at him, and then beyond –

They were on a hill, and there were trees (trees!) behind them that she was desperate to touch but ahead of them, visible behind the Illyrian, was a city. Her city climbed up, all spires and towers with bridges that arched between them, but this city spread out over its foothills (hills!) like a rumpled blanket. A river (not as impressive, they had one of those in the City) wound through it, a lazy dark strand of yarn, curving a meandering path through little stone streets. Mountains (smaller than hers, Aisling estimated) ringed the opposite side, a protective shield, clustering the little city against…

The sea. Aisling gaped, delighted all over again, and she must have made a noise because Azriel shook his head. Well, fuck Azriel; she wanted to look at the sea and be happy. He got to look at it every day. He could be jaded if he wanted to, but he couldn’t tarnish the amazement she felt. It was astounding, stretching out to the horizon, further than she could see in every direction. So much water! And the smell of it all was rich and fresh and new. Aisling wanted to swallow it whole so she could keep it with her forever and always.

Two cities. A precious, delightful thing to have seen. She committed the scene to memory, so she could show Niamh in her dreams.

“Are you ready?” Azriel asked, his cold, smooth voice betraying no impatience. “I’ll fly you to the library where you’ll be staying, if you’re amenable. So you might see.”

That pacified her. Aisling nodded, though she wasn’t keen to go indoors again for as long as she lived. She delicately held Azriel’s shoulders as he lifted her. It felt a bit like she was betraying Eris, to be held by another male, but then again – Eris was over 500 years old and had probably had a long line of females in his arms before her.

The train of thought fell away as Azriel took flight. Aisling swallowed a scream as they left the ground, feeling the muscles in his shoulders flex as the wings clapped like a drum and they were off. It was dizzying, and she made a strangled noise as he banked and the world tilted sideways.

“You don’t need to dig your nails into my neck quite so hard.”

Aisling didn’t believe that for a second, and gouged harder as the world tilted sideways the other way, but the city unfolded before them like a painting she could touch and she forgot to be frightened. The houses were pale stone, not grey like her city but white and sandstone, all marching up and down their hills. She could see different fae as Azriel flew, and see the smoke the spiralled from chimneys, and see all the lights that spilled out over the streets like buttery puddles, and that there were cafes and bridges that cut across the river. Her head swivelled like a top, trying to see it all at once, somehow.

It was pretty.

Azriel angled for the steep hill that edged its way into the city, some building crawling up its side and perching on its peak like a sandstone hat. As they came closer Aisling saw the great marble doors cut into the side of it.

Of course. Underneath another mountain. She gouged her nails in once more for good measure as they landed – how did he not break his ankles? The ground approached very quickly – and he discretely held her arm as she caught her balance, somehow out of breath even though she was carried the whole way. The massive doors, at least trice her height, cracked open as they approached.

“This is the library,” Azriel explained lowly, as they came into a cavernous space. Open, tiered balconies crawled all along the side, layers of an enormous carved cake; shelves of books disappeared up and down. He said the word ‘library’ like it was something holy, when the only thing that separated it from the library in the Hewn City seemed to be its size. He let her look, twisting her head around to take it all in.

A great pit beneath, a carved stone ceiling up above; it was not so different from the City.

“Rhys established it for priestesses to come and learn, but it’s also a sanctuary. Any female who has suffered is allowed to come here, to recover, to heal in safety. You’ll stay here as well.”

He said this with more reverence, and that was when Aisling noticed the blue-clad priestesses flittering like moths, trailing between the shelves and on their way to somewhere. Probably to dinner or to an evening service, it was getting late. A few glanced at them, their faces concealed beneath their blue hoods.

“They’re allowed to read?” Aisling asked, and Azriel looked at her sideways.

“Of course,” he said, voice cold. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re female,” Aisling said. It was rather astounding to her – females weren’t really allowed in the library in the City. They could go if they were escorted by males, but all the males Aisling knew extorted her for the privilege. She didn’t mind paying bribes, but the favours she had to perform were far more costly.

She didn’t really like remembering the things she had had to do, anyways. She could only go forward.

They approached a desk that sat facing the entrance door, the obvious guardian of the library behind it: a female, her face veiled in pale robes, her hands smashed in all directions like crushed bugs.

Not an average priestess, a High Priestess – the blue stones that crowned her hood and marked her as such caught in the golden lights. Aisling curtseyed on instinct. She remembered her own lessons at the hands of the High Priestess in the City temple well enough, even after more than forty years. She averted her eyes to the floor, away from the Priestess’ face, away from her hands, away from Azriel. Was everyone in this place so damaged?

“This is Clotho, who oversees the library,” Azriel was introducing them. “Clotho, this is Aisling, whom Rhys spoke with you about. Aisling, I leave you with her. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the hollow mountain where they kept all their broken females. Aisling waited for the priestess to say something, staring resolutely down. The hushed quiet was broken by scratching, making Aisling glance up quickly.

A quill scratched its way quickly along a piece of parchment, which then floated to her – sent by the priestess’ magic.

Aisling took it warily. Do you wish to rest? was all that was written on it.

She toyed with the end of a damp lock of hair anxiously, twirling it around her finger in lieu of a ring. What was the right answer? She felt suddenly overwhelmed, chest tightening and breath shallowing. She was a prisoner here, her situation had not changed. Perhaps they only wished to bind her closer in, until they extorted Eris sufficiently. They could not kill her without starting a war, or at least repercussions. Even if Eris were unable to act, the High Lord of Autumn was prickly and would never allow the profane insult to pass –

Aisling was broken from her spiralling thoughts by another piece of paper.

We do not perform the same rites here as our sisters in the Hewn City. You will be safe here. The lights will guide you to your room, if you take the passage behind me.

The dismissal was abrupt, but she’d rather that than have the priestess look too long at her. Aisling was unsettled by her presence; not by her crippled hands, but by the fact that priestesses pierced the veil between this world and the Mother and that was something to be feared. Few enough mothers were kind or held love for their children, and the City priestesses rarely let you forget it.

Surely enough, the golden faelights lit warm stone passages to indicate for her where to go. She felt as if she were a ghost once more, being led up and around this new mountain, trailing forgotten down an empty hallway. These hallways lacked the ornate, gilded carvings that decorated near every surface of the City; Aisling found it almost austere. A door opened, and she stepped into a room that was all but a prison cell.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was so small – this was surely an insult to her. Did they all live like this? She could walk across the room in four strides one way and three the other. A chest of drawers on one wall next to a door, a single bed pushed against the wall opposite, and a curtain drawn over a window beside it. No rug, no art; this was a room meant for a servant of the Mother and the High Lord.

Aisling crossed the room and flung open the curtain furiously, only to see Velaris clinging to the hillsides below her. Warm, well-lit buildings and cosy streets hugged the hills, criss-crossing back and forth across them, a crowded city square at the bottom. She could see the edge of the river as it wound its way through the city, and she could smell the distant sea, strong even despite the sounds and scents of the city below her.

To buy a window with a view like this in the City – even if it were possible to cut their way through their mountain’s strong magic – would have cost her most of her wealth. The elite of the City would have killed for it, and perhaps only the ten foremost of the forty most noble families would have been able to afford it.

And they were just given one, in these shitty little rooms. At no cost or charge, just to create a safe haven for them. This was a place of refuge for females, Azriel had said; obviously females that had experienced great violence, judging by the High Priestess’ hands and muteness.

Aisling had seen beheadings. She’d seen limbs cut off and tongues cut out before. She’d seen eyes removed with hot tongs, she’d seen males disembowelled in duels, she’d seen a banshee hung by her ankles over the throne room to see how long until she died (six weeks, but the last week the banshee had stopped screaming, so some insisted it had only been five). She’d seen goblins and trolls fight to the death for the amusement of the gentry. She’d seen someone been made to eat a plate of ground glass. She’d seen females be forcibly bedded, heard the jokes about the blood that came from between their legs. She’d seen lesser fae split open and their organs eaten so their magic might be absorbed. She’d been fed and smoked and drank every sort of drug, sometimes by force and sometimes so she forgot the things she did. She’d had a cock jammed so far down her throat she coughed up blood. She’d seen Azriel’s shadows swallow someone whole. She’d been sold like a piece of furniture to Eris. All that, and Aisling had never even heard of this library.

What had these females experienced that was worse? Or was it that the suffering endured by females in the City weighed only half that of those born outside? Aisling knew the answer already, could see it in the High Lord’s eyes when he had come to ask for the Darkbringers in the last war against the King of Hybern. If all the females of the City fled to this sanctuary, then who would breed the army the High Lord needed?

He didn’t want them tainting his city, besides. He and the High Lady sat on their thrones and sneered down at them, made all the gentry watch while they growled and petted at each other. The High Lord looked as if he wanted to grind them all beneath his heel every moment he forced them to endure his presence.

Aisling felt a terrible cold sort of clarity, crisp as broken glass; she knew she could safely wager the entirety of her estate that there would not be one single Illyrian female in this sanctuary either. Azriel had said that – he said they clipped their females so they couldn’t leave their mountains, so they had no choice but to submit to the males around them and breed more little warriors.

Aisling felt dizzy. She pressed her forehead into the stone windowsill, so like her own home and yet a different lifetime away, and closed her eyes until she could breathe once more. Her blood was sour, roaring in her ears until all else was black.

She felt it then. A little tug on her ribs – not her ribs, a tug on the magic, a quick burn like a candle lit up in her heart. Eris, somewhere out there; perhaps looking at the same moon and wondering why she was so angry that she went lightheaded.

Aisling cried then, until she fell into the black pit of a dreamless sleep.

Her first day in the library passed in something of a daze. She had been roused by the chiming of a great bell, and numbly followed the blue-hooded priestesses to a dining hall. She was given a wide berth, marked as much apart by her clothing and bared head as by the way they all kept glancing at her – well, she assumed they were glancing at her. She couldn’t see their faces, but she’d been watched all her life and knew when she was a spectacle.

She attended a service because that seemed to be what everyone did, sitting in the pretty temple-cave at the back. It was all very lovely and charming with its smooth red stone walls, the songs about the goodness of the Mother and the light of the world. A priestess spoke at length about the Cauldron, and how beauty and love and forgiveness were Her gifts and should be treasured in their hearts. It was a far cry from the priestesses in the City, who preached obedience and submission and the divine fulfilment of creation.

Aisling’s eyes prickled with heat despite herself, and she blinked quickly until the feeling passed. She had nothing in common with any of these females, she reminded herself as they all bowed their heads. She couldn’t bring herself to pray for love and forgiveness – she didn’t need either of those, for herself nor to give others – but she did pray for trust and patience. Allow me to survive this, she prayed. You gave me this bond. I trust it is the right path.

A priestess caught her elbow as the service ended, beckoning her to follow by saying, “Clotho would like to see you.”

The high priestess wasn’t behind her desk this time, rather in a cosy office stacked with books and scrolls. Piled high, on every available surface; the stone shelves carved into the walls were all but groaning under the weight. Aisling wanted badly to peruse but fixed her gaze respectfully on the surface of her wooden desk instead. As before, she didn’t reveal her face; instead, the enchanted quill wrote a note instead.

I trust the accommodation was acceptable.

“Of course, High Priestess,” Aisling lied, not mentioning that she cried herself to sleep like a child and suspected the stone floor would be more comfortable than that horrendous mattress. “I like the window very much. You’re very lucky to have such a view. My friends will be sick with envy when I tell them.”

The priestess faced her for a long moment, her face obscured. Aisling shifted under the scrutiny, twisting her signet ring around her little finger; she felt suddenly nervous that the priestess was a daemati herself and was poring through her thoughts.

You may call me Clotho. Aisling would rather cut out her own tongue, actually. The priestess must have seen it in her face, because the quill started moving once more.

We are welcoming here, and do not enforce rank. Some may be curious and friendly to you as we do not often receive new faces. Others have had poor encounters with the Darkbringers and may not be so open.

Fuck’s sake. Had she been summoned here for this, to be dressed down for the behaviour of the legion? The clue was in the name – they brought darkness where they went, as they tended to do; it was the High Lord who had requested they fight. Aisling supposed it wouldn’t be enough that they’d bled for this city; now their sins – and she could guess what they were – were being assigned to her as well. The anger that hadn’t really left her simmered up, hot as Eris’ fire.

“You can tell them I’m being suitably punished for the crimes of soldiers,” Aisling said, ripping the note neatly in half. “I’m sure they’ll be much heartened to hear that.” And she hoped all their windows were shuttered, regardless of whatever they’d endured.

You misunderstand me. I ask that you give them the benefit of the doubt, not to chastise you for things you had no part in. The High Lord told me of your circumstances. I wish for you to feel comfortable and safe here.

Aisling read that note twice, careful to keep her face blank, mindful of the priestess watching her. This was a lie that she didn’t believe for a moment. She crumpled it in her hand.

“May I read the books?”

Of course. You may read whatever you like. I only ask that you do not remove them from the library.

“Remove? As in, outside?”

Yes.

“I may go outside?”

The priestess tapped the word with one swollen knuckle. That was an exhilarating thought, and Aisling was sorely tempted. But first –

She smiled in her best simper, looking up from under her lashes. “Do you keep records of this city here?”

Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed of a mountain (again, the same? A different one?) that split in two with a mighty crack. Then the mountain was in her hands, and she was trying to fit it together but it wouldn’t mend - the sharp edges grated and splintered and refused to fit, shattering into fragments and shards - then the pieces were of a glass mirror and her hands were bleeding from the sharp edges and she could see her own face fractured into a dozen tiny pieces impossible to put back together. Her hands were slick and clumsy with blood and she couldn’t hold all the pieces, they were getting numb and thick and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and it was getting so dark -

She woke with a start, Mor’s hand lightly on her shoulder.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Neither see nor feel nor know.”

Mor blinked, her brow furrowing. Her blonde hair was tossing in the wind, silvery-gold against the clouded sky.

“I thought to wake you, the sun is going in,” Mor said slowly. “It will be cold soon.”

Yes. That’s right. She was in the garden, and seemed to have fallen asleep on the bench. Elain sat up quickly and smiled carefully, coming back to her own body now: the sun was going in, grey clouds scudding across the sky in great folds. The trees were budding and the early spring flowers had come up; she’d planted this little bench with that exact intention, nestled amongst tulips and daffodils.

There was a chill, actually. She shivered, suddenly registering how the cold wood of the bench seeped through her dress.

“Thank you, Mor,” she chirped, cringing internally. “The sun was so lovely while it lasted. I’m so pleased spring is on the way.”

Mor was still looking askance at her but seemed much reassured by this.

“Of course,” she smiled. “It will rain later tonight, though. Will that be good for your garden?”

They babbled inanely back and forth for a moment longer like two stupid songbirds, Elain crossing her fingers the whole time that Mor wrote off her momentary madness as just being startled awake.

Elain followed her in through the back door - the one that led into the private family lounge - and stopped shortly, nearly walking into Mor’s back. The blue rug and pale wood floor were covered in glass shards, all sparkling in the daylight;

She was holding the pieces of a broken mirror in her hands Elain forced the vision crowding at the edge of her mind away, smiling so widely her face felt numb. This was just simple, no magic involved - the great silvered mirror that hung opposite the door had fallen off the wall and shattered. That was all. Her magic didn’t need to press in quite so close or insist with such a loud voice.

Rhys was gathering the shards with some magic, sweeping them all into a pile, as Feyre carefully restrained a gleeful Nyx from trying to grab one of the shimmering pieces. Mor picked her way over them, light-footed as a doe, and was gone down the hall with a wave.

Elain, trying to hide the way her vision kept going spotty, crouched down to distract Nyx who squealed loudly in her face at all the excitement.

“Hello, Nyxie,” she said as he stamped his feet. “Did that give you a fright?”

“We didn’t even hear it,” her sister said with a frown as Nyx twisted away from her and flung himself at Elain. “We just came in from the office and it had shattered.”

“I never liked that mirror anyways,” Rhys said, kissing Feyre’s temple fondly. “It was only a priceless antique. We don’t have a painting of just the three of us yet, darling. What do you think? Far better in my view.”

Elain wanted to gag at the thought of yet another painting – was one in every room of the house not enough? - but focused very intently on the view of the garden out the back door to keep that thought from getting fully formed and floating to the top of her mind. Rhys hadn’t noticed, too busy giving Feyre a rather enthusiastic kiss, so Elain quickly scooped up Nyx and stepped out of the room.

Still trying hard not to think of her vision, she narrated to Nyx as she bounced him along in a little gallop, focusing on the words lest either of them eavesdrop on her mind.

“While your Mama and Papa clean that up, we’re going to go make some tea because I’m rather chilly. I think I’m going to have chamomile and honey, perhaps with a slice of lemon-”

“And she’s going to pour Auntie Mor a cup,” Mor chimed in as Elain rounded the corner into the kitchen, laughing at her blush. “I’ll entertain the little bat if you make the tea?”

Elain, still a bit embarrassed, nodded and handed Nyx over.

“I’m back off to Vallahan in a little while,” Mor said, bouncing Nyx as he chattered to them in babytalk. “I can’t stand to be here while we host our delightful guest.” Her sarcasm was so heavy the word practically fell on the floor.

Elain made her best sympathetic face. “Is she so bad?”

“She will be,” Mor said darkly. “I don’t trust them. They’re so….” She trailed off with an angry sigh, brown eyes gone dim and distant. “Well, it’s a new moon at least, so she won’t be showing her face tonight before I leave.”

At Elain’s puzzled look, Mor laughed.

“They do things according to the phases of the moon,” Mor waved her hand dismissively as she drank from her tea. “They’re so backwards. They believe certain phases of the moon are more auspicious for certain things. Weddings always under a full moon, betrayals under a waxing crescent moon. That sort of thing.”

“A first quarter moon always means more murders,” Rhys commented as he swept in, hair mussed. He gave Mor a shit-eating grin as she playfully rolled her eyes at him. Elain’s smile grew taut at the thought.

Mor noted her reaction. “I’m telling you, they’re evil there. And even worse, they’re creative about it. Where your imagination for torment ends, theirs is only just getting started.”

“It will be a shame to lose her line, though,” Rhys mused, more to Mor now. His eyes grew dark as he thought about it, accepting the cup of tea Elain poured him with a nod.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Mor said coldly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “She should stay in that mountain. This is going to go badly for us unless we do something.”

“Her line?” Elain asked pointedly, realising they were already forgetting she was in the room.

Mor blinked, brought out of wherever she had gone. “It’s a big deal for marriages to cross between courts. High Lords are very protective of the magic of their courts and don’t like to let it leave, usually. That’s why we were all so worried about the others finding out about Feyre. This female doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. So once she leaves, all of her magic – just like that, it’s lost to us and now in Eris’ pocket.”

Elain hadn’t heard any of this before. She was starting to realise just how little she knew, and how much she’d blinkered herself by never even daring to ask questions, assuming everyone would just ignore her anyways. Her palms got hot and itchy around her teacup, which she sipped carefully, considering what Mor had said. Rhys hefted Nyx with a groan, sauntering out of the kitchen again, giving Mor a casual goodbye. Elain had to ask now if she wanted to know, before the conversation turned and she lost the moment and looked suspicious if she raised it again.

“What does she do that’s so special?” Elain made pains to ask it as breezily as she could, soaking up what little scraps of knowledge they were casually tossing out as if they didn’t matter - as if she wasn’t hanging on every word.

“Oh, she can put people in an enchanted sleep,” Mor said, inspecting her manicure. “She creates dreams, too.”

Every single hair on Elain’s body suddenly stood on end, and she was careful to slowly, casually, gently put her teacup in the sink and wash it out. Like she would any other day, she washed her hands, dried them thoroughly, checked her nails.

“I, uhm…. I need to go shopping at the markets today. Rather urgently.”

A/N: Nynyve is a variation of the name Viviane, both of which are names for the Lady of the Lake. Bayard is a mythical French horse, who could carry multiple brothers at once. I wanted to give Aisling a bit of a different relationship with religion than we've seen. All three Archeron sisters aren't believers, and none of the POV characters really mention it - but it plays a role in the books, so I wanted to experiment with a character who really DID believe. Like most patriarchal societies, though, I think the Hewn City would use religion as a way to oppress women rather than uplift them like we see in ACOSF. I'm experimenting with how I write Elain's visions, since I'm not really happy with them. She quotes "England in 1819" by Percy Shelley (I think some fourth wall breaking use of poetry is fun, since the visions are meant to be very meta).

#by turns #my writing #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #not my finest work this chapter but at a certain point you stop having fun with it you know

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ishikaxmehra · 20 hours ago

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Ishika let his words settle, absorbing the weight behind them, the way he kept sidestepping what she was really asking. Chaos and hope, huh? That was an interesting combination—one that suited him more than he probably realized. Chaos meant unpredictability, meant never letting people get close enough to pin him down. And hope? That was the part he didn’t say out loud, the part he pretended didn’t exist. But she saw it, the way he lingered in these conversations with her, even as he kept looking for an exit. For all I know ... this whole cape thing is just an excuse to get me into your design laboratory.

A smirk curved her lips as she tilted her head, considering him. “You caught me,” she teased, her voice carrying that same deliberate weight he always seemed to notice. “A cape was just the beginning. I was going to convince you to commit to the full look—high collars, dark tailoring, maybe even a cane for dramatic flair. A true villain aesthetic.” She let the joke breathe, but her gaze sharpened, searching his. “Though, I have to admit, I like the idea of you being part of something I create.”

That was the real confession, buried beneath all the teasing. She had a habit of shaping things, of curating, of leaving her mark. And maybe that’s what drew her to Gavin in the first place—the way he resisted it. Most people let her take the lead, but he challenged her, turned every conversation into a battle of wits that she actually wanted to fight. He was impossible in the most irritatingly fascinating way. But the thing about Gavin was that he liked to pretend none of this was real. He joked, deflected, turned everything into something lighthearted, because that was easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, there was something here worth taking seriously. She could feel it in the way he watched her, like he was trying to decide whether letting her in would be worth the risk. And Ishika? She had every intention of making it worth it.

She leaned in slightly, enough to erase some of the space between them. “I don’t waste time on dorks,” she murmured, her voice smooth, teasing, but edged with something real. “So if I say the cape works, you’ll just have to trust me.” A pause, just long enough for the moment to stretch between them. “And Gavin? I do find capes hot. But let’s be honest—that was never the real question, was it?” She let the implication hang there, waiting to see if he’d keep playing the game—or finally admit they were playing something else entirely.

The dangerous thing about Ishika was how she made everything into a challenge, turning casual conversations into chess matches he hadn't agreed to play yet couldn't resist joining. "You tell me why," he said, the words carrying more weight than he intended. Her confidence carved through his walls, the ones he'd built to keep people like her - brilliant, fascinating people - at a safe distance. Truth lived in the space between what she said and what she meant. The part about not needing to try to impress him caught in his mind like a splinter he couldn't dig out. Nobody else made him second-guess his own thoughts quite like she did. She had this way of making the ridiculous sound reasonable, like maybe wearing a cape with hidden pockets wouldn't be the weirdest path he'd wandered down. The real problem wasn't the cape - it was how much time she spent thinking about what would suit him, calculating every detail until his usual excuses felt paper-thin. "I'm more of a chaos and hope kind of guy," he said, trying to dodge the implications behind her questions about wanting the cape versus wanting her attention.

His mind kept circling back to the way she saw through his deflections, how she treated their conversations like puzzles worth solving. Most people took his jokes at face value, never bothering to look deeper. But Ishika didn't just look deeper - she excavated, finding meaning in things he said without thinking. The truly terrifying part was how much he wanted her to keep digging, even though he knew she'd eventually hit bedrock and realize there wasn't much worth finding. Her deliberate moves and knowing looks stripped away his persona, leaving him wondering if she already knew exactly why he hid behind humor and deflection. The smart move would be to retreat, throw up more walls, keep things superficial. But something about her made him want to play a different game entirely, one where maybe losing wouldn't be so bad. "For all I know ... this whole cape thing is just an excuse to get me into your design laboratory," he said, letting a fraction of truth slip into his voice. His mind raced ahead to all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons he should maintain his distance. Yet here he was, still pushing back, still engaging. "It all depends on if you find capes hot. I'm not getting a cape if it makes me look like a dork."

#interactions.#gavin | 002

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yharnamesque · 8 months ago

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DESPERATELY resisting the urge to get Shadow of the Erdtree now instead of later like I originally planned.............

#herne talks #i wanted to do final shape first and get that out of the way #but seeing everyone else having funky fresh fun with snelden bing #it gives me the temptations #mostly to go fight messmer's lanky gibbon ass and get him OUTTA here #in lore an excuse to get ardyn away from his '''wife'''#he's on the worst honeymoon of his life with ranni rn

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krysmcscience · 5 months ago

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Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

#fanart #gravity falls #billford #bill cipher #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #pyronica #handyman bill au #book of bill #the good place #incorrect quotes #heck yeah i'm tagging billford - cuz these old men are EXES #jfc i said i wasn't going to color any other gravity falls stuff i made - and then what do i do?#i fukken color all of it #i may have a problem lmao #the green area outside the theraprism is because i forgot what was outside it and just went 'lol greenscreen idgaf'

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leyiorr · 5 months ago

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i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

#ᯓᡣ𐭩 kiyara.#✎ᝰ.#i was bored once again.#satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut

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blkkizzat · 1 month ago

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❝AYY, FUCK YO IG, I PUT SOMETHIN' ON YO SONOGRAM— I'M THE MAN.ᐟ❞

─•──── FARMHAND!TOJI X BIMBO!READER

꥟ summary: farm au. you and toji can't keep your hands off each other since he first turned you out in the barn and he's determined to put a baby in you ASAP! ꥟ wc: 2088 ꥟ a/n: I had to do something for my mans for his bday and I MADE it in my time zone at least (pst) FarmHand!Toji just comes so easy to me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY TOJI.ᐟ

[ read p1: here ]

FarmHand!Toji who after the first time fucking you senseless in the barn can't keep his hands off of you. God, it's so hard for him to get any chores and shit done when your young tight cunny spreads so willingly for him.

Out in the pastures, the herd of cows block the distant view of the both of you from the farm. Making it the perfect location for Toji to freely fuck you sloppy like you've been pouting for all morning.

Wanting to tease his sweet lil' Bunny, Toji would have made you wait even longer (so he could do a bit of actual work) but you always kept him on his toes. You were so much of a brat you pushed limits with him constantly.

This time your achieve your naughty goal by flashing him your pantyless pussy.

"Whoops, must have forgot to put some on this morning! I'm so silly huh, Daddy?"

You bat your lashes and sway your jiggling hips so innocently. Like the hot sun wasn't glistening off the gooey slick drenching your puffy pussy lips —it was fucking obscene.

Obviously, Toji is hard instantly but you still needed to be taught a lesson and he'd yet to keep his promise of 'fucking some manners into your haughty cunt.'

You clearly still didn't know how to act.

What with his lil' Bunny skipping around the farm all morning bare assed and so nonchalantly too?

How many times does he have to remind you he'd kill someone over you?

No one else was allowed to see what belonged to him alone...

Jealous as hell, Toji angerily snatches you up as you squee in excitement finally getting what you'd been craving. Easily flipping you over, Toji's large muscular arms drapes you over the old wooden fence like you were a mere feather.

The fact that Toji was supposed to be patching up said fence, not causing further structural damage from how hard he was about to tear your ass up is not lost on him. He simply just can't bring himself to give a fuck at the moment, not when you get him so riled up like this. Pushing your thin white sundress up your back, Toji doesn't even need to prepare you before he ruts into your heated core. Honestly, it didn't take Toji long at all to mold your pretty lil' pussy to the shape of his stocky girth. Your wet warm hole welcomes him back eagerly like it was his home. The pull of that creamy cunny of yours sucking him deeper to the hilt—even before his own hips could shealth himself fully inside—shit.

"That's a good girl bunny, that pussy opens up so good f'er me now, n'—HELL... She's just as fuckin' tight too."

Pistoning forward, Toji doesn't waste time with warming you up with slow strokes.

Not when you act out like this.

He knows once you get this way you are practically begging for him to pound you rough, deep and fast.

True to the nickname he bestowed you Bunny, you wanted him to fuck you stupid like one daily. Demanding Toji's hefty cock be plunged into your cunt during all hours of the day—especially at night.

Your slutty pussy was so hungry for his dick stretching her, you even foolishly volunteered the farm's security codes to Toji. Meaning he could slip not only in and out of your room at night —but the farm entirely. This was excellent for the illegal business he was forming under the cover of the farm.

Little risk of getting caught now too.

That old farmer slept like the dead and he'd been able to bribe the less than scrupulous night security workers.

Heh. Smuggling contraband in now was a breeze.

But in order for his plan to be put fully in motion he needed to knock you up quickly. Cumming in your quivering pussy 3-4 times a day was a necessity and Toji was more than up for the task.

He needed a baby in you yesterday.

And yet the way your greedy pussy hungered for him, strangling his length every time you came on his cock for the nth time made him think she secretly wanted to be a mommy too —you were the only one who didn't know that yet. You milked him so well like you were made for Toji to breed you —just waiting all this time for his nefarious ex-con cock to destroy you.

Toji grunts escalate as the old fence creaks and shakes from him brutishly bullying himself further into your guts. You moan deeply with every maddening thrust of his pelvis forcing his thick meaty cockhead to kiss your womb.

"Shiiit..Mmmm—OOOH!" The rebound of your plump ass ripples against his pelvis and Toji thinks its his favorite sight in the world. Both hands on your hips, Toji digs crescents into your flesh as he drives him into you over and over, deeper and deeper. The vulgar noises of moist skin slapping echo from your bodies —bodies which only get hotter and wetter under the oppressive heat of the sun and it's all so intoxicating. Your chest heaves as you take desperate breathes, your lungs struggle to even expand with how roughly Toji plowing into you.

There's nothing you can do but dangle there and let Daddy Toji use you like he wanted—not that you would have it any other way, loving when his cock purees your mind into just as much of the sloppy mess as your pussy. Toji could tell by your cries too just how your ass liked to be ferally manhandled like you were one of these barn animals.

"Yeah that's right my slutty brat 'moo' louder f'er Daddy while ya squirt on his cock. Ya wanna let this whole farm know who's making you feel this good, huh ma?"

You whine at Toji likening your pleasure filled sobs to that of cow noises but you're needy 'lil cunny only squeezes him tighter —just as he knew she would. Toji knows how much you like him talking crazy to you when he's fucking you six ways to Sunday, balls smacking your clit.

Thankfully no one could actually hear you from way out here. Meaning he was free to spew all kinds of nasty shit into your ear drawing even more slobber from your swollen pussy lips. It only made you hotter on the inside your mind only focusing on his debased dirty talk and the drag of his cock against your g-spot —Toji was hitting it perfectly from this angle. "Ya know ya fuckin' suck at milking cows but this juicy pussy? She sure knows how t'milk a cock like its 'er job." And it would be your job too if Toji had any say. Fuck going back to school at the end of summer and fuck getting a career. You didn't need to do anything but lay on your back and let Toji do the rest. Heh, you wouldn't be able to do much else but be on your back once you started growing his kids inside you anyway. He'd keep you nice n fucked out to the point you'd almost stay pregnant.

Spanking your ass harshly, the sting fills fresh tears on your already bleary eyes. You squeak between your pitchy moans as your pussy weeps so much of your arousal around your sex and down your thighs the squelchy gurgles of your creamy cunt are heard throughout the field.

"S'gudddd Daddy! HAH—HARDER!!"

You really are the perfect slut for him. Wanting him to go harder?

Could you even handle that?

As your reward Toji gifts you another spank, shaking the fence entirely now as it sways on its exposed hinges. It's a miracle it's still standing.

But Toji was determined to have you all for himself, to have everything —you, the farm, a wife —to bring Megumi here away from his twisted ass family so you could be the mother he never had. Thoughts of domesticating you makes him want to bust in you even more as he chases his release.

Wrapping an arm around your middle Toji lifts you so he can thumb at your clit. The rough pad of his thickest digit scrapes over your bud sending rapid tingles through your body that has drool pouring out of your mouth and cunt. "Daddy's gonna put his milk in y'er tummy, yeah Bunny? Tell me ya want it slutty mama —beg me f'er it."

But you can't beg, you can't do anything but ride the rapturous wave of pleasure radiating from your core as you squirt on his cock like a good Bunny. Your orgasm following soon after with enough force from erratic rhythm of spasms in your walls to make Toji spurt is scorching seed inside you. Filling your womb as you purr from the sensation.

Toji bites harshly down on your shoulder —another mark you'd have to hide from your uncle —who thought you were just a rather clumsy girl getting so many marks on you from your farm chores.

Slicked in sweat and your gushy pussy's fluids Toji slumps forward still inside you, his entire weight bearing down on you.

"T-Tojiiiii!" You whine in that pretty, utterly angelic way Toji usually can't resist but he had to keep his cock plugged in you a bit longer if he wanted a baby in you by the end of the month. He eases up a bit though, rubbing your sore ass cheeks and murmuring something about 'when he finally gets to use your ass' as his thumb ghosts aimlessly over your puckered hole.

When Toji finally pulls out of you, you're barely standing. Slumping your elbows on the fence, your hips went a bit numb from being folded like a pancake over the rough wood fence with a big man like Toji putting his weight on you.

Truthfully, Toji didn't even want to pull out. He could go a few more but you need to get back to the farm soon before your uncle came around looking. He'd question you if you kept missing lunch everything.

As if you could read Toji's thoughts you pipe up, voice a bit hoarse already from all your moaning. "I told my uncle I'd probably walk to the lake again today. So he won't be expecting me back until the evening, you know..." After enough feeling returns to your lower body you push off the fence and prance over to a nearby tree at the edge of the clearing. Pulling off your dress fully you lay it down on the lush green grass in the shade. Fully nude, the sun peeks through the shade's leaves, decorating your skin in its shadowed rays.

You stretch like a cat on your makeshift dress-blanket. Spreading your legs wide and arching, you gaze over to Toji from under your babydoll lashes. He's already on his way over to you. "Looks like I'm your lunch today Daddy... c'mon n' eat me up before I get cold."

Oh you didn't know what you fucking did to him... or maybe you did?

You were clever sure but all reason flew out the window when it came to Toji from the minute he first jammed his cock into your lewd sappy cunt.

Heh, you wanted FarmHand!Toji to ruin you? Well little did you know that's exactly what he planned to do anyway— trap you, and ruin your life and that pussy of yours at the same time.

꥟

Back on farm an old dusty white bus stops at the gate.

A lone prisoner exits, a man accused of being a serial killer— 27 victims all skinned and gutted mercilessly like fish in under two years.

However, the man has always protested his innocence.

The evidence at best was circumstantial, with a conviction based solely off of a lone witness who was later proven to be unreliable. As a result the appeal of his life sentence is currently in process, much to the excitement and anger, respectfully, of both his many supporters and detractors.

Yet the way his P.O. comically cowers is a stark contrast to the vibe of the prisoner. The tall, well built convict appears calm, somber even.

This was really the man that killed 27 people?

His eyes survey his surroundings with the hesitant curiosity of a puppy—nothing like the dangerous threat the courts or his P.O. make him out to be. Handed over into your uncle's care, the flighty P.O. quickly gets back on the bus, signalling the driver to get ghost quickly as if your uncle would change his mind at the last minute.

Your uncle on the other hand isn't intimidated at all by the notorious, supposedly innocent, pigtailed cold blooded killer. "Welcome to the farm, son. Like I tell everyone, just do as your told and stay outta trouble —you'll do fine I reckon. Don't fuck this up now, boy. In your case especially, this is the chance to prove yourself worthy of an appeal or its back to solitary for life Choso Kamo."

꥟

꥟ a/n: oh hehe, i wonder what will come of toji's plan now that Farmhand!Choso has arrived 😈😩? Also y'all think he's innocent or guilty? 💕🤭 tysm for reading! lol idk if i end up writing more of this but this is my no pressure, for fun project (i whipped this up in like 3 hrs so whether i will or when it will come out i can't say~ i already have sm on my plate but farmhand!toji is special to meee and its his bday so had to run it back on him. i may come back edit this since i was rushing sorry for any mistakes! reblogs and comments appreciated!

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taintandviolent · 2 months ago

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sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe.

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented.

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him.

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs.

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared. He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently.

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….”

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you.

You swallow hard. “I do.”

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need.

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch.

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days.

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen.

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t.

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air.

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do.

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop. Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

#this is kind of mild for me in terms of smut but I really couldn't get as graphic as I usually do. it felt... inappropriate to the aestheti #nosferatu x reader #nosferatu x you #count orlok x reader #count orlok x you #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu #count orlok #vampire x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #vampires #myfics #vampirism #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard fanfiction

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dwaekkicidal · 4 months ago

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𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.”

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin.

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

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#sian’s writing #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #bang chan imagines #chan smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #chan imagines #skz x reader #skz x reader smut #sian’s 2024 kinktober <3

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