#please deposit five coins

[meilia-stims]

rockstar freddy (fnaf) stimboard with coins, stars and purple themes? as well as anything else u see fit!!

Rockstar Freddy (Fnaf) stimboard with coins, stars, and purple stims for anon

🪙 ⭐️ 🪙

⭐️ 🪙 ⭐️

🪙 ⭐️ 🪙

[bloodjuize]

RAAHGHHHHH

[that1randomnerd]

One year for each coin

YOU FORGOT ROCKSTAR FREDDY IN THE NOSE BOOPABILITY RANKING!YOU FORGOT MY BOY!

AAAA IM SO SORRY WHAT HAVE I DONE ! He gets the Sympathy prize and a boop coupon valid for the next five years

[fuzzybluefox]

Afton kids TOYSHK au

(An AU I came up with for shits and giggles)

So the idea is that UCN is a surprise gift by all 3 of William's children for their old man ( C.C take the lead cause that poor boy deserve it). I mean, if it hadn't been for Will's actions they wouldn't have gone this far in life ( or death) so they ought to "thank" him for that

Michael built the animatronics, for he had faced several if not all of them and has excellent art skills. Elizabeth creates the script, says the voicelines,for she is a master at playing pretend with the voice mimicking ability from the amalgamation that was Ennard. And C.C ( I'm calling him Cassidy ) with his great imagination, his connection to Will's other victims and whatever spiritual bs it was with golden freddy, formed the foundation and everything else . The siblings are having a great bonding time preparing it all for their father. He had left them in the darkness ( forgottened, trapped, abandoned- ), favouring his lifeless machines.

And just for him, they will bring it all to life.

A neverending, living nightmare.

"This is a gift . . . for us . . ."

[ninjautizm]

I HAVE NO REGRETS!! 

[strawberrus0da]

do you like fnaf strawb

Not a super avid follower or anything but I did have like a 2 day long deep dive into the lore watching a bunch of playthroughs and theory videos once so that was fun

It’s a good series and I love the music that’s been made for it

[curseofbreadbear]

UNPROMPTED || ALWAYS ACCEPTING! || @inkstriked

inkstriked asked: "…Oh, hey. I, uh, thought bears were extinct." She said, absent mindedly playing with her Ultra Hand really close to the prize counter. If she wanted to, she could probably grab something off of one of the shelves with it, even though she was only around 4'10". She didn't though, and likely wouldn't. She had enough similar garbage to mess around with (and sell) at Hotlantis. "Cool, I guess." (from harmony for glamrock freddy HAHA GET IT BECAUSE BEARS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE EXTINCT IN BOTH G-)

❝ That would be correct, Superstar! ❞

[Freddy tried not to sound too deflated; although this was one "Faz Fact" that often sent him into a mild existential crisis, he had to express his pride that this child had managed to recall such an important factoid. As often as the elevators spouted Faz-propaganda, there were a number of children who would block out Faz Facts when they regarded more serious subjects ( like the extinction of bears, or scientific studies about pizza ).]

❝ Did you know that they liked pizza more than honey? It's true! ❞ [As far as his programming knew, anyway. Hopefully this little one would enjoy hearing more tidbits about bears, even if he only had a handful of information to provide -- all he knew was what Fazbear Entertainment gave him, and that wasn't a whole lot.]

❝ Did you know that they liked pizza more than honey? It's true! ❞ [As far as his programming knew, anyway. Hopefully this little one would enjoy hearing more tidbits about bears, even if he only had a handful of information to provide -- all he knew was what Fazbear Entertainment gave him, and that wasn't a whole lot.]

[...Or maybe he wouldn't have to dive into bear facts at all. He finally noticed how much the little one was struggling with reaching the Prize Counter, even while using an odd contraption to do so -- perhaps this was his opportunity to help! Although, there was one setback...]

❝ Oh! Would you like a prize? I can reach anything you would like, but the ones on the top shelf are very expensive. How many tickets do you have? ❞

[lovelycrimsonredsnow]

New au!

(so I got tired of the characters personalities I originally had for them so I'ma change it)

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/n: *staring at a wall*

Bonnie: Uhm you good??

Y/n: shush I'm watching family guy

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/n: *putting on the mask*

W! Foxy: I sEe YoU nIgHtGuArD

Y/n: no I am Freddy

Toy Freddy: hmm i'm pretty sure that's Freddy

W! Foxy: oh God damn it YOU'RE Freddy! We can't have two Freddies in the room!

W! Freddy: ._.

Shadow! Freddy: ._.

Phantom! Freddy: ._.

N! Freddy: ._.

F! Freddy: :0

Molten Freddy: •_°

G! Freddy: ._.

R! Freddy: please deposit five coins 😊

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/n: anyone wanna-

F! Foxy: jump off a cliff?

Shadow! Bonnie: murder someone? :D

Molten Freddy: commit arson?

Y/n: go get ice-cream Jesus what's wrong with yall-

Circus baby: 😨

[askfnafcast]

Trick or treat!!!! Happy Halloween, rockfeddy!!!

Rockstar Freddy: Who better to kick it off than me? Good to see my number one fan, please deposit five coins~

Hope you like chocolate c-...who picked these...

((OOC: Rockstar Freddy is wearing Major Sweets))

[babyyhoneyyyyy]

༘⋆🛡️𝓜𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓵 📜₊˚ෆ - One Shot [h.s]

Storyline: Three centuries before the conquest of Eldoria, the monarch showcased his grandeur alongside his loyal soldiers—those brave individuals willing to sacrifice everything for their homeland, hoping to achieve significant progress. In this scenario, we find Sir. Styles, the most prominent knight of the five kingdoms, acknowledged by the king himself and invited to a royal dinner in his honor and that of all his companions. However, upon arrival, he discovers that neither the oracles nor his adversaries from all corners of the world could have forewarned him about what he would face upon encountering the mesmerizing and exotic beauty of Lady Revna, the king's youngest daughter. Word count: +8k Smut: 🔞

જ⁀➴

"These would be two lion coins".

The elderly individual responds calmly, leaning on his cane while the man in front of him nods in acceptance. The coins are carefully deposited into his frail hand, which reflects the imprints of time and wrinkles that narrate the story of his life. The hand closes firmly, holding onto the money, but upon feeling its weight, it opens again, revealing surprise at the man's unexpected generosity.

"Oh, blessed be the gods. This is considerably more than I expected-" the old man says, although his voice is interrupted by the sudden disappearance of the man, leaving his words hanging in the air.

The street market had always been one of Sir Styles' favorite destinations. He would meticulously explore the small stalls, giving donations to those he considered truly in need, to the friendly and to the nobles. This environment was even more pleasing to him, as it was the only place where he could go unnoticed, experiencing a sense of belonging and familiarity.

Sir's childhood unfolded in an environment identical to this, running through the land, enjoying the grass, and exploring the rivers, where he could end the day in serenity. Although this stage was fleeting, he preferred to preserve that particular memory.

Consequently, every time he returned to his hometown, he chose to immerse himself in the same routine, reliving those experiences. However, this time, the course of the day would take a different turn compared to previous routines.

King Arthur, with an insistence surpassing Sir Styles' preferences, had made it clear to him and all his knights that the royal dinner would take place on the first day of his return to the homeland, emphasizing the grandeur with which they would be received.

"As if returning exhausted wasn't enough, now we must attend a banquet in your honor," remarked William, one of Sir's main companions, upon receiving the king's message.

"It's a celebration in honor of all of us," corrected him. He observed the ironic expression on his companion's face, who raised his eyebrows before responding with a sarcastic "Of course".

None of them addressed the issue again since that moment, until the present day, where a change in William's mood was noticeable, showing renewed enthusiasm to return to his place of origin to deliberate on the choice of his attire for the imminent royal celebration.

Meanwhile, Sir Styles opted for silence, avoiding any allusion to what his companion had previously stated, even though he himself experienced palpable fatigue.

It is worth noting that large-scale festive events, such as the royal ball, were not to Sir's liking, who had never participated in one of such magnitude in the past.

While he had the opportunity to observe festivities held in different regions, each with its peculiar customs, banquets, and dances, he even actively participated when he was in a considerable state of intoxication. However, such experiences always ended the same way: waking up the next day with an inevitable headache and in the company of a woman of unknown allure.

It is valid to say that he truly enjoyed the celebrations, even if they were not a requirement imposed, as was the case this time.

With the arrival of dusk, he discerned that it was the opportune moment to return home and undertake the corresponding preparations; however, he chose to make a brief stop at one of the local establishments, solely to acquire some portions of his favorite fruit. On this occasion, upon receiving the price information from the merchant, he was unexpectedly interrupted by a commotion coming from a few meters away.

The plums were reinstated to their designated location by the individual, who hurriedly secured his belongings in fear. Frowning, Sir Styles observed him for a brief moment before immediately distancing himself and heading toward the surrounding tumult.

Initially, the suspicion of looting crossed Sir's mind; however, he quickly realized that the situation was rather an act of blatant robbery. An armed man, wielding a dagger, was committing the criminal act, threatening an unfortunate fruit vendor at her stall.

Indignation and fury quickly seized his bloodstream, prompting him to react instinctively by unsheathing his own weapon. However, surprise overcame him as he realized that someone else had acted swiftly, anticipating his own actions.

Before him unfolded a skirmish between a criminal and a hooded figure who emerged unexpectedly. Both contenders exhibited presumably advanced martial skills; however, he discerned that the hooded individual displayed a higher level of proficiency, evidenced by the mere fact of wielding a sword during the confrontation.

This exceptional mastery of the art of war did not escape Sir's perception, who reflected on the irony of encountering a warrior with skills comparable to those of a member of the royal guard, a detail that did not fail to intrigue him.

The contest persisted with the agile dexterity of the criminal and the strategic cadence of the hooded figure, both eager to wield their bladed weapons mercilessly. Even he experienced an unusual concern, subconsciously fearing that the hooded figure might be injured while seeking justice for those around them.

However, in the end, this apprehension dissipated when the thief succumbed to the ground after an unfortunate move, collapsing and letting his dagger slide momentarily in the air before finally plummeting in front of Sir Styles.

Instinctively, he leaned forward, about to grasp the weapon; however, once again, he found himself bewildered as the dagger he was about to take remained inches from his chin, carefully lifting his face. His gaze remained unflinching, fixed on the hooded figure who stood triumphantly before him, assuming a position of supremacy while he remained kneeling.

He couldn't help but feel a profound bewilderment at this moment, aggravated by the inability to glimpse the face of his counterpart, leaving him enveloped in absolute intrigue that seemed within reach of his fingertips.

For Sir Styles, this moment seemed to linger for several minutes, although in reality, only a few seconds had passed before the hooded figure resumed their march toward the thief. The latter lay vulnerable as his own dagger plunged into his leg, unleashing a scream that reverberated in the space, initiating the flow of blood.

For many, this episode might represent the end of victory, but for him, it signaled ironically that, this time, the thief would not only be prevented from walking to commit robberies but would also face the uncertainty of whether he would survive such a serious injury.

At that precise moment, Sir Styles became fully aware of the crowd that had gathered around him, as applause began to resonate in his ears, intertwined with enthusiastic cheers of celebration. Even the distressed lady, who was once on the brink of threat, now joined in the jubilation in honor of the victor.

However, not even the festive uproar managed to distract him from his fixed attention on the individual. With meticulousness, he observed every step, every movement, until witnessing how a subtle crimson curl stealthily emerged from the hood of the mysterious character.

Although he perceived the situation, he was not the only one to notice it. As the hooded figure approached, precautions were taken to adjust their hair and protect it immediately. Firm in determination, they tightened their grip on the hood and swiftly fled towards the woods. Even though he briefly contemplated the possibility of following, the growing darkness in the sky indicated the imminent arrival of the night. If he did not leave immediately, he risked being late for the banquet.

With a final sigh, Sir Styles made his way towards the hills.

The monarch bestowed upon each of his principal knights a moderately-sized property as a token of recognition and gratitude, providing them with a stable place to return to after military campaigns. This generous action by the king was one of his many ways of expressing gratitude to those who served him faithfully.

Although William suggested that this gesture might be a kind of relief for the monarch's conscience, Sir Styles, regardless of the motivations behind such a gift, chose to accept it. For him, the donation implied no significant loss. He had grown up without the warmth of a family, a circumstance to which he had become accustomed over the years.

The land assigned to him was located near the hills, and while its location significantly distanced him from the village, it brought him closer to the castle. Although not much time had passed since he received the property, Sir Styles had already dedicated himself to organizing it with the necessary resources for his comfort and functionality.

Finally, observing the alignment of the stars in the sky, he realized it was the right time to embark on his journey to the palace. During the journey, his steed accompanied him, encountering his comrades and other soldiers on the way, all dressed in the same war uniform. This consisted of layers made from the skins of animals he had hunted as part of his survival tactics during various campaigns, complemented by a bronze armor resting on their robust figures. Although they all looked uniformly equipped, Sir Styles stood out as the only one with braided hair.

Sir Styles boasted a mane that had reached a considerable length, extending to his shoulders precisely. Although initially challenging to deal with this hair extension, he had gradually adapted to it. Progressively, he adopted the habit of showcasing his honor through his hair, allowing each battle victory to be reflected in intricate braids. Thus, his hair now unfolded in a braided pattern that enveloped his contour, preventing his natural curls from sliding over his forehead.

The duration of the journey noticeably shortened when, finally, the majesty of the imposing castle revealed itself to the onlookers. The structure shone under the dim light of the night moon and the flames of torches held by the guardians of the enclosure. At the forefront of the procession, Sir Styles led the soldiers, dismounting from his steed with the purpose of making his formal entrance before the castle's main Lord. However, the said Lord dispensed with the need for any formal introduction, granting the knight immediate access and stating that His Majesty was already awaiting his arrival.

As they advanced through the castle corridors, the lighting highlighted every detail before the attentive gaze of the onlookers. From colossal paintings displaying portraits of ancestral monarchs and prominent personalities of the nation to ornaments that, for the most part, seemed to be made of gold, adorned the walls of the enclosure splendidly. The parade of individuals captured the essence of the aristocracy, who meticulously observed every visible corner.

In their journey, some ladies-in-waiting crossed their path, offering curtsies and smiles to the passersby, except for the main leader, Sir Styles, who remained in a reserved attitude, focused on keeping his gaze forward, trying to limit his observations of the surrounding environment as much as possible.

Sir Styles showed no enthusiasm for the ostentatious jewelry and the magnificence of the castle, perceiving them as mere appearances and even ironies. This perception was based on the belief that all the opulence accumulated in such structures was ultimately attributable to the contribution of the people and the decisions made by those who had once chosen their monarchs. Sir's preference was to establish connections with specific individuals, directing his attention to the impression that the king and some select Lords might potentially have in the more distant future. He had internalized the premise that existence revolved around building relationships and bonds, either with strategic contacts or facing loneliness, with no room for in-between terms.

The Lord finally stopped his advance in front of an imposing wooden door that stood out for its considerable height and the golden ornamental details that surrounded it. In a decisive gesture, he signaled to the herald, who in turn conveyed the order swiftly, allowing one of the service sentinels to proceed to open the magnificent doors. It was the voice of the herald that resonated in the enclosure, announcing the arrival of the royal guard to all present, immediately capturing the attention of every individual in the room, directed towards their conspicuous leader.

Sir Styles kept his attention focused forward, leading his fellow soldiers as they advanced along the main hall's corridor. By his side, he walked in step with Sir William. Together, they headed towards the imposing table at the end of the hall, where the most prominent personalities of the kingdom, including the monarch, gathered.

Sir Styles experienced a palpable increase in the speed of his heartbeats as he advanced, yet he found it challenging to determine the exact cause of this phenomenon. He was aware that it was not solely due to the attention he garnered when passing before the king's gaze or the anticipation of the crowd watching them. Although accustomed to being the center of attention, he perceived that there was something more underlying, something that escaped his certainty but somehow guided the rhythm of his heart as he advanced, urging him to maintain a harmonious pace with his own steps while attempting to regulate his breathing.

Sir stopped his advance upon reaching the end of the hall, bowing his head slightly in a reverential gesture as he perceived the monarch advancing to stand in front of him. Upon hearing the issuance of his title by the king, he raised his gaze again. The king's smile revealed deep enthusiasm, and rightly so; his army had displayed its prowess in every confrontation, conquering the most prosperous lands and amassing wealth in their wake. With another expression of joy on his face, he initiated the celebration ceremony.

Sir Styles settled in proximity to the main Lord, while on his right, Sir William took his place, both distinguished with pure gold medals that rested with notable weight on their necks. They were immersed in the enjoyment of a lavish banquet, where the table was adorned with an abundance of suckling pigs, a varied selection of vegetables and exquisite fruits, including plums. However, when he attempted to take one of the latter, he received a disapproving look from one of the Lords present. Initially confused, he responded with a gesture, but understanding dawned when he was informed that such fruits were exclusively meant for one of the princesses. It was then that he realized, at the main table, only knights were present, and he had not been introduced to any titled lady. About to express his discontent to the Lord with a gesture of displeasure, the doors of the hall opened again, followed by the voice of the herald announcing the arrival of Their Majesties.

Two young ladies, approximately the same age, even slightly older than him, stood out in height and had wavy brown hair. The distinction of their faces was evident in their delicacy, further accentuated by their silk outfits in vibrant colors that, if not for the crowns elegantly held in their curls, would have clearly proclaimed their elevated status. Although one of them was of shorter stature than the other, both were adorned in fine jewelry that revealed their opulence even from a distance.

The reverence of the entire hall materialized as an act of homage to the ladies, and in a matter of seconds, Sir Styles stood up, following the example of the group. In the distance, he perceived the king's laughter and the enthusiastic greeting that elevated his daughters, culminating once again in the resumption of the festive atmosphere.

Both women walked gracefully towards the royal table, where Sir carefully observed the strategically reserved places for them, located next to the monarch's seat. With meticulous attention, he witnessed how the ladies took their cutlery with grace, performing an elegant synchronized movement. In a mirror effect, both raised their knives to carve the pork, bringing the fork to their lips to taste the first bite.

While enjoying their meal, their gazes remained fixed forward, occasionally exchanging laughter as they watched the attendees participate in the dance and whisper in murmurs of conversation. Sir Styles, with patience, waited for a couple of additional minutes after the princesses finished their feast, hoping to see if either of them ventured to reach for the plums laid out on the plate. However, more minutes than necessary passed, and although their plates were already empty, neither of the ladies showed any sign of wanting to extend their attention to the additional fruits.

With a final expression of discontent, Sir chose to redirect his attention to the surrounding environment, marking the initial moment of the evening when he surrendered to detailed observation. The hall came to life with a symphony of laughter, intertwined with the graceful movements of the dance participants. Sumptuous and exquisite dresses extended across the shiny floor, while the knights' shoes occasionally emitted the characteristic squeak during their movements. The music, skillfully performed by the orchestra, had the violin as its main companion, imparting a melodic and refined atmosphere to the surroundings.

Unexpectedly, a voice beside him spoke directly to him: "Are you Sir Styles?" In response, he immediately turned and found the princesses now positioned on both sides of him.

With courtesy, he simply nodded affirmatively. "Yes, that's correct". He replied succinctly.

One of the ladies initiated the conversation by praising his latest campaign, and the other continued with more specific details mentioning the lands of Thundervale. "We've heard extraordinary tales about your feats in the campaign," one of them expressed, followed by the other who added, "Particularly, we are intrigued to know if it's true that the largest marine creatures inhabit those lands".

Thus, the conversation began, with Sir Styles leading the exchange, willing to share details about the journey through the blue land that had piqued the alleged interest of the ladies. They paid meticulous attention to every word the knight uttered, although as he delved into the story, he could observe more closely the proximity of both women, skillfully identifying certain characteristic gestures of female closeness.

He noticed how both their eyes stared intensely into his, although at times they wandered towards aspects beyond his person, whether contemplating his attire or occasionally resting on his hands. These gestures, marked by more than evident curiosity, manifested through glances that pierced beyond innocence, as well as smiles that deviated from mere charm.

Sir Styles struggled to maintain a respectful distance, not expressing indifference but rather intending to preserve space and the surrounding atmosphere. As he progressed in his narrative, the laughter and the wine he savored contributed to creating a set that resonated with his emotions. His visual acuity diminished, and words escaped his lips with slight difficulty, although his level of awareness remained intact.

At a critical point in his narrative, when the story turned towards the red lands he had explored and his encounter with the legendary figure of the "great lion" in one of those regions, a practically mythical creature that guarded one of the territories visited by him and his fellow soldiers, a female voice decided to interrupt instantly. This act left Sir Styles' words hanging in the air, while his gaze shifted in another direction, disrupting the flow of his story at a crucial moment.

In front of him stood a young lady, with reddish hair reminiscent of the glow of fire and blue eyes evoking the vastness of the ocean, of which he had spoken on occasion. Her gaze was directed towards him with an ironic, almost challenging and playful tone, reflected equally in her words, in which she expressed her skepticism and refused to believe him. She referred to the fact that, according to her perception, the only individual capable of defeating the creature in question had been her own great-great-grandfather.

However, the knight's attention was, at least apparently, focused on the possibility of refuting this claim. In his surroundings, a brief moment of stillness took hold, and for Sir Styles, it was uncertain whether the cause of his momentary silence came from the influence of the wine and its sweetness, or whether the surrounding noise had deafened his senses, or perhaps neither. The lady's words lost audibility for him, although he observed that her communications were directed solely to the women on his side, although occasionally, the lady kept her gaze on his.

The woman's pale complexion evoked the whiteness of milk, and from his low position, he could distinguish the freckles adorning her rosy cheeks. In response, the knight felt compelled to blink several times, experiencing a subtle discomfort from the warm flush that began to invade his body. With embarrassment, he promptly averted his gaze to divert attention from that moment.

Soon, Sir Styles realized that he was alone at the imposing royal table. On this occasion, his gaze sought only the face of the young lady who had shared the space in front of him, finally locating her engaged in a lively dance with an unknown Lord after a few minutes of searching.

Faced with such a scene, the knight directed his questions about the lady to one of the refined Lords who had previously conversed with him during the course of the evening. The response he received was that she was "Lady Revna, the youngest daughter of the king."

"And the one with the strongest character," added another Lord with laughter.

The hue of her red hair serves as an indicator of that, Sir Styles reflected to himself. However, he chose to remain silent in the presence of others, keeping his own thoughts to himself.

Sir took another sip of wine from a distant land, whose sweetness rivaled that of honey itself, intoxicating him with its mere flavor. An intensive and instantaneous thought crossed his mind as he continued to observe Lady Revna's dance.

The question of whether she would appreciate such sweetness as that of the wine troubled him. He immediately lowered his gaze, striving to redirect his attention to his empty plate. The mere idea of engaging in conversation with her was strictly forbidden, and his mind was torn between curiosity and respect for established norms.

A sigh, almost involuntary, escaped him, plunging him into reflections for a brief moment before deciding to take another sip of his drink.

Understanding of the situation only materialized when Sir Styles directed his gaze forward again, and the lady's reddish hair dissolved once more into the density of the crowd. It was then that he noticed the absence of an element on the table: the plum plate.

Plums were his favorite fruit. Just as they were for Lady Revna.

At that instant, Sir Styles was unaware that, as he crossed the ballroom aisle with his peers, attracting the gaze of the assembly, whether due to his revealing attire or his imposing demeanor, a young lady had also become captivated by his presence. However, unlike the other astonished spectators, this lady had the audacity to follow him as he advanced before the gathered crowd.

Lady Revna moved alongside, a few meters away from him, in the vicinity of the public, unnoticed by the knight himself, remaining inconspicuous despite her appearance, characterized by her hair and attire.

While he and his fellow warriors positioned themselves in front of the king to pay homage, Lady Revna inquired about him, receiving the concise response that he was "Sir Styles, one of the lord commanders of the royal army".

From that moment, the young princess dedicated herself to observing him throughout the evening, adopting an almost predatory attitude, similar to that of a hunter scrutinizing its prey. Every movement and gesture of Sir Styles fell under the watchful gaze of Lady Revna, although at a certain point, paradoxically, she herself experienced the sensation of being the prey, enveloped in the subtle dance of his movements and gestures.

The culmination of the dance occurred when the lady, to distract her thoughts, engaged in conversations with various Lords who approached her, some characterized by their courtesy, while others, influenced by excess libations, lacked verbal coordination. Despite the disparities, the lady usually enjoyed such encounters, whether due to the splendid feast, the accompanying dance, or the limited freedom that, ultimately, was allowed within the confines of the castle.

Minutes extended into the magnitude of hours as the imposing hall began to dissolve. Although a considerable number of guests still remained, their attention and thoughts were immersed elsewhere. Therefore, when she noticed Sir Styles beginning to withdraw from the room, she hesitated briefly before her own feet took the initiative and led her towards the outskirts of the grand hall.

Her heart beat with vigor as her mind insisted on recreating a single scenario, one in which she found herself in a skirmish in the small market of her town, and a gaze of a green and mischievous tone, similar to the liveliness of the forest itself, caught her.

There was a latent fear in her, the unease that Sir might have truly recognized her during the only unfortunate 'exchange' of words they had had earlier. However, such a perspective did not even cross her mind initially. The alteration of her attire and, even more significantly, the marked change in his demeanor compared to the encounter in the market, provided her with an unexpected anonymity. It was inconceivable that these were the same eyes that, on another occasion, had observed his intensely while she held a dagger beneath his chin.

This circumstance stood as her justification, whether she eventually recognized it or not. Her priority was to confirm that Sir had not identified her, and if he had, to take measures to ensure that her silence prevailed.

As she moved through the corridors, they seemed to lengthen, simultaneously acquiring an increasingly profound silence, a circumstance that did not bode well for her situation, as she was forced to hide more frequently than initially anticipated to avoid being heard or spotted by him. However, all these complications dissipated when she found herself alone in the corridor, with no signs of the knight she had followed at some point.

Her eyebrows took on a furrowed expression as her head turned in all directions to scrutinize every visible corner of the extensive hallway, whose familiarity she recognized precisely as it connected directly to her own quarters. In the middle of the soft carpet decorating the floor beneath her feet, she stopped, expressing her disappointment and almost frustration with a sigh. The unexpected disappearance of the knight, occurring in a matter of seconds, bewildered her, especially considering that the confirmation of his presence in the street market was fading away, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

She then decided to return to the hall from which she had chosen to withdraw, only to once again meet the penetrating and green gaze that sought her. There he was, standing in front of her in person, but this time, she lacked a hood to hide her identity and did not carry a dagger as a warning gesture.

"What is the reason for your pursuit?" Lady Revna's slightly parted lips sought air, which suddenly seemed scarce to her, and although she tried to disguise it immediately, the deep inhalation she took was undeniable to the knight standing in front of her. It was the first occasion on which the knight's voice materialized in her presence, even after having crossed paths a few times, coincidentally on the same day. Although she had formulated some assumptions, she had never managed to perceive the reality of the situation. His voice came as a hoarse murmur that enveloped her more intensely than the wine he had consumed throughout the evening. Lady Revna, hastily, responded, "On what basis do you think I am doing so?"

Sir's head tilted to one side, a look clearly incredulous towards her. Lady Revna then looked away, with an almost mischievous smile, a result of her bold response when she clearly knew the answer. However, any trace of a smile began to fade when Sir Styles took the initiative to approach, allowing his back to collide with one of the large walls supporting his property.

"My Lady, my intention is not to be impolite; I simply wait in the hope that you provide an answer to my question". The knight's words slid with a light grace, in a characteristic hoarse whisper that caused a momentary silence in the lady, before she decided to respond: "I refer to your previous words, spoken so comfortably in the midst of your tale with my sisters," she began her justification, maintaining a soft tone similar to that of the knight. "I do not give credence to it". She concluded firmly.

"You made it clear at that moment," he replied, showing no annoyance, but rather awaiting the lady's response.

"So, you don't intend to deny it?" she inquired, showing curiosity.

"Would there be a reason to do so?" he responded, formulating his counterquestion with the same calmness that characterized the exchange.

"Perhaps," the lady whispered finally. Lady Revna, guided more by her intuition than her reason, took an additional step, allowing the game of closeness to begin. She distanced herself slightly from the knight for a moment, leaning against the wall, then delicately circled around him and finally positioned herself behind Sir Styles, who watched her attentively. "Do I not cast doubt on your honor? I thought you stood beside the strongest warrior of the five realms".

"I am". He affirmed, turning his gaze back, watching as the lady's face approached even closer and then withdrew.

"Then, prove it," the lady replied, allowing her face to return to proximity with his, exacerbating the marked height difference between them and directing the knight's eyes directly into hers. "Is it true that you single-handedly defeated the great lion, or is it just another ruse?"

A smile slid across Sir Styles' lips, leaving the princess's expectant expression before he answered, "Not alone, certainly. It was with your army," he explained. Lady Revna watched him continuously, waiting for him to conclude his words: "Although I would be willing to do whatever is necessary to prove it to you if that is your desire".

Lady Revna experienced an inexplicable sensation on the tip of her tongue, an apparently appetizing yet unexplored taste, after hearing the knight's words.

She had always valued the inherent power of her title and was not ashamed to admit that, on various occasions, she had used her position conveniently. However, in this situation, she was intrigued by a different feeling, even surprised to feel a growing warmth in her body, unable to look away from Sir Styles. She was not willing to make a proposal directly; she appreciated the idea of maintaining intrigue and ambiguity. "The proposal is simple," she responded calmly. "Engage in a conversation with me, if you are capable".

Sir Styles was immersed in confusion, not precisely understanding the nature of the lady's words, and questioning whether it was some kind of ruse or trap.

In any case, the knight maintained only an unwavering certainty, that he had never before had the privilege of meeting a lady of such caliber. This conviction was supported by his extensive experience, having interacted with numerous women throughout his journeys on the sea and in distant lands. In those encounters, he had been fortunate to come across ladies of delicate beauty, others endowed with singular intelligence, from whom he had learned valuable lessons and adopted some customs for his own life. Some looked at him with admiration, while others expressed an evident desire and lust. However, none of these women could compare to the uniqueness embodied by Lady Revna.

No lady possessed those copper-toned curls, imbued with the strong character that characterizes a haughty princess. None exhibited so much confidence, manifested in a charming smile as she engaged in the dance with another knight, nor showed the audacity to express her thoughts so frankly, generating in him a desire to know more.

Lady Revna, on her part, awaited with anticipation. Like Sir Styles, she had never before encountered a knight with such characteristics, although, it should be noted, her encounters with men of this kind had been scarce.

Her life unfolded among the same guards and nobles, forming a closed circle around her. Even when she ventured to visit the village, the familiar faces of lifelong merchants remained her only reference, never encountering a knight of the stature of the one before her at that moment.

The knight in question exhibited a masculine face that, at the same time, revealed fineness in his features. His presence stood out with an imposing figure, broad shoulders, robust arms, hands marked by prominent veins, and even visibly silky hair through the braids. A set of attributes that gave a unique and captivating presence to the eyes of the world, and now, were only for her.

In this way, Lady Revna provided Sir Styles with a more secure environment to carry out such a conversation, and that place turned out to be, significantly, the closest available space at that moment, namely, her quarters.

The journey down the hallway became smaller as both advanced in parallel, now side by side, allowed by the lady with a subtle gesture directed at the knight. Noticeably absent on the way was the presence of any Lord, and, for some reason, no lady-in-waiting was in sight either. The imposing wooden door, adorned with what seemed to be golden details, stood before them, and with a delicate push, Lady Revna facilitated entry for Sir after she herself entered the room.

The quarters were characterized by the predominance of warm and golden tones, imbuing the atmosphere with the pleasant scent of jasmines and roses dispersed in the surroundings. The room was adorned with some large pieces of furniture, elegantly displaying their presence. Lighting was mainly obtained through strategically placed candles, constituting the only source of illumination, apart from the windows that allowed the filtering of the scarce night light provided by the moon.

The feeling of contentment that enveloped Sir Styles in that environment surpassed any previous experience, endowing the atmosphere with a particularly pleasant resonance.

And that delight reached its zenith when Lady Revna directed her gaze towards him.

He was in a state of palpable anxiety, sensing the accelerated beat of his heart as his mind faced internal challenges. He walked a thin line, equidistant between what was ethically correct and immoral, tempted by the forbidden personified in an ethereal countenance and a blue gaze that acquired a darker hue as it approached him.

Despite his nature being less prone to pleading, he was willing to do so in order to have her in proximity, to experience her closeness and touch. His hands experienced a persistent tingling, and he was forced to clench them into fists to restrain himself from any impulsive act. A feeling of warmth ran through his body, intensifying to a painful point, longing to be released from this incessant tension.

Nevertheless, Lady Revna had proposed only a conversation, and that was the only allowed ground for him, despite the impulses urging him to go further.

However, his desires seemed to play an untimely hand as the minutes passed. In that interval, Lady Revna's figure took shape on one of the small armchairs, and her dress lifted in a nearly inappropriate manner, forcing him to avert his gaze and suppress a gesture that partially closed his lower lip between his teeth. Initially, he chose silence, allowing the lady's words to resonate in the air, accompanied by her distinctive floral scent.

For a moment, Sir Styles struggled with momentary doubt, questioning if all of this was nothing more than a product of his imagination, a side effect of the wine that was beginning to take its toll on his perception. However, Lady Revna, with her characteristic grace, brought him back to reality with a subtle touch, dispelling any ambiguity that might have lingered in his mind.

Sir's eyes opened with a slight surprise, finally realizing the proximity of the lady in front of him. Immediately, he wondered at what moment she had come so close, as her presence left him momentarily speechless, and the expressions forming in his mind did not seem suitable to be spoken aloud.

His breathing began to show signs of irregularity, forced to allow his lip to free itself and his mouth to slightly part, attempting to deal with the sensations that the unexpected closeness provoked in him.

"Allow me to inquire, Sir Styles, do you possess the real capacity to fulfill your word?" the lady whispered, her words delicately brushing his ear, granting him a moment to regain composure before responding: "Mostly, yes".

"Mostly?" she questioned with a light laugh. Lady Revna turned her gaze ahead, letting her blue eyes settle on the green forest that stretched beyond the knight, watching him with an evident challenge, waiting for him to say what they both knew. And that was precisely what he did.

"I have recently discovered that it is not always the case".

With these words, the proximity between them finally ended, and Sir Styles' lips met Lady Revna's in a fleeting moment. Neither the knight nor the lady managed to confirm who initiated that first move, but when the body of the red-haired woman reclined on Sir Styles' lap, his self-control was finally released. The touch of the knight allowed his hands, freed from the chains that had held them cruelly, to rest on the lady's body.

The intensity that both bodies shared at a certain moment seemed to converge at that instant, causing the clothing to lose its relevance. Sir Styles' hands were positioned directly on Lady Revna's back, delving into her rebellious curls and sliding unrestricted between the strings of the corset.

Kisses imbued with pleasure were indelibly marked on the woman's neck, causing her lips to part in search of air. The constriction of her attire heightened the feeling of confinement, and a gasp escaped her when she felt her body lifted in the air, fitting even more closely to the knight's body, who held her firmly with one hand, while the other continued carefully untying the laces of her corset.

Finally, her back rested on the soft surface of the bed, covered by the elegant fabrics of the canopy, intensifying the focus of the intimate encounter and the warm air enveloping their bodies. Moans and sighs began to resonate, manifesting the growing fervor of the moment. Although Lady Revna tried discreetly to preserve some caution, the man on top of her was not exactly contributing to maintaining serenity.

Sir Styles' bare torso stood before her, his warrior attire lying on the floor for a few minutes, allowing the lady's hands to explore unrestrictedly, ascending and descending on his biceps. In her explorations, she occasionally stopped in lower areas, observing the reactions on the knight's face. Sir Styles' forehead, already covered by a fine layer of sweat, enhanced his beauty and accentuated his features in the dimness of the night.

Simultaneously, as a playful expression began to appear on the lady's face, her corset finally yielded, revealing a fine fabric that almost immediately disappeared, exposing her bare breasts for the knight's delight. Sir Styles did not grant her the necessary time to react, as his lips went directly to one of her nipples, causing a more intense gasp than usual that hung in the air.

Lady Revna's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling of the chamber, and despite her attempts to keep it there, it closed easily due to the pleasurable contact her body was experiencing. Not satisfied with limiting himself to that, Sir Styles' fingers materialized on the nipple that remained free of saliva, exerting occasional pressure that left her breathless. Although it was certainly bearable pain, she finally reflected on facing wounds caused by daggers, coming to the conclusion that this nipple squeeze was at least something she had no reason to complain about.

Sir Styles' skillful free hand did not remain idle, skillfully sliding from the waist to the prominent hips of the woman, finally reaching a sensitive region where his movement provoked an involuntary reaction, and increased pressure became evident. Sir Styles' hoarse laughter echoed in the air, barely contained by his chest, while she looked down, mentally evoking the image of his sinful eyes and saliva-dampened lips.

A sigh escaped the lady, watching as the knight's body descended gradually, exposing his bare chest and extending his attention to the lower part, initiating the process of sliding the fabric of the dress that still covered her forms and culminating in the removal of her underwear.

Finally, Lady Revna lay stripped of garments on the imposing bed of her quarters, lying beneath the figure of a man who gazed down at her with an eager look, as if he had been deprived of savoring a morsel throughout his existence, expressing an insatiable hunger for her essence and a craving for more.

Lady Revna's head tilted back accompanied by an unexpected moan when she again experienced the dexterity of Sir Styles' tongue, directed this time towards the region that claimed more attention. Her clitoris, the object of stimulation, began to awaken sensations that, despite having been pleased on various occasions over the years, bore no resemblance to any previous experience, highlighting the skillful moisture generated by the knight's tongue.

Lady Revna's hands gripped the sheets, while her hips were stirred repeatedly, as if they had a life of their own, seeking to intensify the fusion with the man's eager tongue. Meanwhile, Sir Styles' hands remained firmly placed on her hips, either attempting to smooth the movements or enhance them, however, for both, the experience proved to be extremely satisfying.

When Sir Styles finally withdrew, realizing that Lady Revna's body was adopting more uninhibited movements, he fully confirmed his theory. Lady Revna indeed possessed a sweetness comparable, if not superior, to that of wine.

An almost exuberant smile manifested on the knight's face, observing her at his feet, filled with anticipation, panting from the effort as she looked at him with eyes half-closed, still corresponding with her own smile.

Sir Styles experienced a noticeable increase in the intensity of discomfort in his sensitive area, a sensation that manifested uncomfortably through the pressure against his clothing. At that moment, he did not hesitate to dispense with the last reserves of decency he held, allowing his member to finally rest on his pelvis, while the discomfort transformed into a more constant pulsation.

Holding his member in his hand, he made slight pumping movements as he approached a region that was already sufficiently stimulated for him. Before proceeding with any further action, he directed his gaze towards the lady accompanying him, observing her intently once again.

"Are you sure about this?" he questioned at that moment, approaching abruptly. He experienced sudden regret for not addressing this conversation earlier and for waiting until their garments had faded away on the room's floor. Lady Revna took Sir Styles' face between her hands, allowing the softness of her skin to become evident through delicate gestures, causing Sir's eyelids to close in response.

The lady's hands descended gradually, while the knight's gaze remained shadowed. Her touch acquired increasing delicacy until reaching the region he craved, causing a groan to materialize in response to the lady's subtle caresses on his cock. The action he once performed himself was now being executed by smaller but equally gratifying hands, holding his member firmly and stroking its tip with her thumb. The knight's body gradually descended, adopting an inverted position, with Lady Revna now on top of him, allowing herself to be guided by her skilled hands.

Curiosity prompted her hands to transition from a slow to a faster movement in a matter of seconds, intensifying the knight's anticipation, who was eager for more. It wasn't until he felt Lady Revna's warm breath on his cock that his lips parted more firmly in search of air.

Lady Revna chose to venture, letting herself be guided by the satisfaction sounds emitted by the Sir that resonated beneath her. At times, she looked up to contemplate the knight lying on the bed, with his eyes still closed and lips slightly parted.

Her tongue made an effort to traverse the entire length of Sir's member, while she struggled to contain her breath to encompass it completely with her mouth. Intermittently, she leaned on her hand to ensure complete coverage. Finally, when she perceived the pace accelerating, she decided to ascend again towards him, repositioning her face against his.

"I've never been more sure in my life". She responded with conviction, causing the green hue to return and a darkening to intensify in the surrounding forest.

"You must know how long I have awaited this moment," he expressed with a whisper that filled the nearby space, leaning over her once again, holding his member between his hands and settling between the lady's extended legs. "Since your pretty face manifested in my mind, I haven't ceased to contemplate you".

"Is that the same speech you deliver to everyone?" she inquired with a mocking tone, although her voice carried a bittersweet undertone. She could no longer conceive the idea of sharing it with anyone else. Her desire focused exclusively on having him for herself.

"No woman comes even remotely close to your presence". Sir Styles' expressions remained anchored in her mind, gradually enveloping her with his words as she felt them penetrate her being. In this moment, Lady Revna, once again, tightly gripped the sheets, focusing her attention solely on the intense gaze of the knight on her.

"I would mutilate my hands to never touch another". He declared, causing an involuntary groan from Lady Revna's lips with the first thrust. "I would pluck out my eyes to never look at another". He continued with another thrust. "I would cut off my tongue to never taste anyone else". He added, this time accompanied by a soft scream that she tried to stifle by biting her lower lip. "Because no woman would come even remotely close to your level". He concluded, amid shared moans, permeating the atmosphere with encouraging words that further fueled the fantasy and ego of a princess who, at that moment, felt no shame in considering herself selfish. "Neither in your taste, nor in your touch, nor in your scent".

Lady Revna experienced with greater intensity the thrusts, feeling her body move in a predetermined rhythm. Her hands left the sheets to focus exclusively on the knight's back, scratching it fervently and desiring to see the marks they would leave the next day. Her legs exerted pressure against his hips, contributing to making the movement more fluid.

"Tell me how you feel," she heard the growl of a hoarse voice in her ear, and just that gesture caused another moan to escape her lips.

"Blessed gods," she responded with effort, chanting the prayers she had heard throughout her life, expressing gratitude for the mercy that had been promised to her at some point and that she now experienced materialized in one man. "It feels so good".

"Oh yeah?" she heard a gasp from him, while his pace progressively accelerated. "How good?" he reiterated his inquisitive question with surprising eloquence, contrasting with Lady Revna's struggle to articulate words. "Tell me, my princess, talk to me".

Finally, she replied, "So good. Too good. Holy shit". Lady Revna's lips were bitten once again, while she experienced the intensity of movements deepening into her being, merging with her fluids, allowing Sir Styles' cock to pass smoothly. "Keep it up, Harry, please," she pleaded. His name acted as a stimulus that increased the acceleration of the movements. While she didn't exactly remember when she had revealed his name, Sir Styles internally thanked that her lips had finally pronounced that acknowledgment, and the sweetness of her tone gave a more intimate dimension to the shared moment.

However, Sir Styles perceived how the tight walls of Lady Revna's vagina contracted around his cock, recognizing that it was only a matter of minutes or even seconds for all that tension to burst. Knowing Lady Revna's playful nature, he did not hesitate to say, "It's 'sir' for you". While holding the woman's hips more firmly, watching her closely.

For her part, Lady Revna showed no surprise; rather, she experienced a notable excitement, which she confirmed by dropping her head on the mattress, while her grip on the man intensified. Her body experienced shivers, even slight tremors, while her breathing became increasingly irregular, struggling to maintain firm control.

"Y- yes sir," she pronounced a nod with difficulty, and it was at that moment when an expressive scream, immediately muffled by Sir Styles' lips, echoed in the room they shared.

The release manifested in both parties, with Lady Revna's walls being the main recipient, impregnated with both her own fluids and those of the knight, as both let themselves be carried into the abyss of climax, experiencing the peak of pleasure they had never known before.

They remained in the same position for an indeterminate period, with Sir Styles on top of Lady Revna, practically enveloping her with his presence, while both struggled to stabilize their breaths. The knight, taking the initiative, rose first, showing indifference to the possible stain on his shirt, and proceeded to address the task of cleaning the lower area of Lady Revna, where their fluids had begun to saturate the bed linen. With skill and tact, he moved the lady gently, allowing the fabric to slide between her legs, restoring order after the small incident they had caused.

Upon completing this task, Sir Styles observed that the woman's body now rested on the bed, making space for him, while a lazy smile appeared on Lady Revna's lips.

However, before lying down on the bed beside her, he proceeded to clean himself. He diverted his gaze downwards as he scrutinized for any sign of residual fluids, at which point the luminescence of the sword caught his attention on the expanse of the chamber's carpet, dazzling with its exquisite elegance and hue.

His attention immediately shifted between the lady with red hair and the sword in a kind of bewilderment until, even through a drowsy gaze, he managed to confirm the connection between both elements.

No verbal expressions were necessary for Lady Revna to understand the shared sentiment, and Sir Styles saw no need to articulate it, as both were already aware. He took a moment to reflect on his emotions, once again experiencing the deafening intoxication and numbing curiosity, both originating from the same person. In an instant, he blamed himself for his lack of insight, as it was as clear as the ocean in the lady's eyes and in the tousled curls falling over her face. However, it was imperative to acknowledge that perhaps he would have never discovered the depth of those feelings if he hadn't witnessed the display of the sword on the floor.

Nevertheless, such considerations became secondary upon waking up with the sensation of a body embracing him, and the gentle scent of flowers filling his nostrils. The magical night became ingrained in his memory, promising to be relived every night, eclipsing any other eventual assumption.

Thus passed a night in the splendor of a medieval castle, alongside the lady who represented the incarnation of his idealized princess.

[ask-fazbearnfriends]

Freddy: They're alright....I can't say I've met a "Phantom Freddy" before, I feel like I'm still missing someone though.... Rockstar Freddy: pLEase DepOSITE fIVe cOins Freddy: Oh, right. - Totally not Bonnie cardboard cutout: ..................

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Five

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, World on Fire spoilers, two idiots not communicating? What’s new?

Word Count: 4.2K

Note: Thank you for the support on the last chapter, it’s been a tough time here and the comments and messages have really cheered me up! Little bit of TV show dialogue in here, but I think the scene with Douglas in the kitchen is an important moment for Tom.

September 1939

Somewhere in the night, a fox screeched. Summer was slowly fading to autumn, and every now and again, Tom Bennett took his hands off the cold metal to warm them with his breath. His back was growing stiff against the cold ground, but he was almost finished. Just a few more nuts and bolts. The fox screeched again. At the start of the night Tom had paused every time it sounded, now it was merely accompaniment to his, what had he told Bess? His “enterprising”.

A shaft of yellow light illuminated the gravel by Tom’s head, and he tucked his legs beneath the car. Someone somewhere had turned on a light. Fingers working faster, Tom at last pulled the pipe free and, shuffling on his back, made his way out from beneath the car. Rows upon rows of them stretched ahead of him. Perhaps just a few more. He looked to the source of the light and ducked. The owner of the scrapyard was drawing his bedroom curtains. Light distinguished, Tom found a smaller motor and made quick work removing the mirrors and bumpers.

“OI!” The white light of a torch shone in his face, and he could just make out the round figure behind it. Tom dodged the light and grabbed his bag of loot, feet kicking up gravel as he sprinted to get away. There’s no way that old bastard can keep up with me. He threw the sack of metal over the high fence and before launching himself at it, hauling his weight over the other side and sprinting down the street with his bag of swag. By the time the scrapyard owner had unbolted the gate, he was out of sight.

Ten minutes later, Tom came to a halt at the end of the ginnel connecting his street to the Off Licence opposite. Inside, he could see the shopkeeper wiping down the windows for the night. Resting the stolen bumpers and bag of scrap against the ginnel wall, Tom opened the offy door.

“Still open?”

“If you’re quick, Tom.”

“Packet of Marlboro please.” As the old man turned around, Tom slipped a bar of Cadburys from the counter into his jacket pocket.

“Sixpence.” Tom slid over the coin and left without a word. He went home the back way, best to avoid Douglas and Lois when carting around a bag of stolen goods. Depositing it under the old dust sheet, Tom silently entered the house. The lights were off. Shutting the door, he moved through the kitchen and towards the front of the house, where he exited onto the street. The Vaughns’ lights were off too. Tom glanced at his watch. 11pm. He had hoped to catch Bess before bed. Autumn might have been on its way, but as Tom glanced up, he saw that the Vaughn girls clearly thought it too warm to shut their bedroom window.

He scrabbled up the drainpipe and pushed the window sash further open before pulling himself inside. Not a one of the girls stirred. Cora, hair in a bonnet, had her back to him. The blanket she slept with had uncovered her feet, and as Tom tiptoed across the room, he tucked them in again. Dot was snoring gently, her mouth open a little and he couldn’t help but smile. She was as worry free in sleep as she was in life. Beside her in the bed they shared, Bess was curled into a ball, one hand beneath her head and the other lolling out of the bed. Unlike her sisters, Bess’ hair was loose and knotted across her pillow. She was so still, Tom watched a moment to see if she was breathing. The blanket rose and fell just a little. Edging forward, Tom reached into his jacket pocket and produced the bar of Cadburys. He placed it on Bess’ bedside table, next to her books. The girls would be cold by dawn so, as he left once more down the drainpipe, he closed the window.

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“Dot!”

Next morning, Bess stood by the stove over the eggs and bacon, occasionally popping a square of chocolate from her apron into her mouth. Albie sat at the kitchen table, darning a pair of socks as Fergal sat in his armchair by the wireless. Cora shouted up the stairs again.

“Dot! Come and help!” There was no reply. Cora huffed and returned to Bess’ side. “She’s going to get a rude awakening when she turns eighteen. If she wants to be treated like an adult, she’ll have to put her shift in. We can’t afford this laziness.” Bess hummed in agreement and flipped the eggs as Cora set the table. She was right, of course. With five adults in the house, money was tight even with each of them working. They couldn’t afford for Dot not to pull her weight around the house.

“Hush your clattering,” Fergal waved his hand at Cora, who had begun placing cutlery at the table.

“Dadda!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“Make your own sodding breakfast,” Bess muttered under her breath.

“Ssh!” Albie joined in as their father moved to turn up the wireless. The crackling voice of Neville Chamberlain filled the kitchen.

“I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.”

Bess turned from the stove. Fergal was wringing his hands and Albie had placed his worn socks on the table. Cora’s eyes were filling with shocked tears.

“I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed…”

Cora placed a hand atop Albie’s shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, Bess silently plated up the eggs and bacon. How silly, eating seemed now. She stared at the plates of food, placed the pan in the sink and removed her apron. Not one of them moved.

“…And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage.” Fergal switched the wireless off and silence reigned. Beyond the window, Bess watched a few people scurry up and down the street, surely visiting friends to check that what they heard was true.

“Police!” Dot came crashing down the stairs. “The police are back!” The three sisters ran to the window and, when the police entered the Bennett home, Dot and Bess rushed into the street. Fergal and Albie still did not move. Bess worried at the skin of her thumb. She had always known this day would come. Beside her, Dot was jumping on the balls of her feet, hands clasped under her chin, a look akin to excitement in her eyes.

“Dot!” Bess snapped. “It doesn’t do to enjoy other people’s misfortune, especially not our friends.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Hush.” Dot’s face fell in shame, and Bess knew she was trying not to cry. Cora and Bess had had much more responsibility at seventeen than Dot had. Yes, she was young but my God she could be naïve.

It wasn’t long before the Bennett’s front door opened again, and Tom exited in handcuffs flanked either side by a policeman. His steps were heavy, wanting to make it harder for them, and a pleased look was plastered across his face. Lois and Douglas were not far behind and lingered in the doorway.  

“Tom!” Dot shouted, now upset. His head snapped up to the girls across the street and his face fell. For the first time in his life, he saw Bess Vaughn look scared. Her eyebrows were knitted together, eyes wide with worry, usually plush lips a line of concern. Tom barely had time to take her in before a hand on his head forced him into the police car. Fergal pushed his way past his daughters and steered Douglas back into his home. Cora followed and scooped Lois into a hug. Bess watched the police car round the corner, staring at the back of Tom’s head, before retreating into the house. She picked up two plates of untouched bacon and eggs. Albie was still sat at the table, staring into nothingness. Dot ran upstairs, trying to hide her sobs.

When Bess entered the Bennett home, she found Douglas and her father at the kitchen table, Cora helping Lois fold some washing. She placed the food on the table.

“Oh,” Douglas looked up at Bess. “Thanks, love.” She went to stand with her sister. Lois took her hand in thanks.

“I was just telling Cora,” Lois began. “Theft and assault. That’s what they got him for.”

“Assault?”

“That bloke at the dance.”

“But that was weeks ago-”

Lois nodded. “I think they wanted to build up a few charges. That way he couldn’t wriggle out the way he always does. They’ve taken him into Manchester central.” At the kitchen table, Fergal and Douglas talked in worried whispers, and Bess knew that while each was worried for their sons, memories of thirty years passed were flooding their minds.

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The world turned upside down, and Bess knew it would take a long time to right itself. Cora and Dot were given a week off from the factory while it was converted for munitions production. War work begins at home, and soon Bess’ sisters would be making bullet casings. Fergal kept working down the dockyard, transporting goods from the factories to navy auxiliaries. As for Bess, fewer clients called and already the haberdasher’s supply of fabric was dwindling. Bored, determined and anxiously awaiting news of Tom, she took a job at the old cotton mill, making uniforms for the influx of the British Army’s new recruits. One such recruit, was Albert Vaughn.

Not two days after Tom’s arrest, Albie took the tram into the city centre. The girls had settled down for dinner when he returned home that night with a set of leaflets, his sign-up papers and a proud aspect to his gait. Fergal, who had barely eaten since the outbreak of war, looked up from his armchair by the fire. Each child watched him. From his dear girls’ faces, his eyes wandered to Albie who stood hesitantly at the table. His only son.

“Dadda?” Albie whispered.

“Just let me take you all in.” Cora smiled sadly at this, and Bess reached for her father’s hand. Dot held back a sob. “Who knows when we five will be together like this again?” They were silent a while, then Fergal stood. He kissed Bess’ hand and let it go, moving round the table to stand in front his son. He stretched out a hand. Albie looked at it and then back to the face of his father. They shook hands and when Albie let go, Fergal wrapped his arms around him. Dot started to sniffle, and Cora cuddled her close. Albie kissed the top of his father’s greying head. “I’ll be alright, dadda.”

A week later, and two since the arrest, Fergal came home with the news that Tom Bennett was to be released from prison.

“What did they charge him with, dadda?” Cora asked as she took his coat.

“I don’t know, passed Douglas and Lois on their way to pick him up.” Bess, knees tucked in the armchair, listened. When they said no more, she spoke softly.

“Have you got plans for this evening, Cora?”

Her sister jumped. “God, Bess, I thought you were sleeping! Well, Lois is singing later so Dot and I thought we’d go down. I would have asked but you said you were tired from the shift.”

Bess nodded. “Dadda, what about you?”

“Going for a drink down The Crown with Douglas and Albie. Don’t know if Tom’s coming, I imagine they’ve got him under house arrest.”

“The police?” chimed in Dot.

“Nah, Lois and Douglas.” Fergal chortled. Bess nodded once more and curled up in the seat, face turned towards the heat emanating from the hearth. She’d wait until they’d all left and sneak over to the Bennett’s. Two weeks remand was a long time for a petty crime, and she was desperate to know why they had let him saunter back to Longsight.

By the time Cora and Dot had left for the dancehall it was 9 o’clock, the men long gone to the pub. Dot had wanted Bess to lower the neckline of her dress and heighten the hem. Cora and Bess bargained with her for just the hem. Bess waited a little while before she hurried across the street and thank goodness she did. Now sooner was she putting on her brogues than was Dot racing through the door having forgotten her lipstick. Bess watched her chase after Cora, who was rounding the street corner, before closing the front door and making her way to the Bennett’s. Just as she stepped onto the pavement, the door opened.

“Hello,” Tom grinned at her.

“Hi,” Bess stared at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance at the door. She recovered herself. “You off out?”

He shrugged. “Was gonna see where the night took me.” He stepped back into the house and held the door open for her. What Bess didn’t know was the night had been taking him straight to her doorstep. She brushed past him and took a seat in the rocking chair by the fire, one trousered leg braced against the fire grate. “Very ladylike,” Tom pulled up a chair from the table. Bess smiled sadly, not looking at him. The quiet of the kitchen was amiable, and nothing out of the ordinary between she and Tom. How many nights had they spent in each other’s company without saying a word? Hundreds, surely. But Bess’ unasked question blocked the air around her and she felt as though speaking it would be like trying to shout through tar. The rustle of paper caused her to look up.

Tom held up a pamphlet. Pacifist Handbook. Bess raised her eyebrows. “What? You’ve worked out how to read?” Tom smacked her teasingly with the pamphlet.

“No,” his Mancunian accent always sounded so strong when he said it, and Bess laughed. “They said I could avoid prison if I signed up.”

Bess glanced at the pamphlet and her cheeks began to burn, though with fear, anger or disappointment she didn’t know. “So you said told them join up.” Tom nodded.

“I’ve got no intention of getting shot at,” he waved the pamphlet again. “I’m joining the conchie club.” Tom leant back in his seat and placed his feet on the table, a self-satisfied smile crossing his face.

“Oh, Tom-” he could hear the disappointment in her voice so he stopped her.

“Do you want me to go to war?”

“No, of course I don’t!” Bess leant across the table, arm reaching out but not quite touching him. “But surely the police won’t believe you? Someone getting arrested for assault suddenly becoming a pacifist?”

Tom shook his head and looked anywhere but at Bess. He propped a cigarette between his lips, and Bess knew the discussion was finished. Chin pushed forward and shoulders tensed, he became surlier by the minute. Desperate to talk to him, she told him about the factory, Albie signing up, her new job at the British Battledress, and how their fathers had been spending more time together, at the pub or chatting late into the evening. At this, Tom sombred.

“I wish mum was here,” he said.

“Me too.” Bess gripped his hand now, though neither spoke. The front door clicked. Lois. “I’ll go out the back.” She squeezed his hand. This time, Bess was the first to let go. Tom watched her dash through the yard and out the back gate before fumbling for the pamphlet and pretending to look as though he was reading.

“That your pacifist face?” Lois said, entering the kitchen and hanging up her coat. “Might have to try a bit harder.”

“You too if that’s your happy face.” Tom said. He turned back to the pamphlet. “I’ve got a shirt ‘needs ironing, if you need to take your mind off Harry and that.” Lois sighed and, taking her dress in hand, stormed up the stairs.

“Oh come on, Lois, I was joking-” Their bedroom door slammed. Tom sighed and threw the pamphlet on the table. Out of jail all of five minutes and already winding people up, nice one Tom.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Tom kept a low profile over the next few days. The Bennetts were the talk of the street and, while a little gossip added nicely to the upkeep of his reputation, Tom decided it was time to give his family a break. On the fifth day of his release, he walked into central; he’d done enough reading of his dad’s peace papers, it was time to come good on his word. Ambling lazily down the steps of the town hall, Tom joined the shorter of the lines and tapped the man in front of him on the shoulder.

“’Scuse me, mate. Is this the conchie queue?” The man looked around nervously, as did his fellows before him. Tom smiled and patted his shoulder patronisingly. “Alright, mucker, stop shaking. I’m on your side.”

“Coward’s side more like.” A tall man shouted from the other side of the hall. Tom looked at him slowly and sucked in his cheeks. He strolled towards the enlister.

“I’ll fight mate, I just won’t fight for this shit. So, if you do want some, bring your dinner and let’s get to it.” Each man turned to face Tom. Some sized him up. Some looked shocked. Some pacifist, they thought. Others were wary.

“Please, this is hard enough as it is.”

“Yeah, not for me it isn’t.”

He didn’t know why he did it. To spite his father, to get away from Manchester, to finally be somebody? To prove to this dickhead he wasn’t a coward? Whatever the reason, when he arrived home that evening with the news he was going to sea, Douglas stared at him in flabbergasted disbelief before launching into a tirade.

“The navy? The bloody navy?” He knew his dad wouldn’t like it, but he hadn’t expected this. “Can’t even steer a pedalo.” Douglas scoffed.

“Well at least it’s not the army, eh? And I’m not going to prison so,” Tom shrugged as though this answered everything.

“I must be stupid. I thought you’d actually become a pacifist. Really believed in it.”

Once more, Tom had invoked disappointment in someone he loved. “Yeah I don’t really believe in anything full on dad.” He hissed quickly. “And at least I’m fighting on the right side, at least gimme that!”

“Everybody thinks that! Every war they fight-!”

“Yeah, well this one’s different-”

“Every war’s different! Until it’s the same!” They were shouting at each other now. “Lois. Talk some sense into him, will ya?” There was a pause while Tom waited for Lois to chastise him.

“Can’t do that dad,” Tom turned in his chair to watch her. She looked at him briefly before continuing. “I think he’s right to join up. At least he’s getting out in the world,”

“Yeah, to get shot or blown up.” I’ve had enough of this. “Or do the same to other lads no older than him who have no idea why they’re fighting either!” Douglas bellowed after Tom as he stood from the chair without a word, grabbed his jacket and slammed the yard door. Thank God for Lois. She could see. No more wandering for Tom Bennett. He was going to see the world, fight for his country and make them proud. As he turned into the street, he bumped into a squat figure.

“Sorry, Fergal.” He grabbed the man by the shoulders to prevent him from falling over.

“S’right, lad.” He didn’t look into Tom’s face. Rather, stared at a point just below his chin with a glazed expression and stumbled away. Tom watched him go. Shit. He pulled his keys from his pocket and wandered up the street. The gentlest chimes of piano began to sound, a foxtrot he thought. Smiling to himself, Tom approached the Vaughn house and looked through the window. Bess was sat at the piano, though he could tell even in the dim light that her heart wasn’t in playing tonight. He put his key in the door. It was unlocked. She stopped playing when he entered.

“Bess?” He whispered. She span on her piano stool to face him. She wasn’t crying, though from the redness of her eyes and flush of her cheeks, he knew she had been.

“You saw Dadda then?”

“Walked straight into him.”

Bess stood to pour Tom a cup of tea from the pot on the table. She was dressed for bed, nightdress reaching her calves, a thin dressing gown thrown haphazardly over the top. Thick woollen socks were bunching at her ankles, making her look like a child. Just like when he’d snuck in to leave her the chocolate, her hair was unpinned and tumbling in frizzy strands down her back.

“He’s frightened,” she said, passing Tom the cup. “The nightmares have started up again. He’s barely eating! And the worst thing is, he’s terrified of losing Albie. Uncle Colm died in the first war, mam only a few years ago. I think he’ll break if he loses someone else.” A breath shuddered from her chest and she gathered herself and tried to smile. “Well. At least your dad won’t have to worry about losing you, hey?” Bess sipped her own tea and looked brightly at Tom. His cup remained held in his hand as he looked at her. “Tom?”

“I joined up today,” he whispered. The cup almost fell from Bess’ hands.

“I don’t understa-”

“Joined the navy. Come on Bess, you know me. I can’t sit around and watch everyone else have all the fun and glory,” he tried to joke but it fell flat in the quiet of the kitchen.

“When do you go?”

“Off to Liverpool in a few days to start basic training.” Bess nodded at him and her bottom lip quivered. Tom wanted to go to her. To say he’d stay, but before he had the chance to move, Bess placed her cup on the table and came to stand in front of him. Her arms found their way around his shoulders and held him tight. One hand rubbed his hair and the action made Tom’s hands fly to her waist and pull her closer. She smelt of fresh laundry and vanilla. Face buried in her hair, Tom suddenly became aware of how little Bess was wearing. His hands were lingering just above the curve of her bottom, and he could feel her breasts through the thin fabric. He’d be dead before he put on his uniform if Fergal staggered through the door. He pulled away from her a little but she held onto his shoulders, studying his face. In the dark light, she could see the flush of his cheeks and the worry in his blue eyes.

“This could be the making of you, Tom Bennett.”

He swallowed but couldn’t speak. For the first time, he was speechless.

“Can you do something for me, Tom?” He’d do anything for Bess. “Will you get a picture taken?”

He coughed awkwardly. “You what?” It was Bess’ turn to blush but her serious gaze had returned.

“Will you get a picture taken? Albie’s had one done for us, and I-I-” she huffed in annoyance. “I’d like one of you.”

“Ok.”

They stared at each other in the darkness, and when Bess took his hand and kissed it, she meant to.  

Note: For those outside the UK, a ginnel is a small alleyway, normally behind a row of terraced houses. It’s a word used a lot in the north of England, growing up my mum used it a lot.  Mucker, too, is a northern word that means ‘mate’. Off Licences (offy) are liquor stores.

My paternal grandmother worked in a makeup factory before the war. The women that worked there were known locally as the powder puff girls 😊 When war broke out, it became a munitions factory, which is the inspiration behind that part of the story! Here she is!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @sophielangdonx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa

[gyozumaki]

Why the fuck did youtooz post that video on Springtrap, I did not need to see peepaw throw it back with his springcheeks. Anyway

Can I beat up a bear?

As a 5'7" twink, limited processing unit, and way too much knowledge on shit that doesn't matter, y'all know the drill.

EXCLUSIONS - Help Wanted 1+2, UCN, AR, FNAF World, books/comics, Dreadbear, The Blob (FUCK THE BLOB, FUCK BURNTRAP, FUCK THE AFTON ENDING IN SECURITY BREACH) alr let's go

Starting off, we have Phantom and Shadow Freddy. Both technically do things but not much. If I don't look, what are they gonna do? They're goobers in my peripheral, I'm going to forget they exist in about three seconds.

Classic Fredbear. Like Springbonnie, there is a non-zero chance of getting hurt that is extremely low. He's a hefty guy with a nice bite, yet he really can't do much. Not a problem.

Everyone's new dad, Glamrock Freddy is next. He CAN kill you, however the chance is low (in theory at least, we all know how broken the game is) He's a cool fazfriend, I like him. I don't trust the stomach capsule though, I've seen what suspicious animatronic stomach hatches can do.

Return of one of the most forgettable animatronic lines, Rockstar Freddy. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please de

We have our first trio lumping! Original, Withered, and Ignited Golden Freddy, all essentially the same. I'm not messing with Cassidy, hell no. Disregarding that, Golden Freddy is kinda just there. Not too much of a hassle if you don't panic.

Nightmare Freddy, father of three, pretty easy to deal with if you have a flashlight. Arguably the easiest Nightmare to deal with. I'm taking the Freddles for myself, they're adorable. N. Freddy should be scared of me.

Withered Freddy, the face of FNAF merch despite being almost nobody's favorite. He's oddly uncanny but easy to deal with. Honestly, he seems chill to be around. Though there's definitely a chance he'd catch me off guard. Not difficult but not the easiest.

Toy Freddy has finally regained meme status love thanks to CaseOh. He doesn't seem to be particularly aggressive but I'm not going to provoke him. Not much else to say, really.

Uuggghhh these lists have made me think about Security Breach and Ruin more than I want. Ruined Glamrock Freddy is a pretty creepy concept and I would avoid him at all costs. This is where we make the large leap between "yeah, shouldn't be difficult" to "yeah, I'm fucked seven ways to Sunday" with this guy being unique. An old friend becoming an enemy is gnarly in games, the first thing coming to mind is Akira Nishikiyama from Yakuza. Avoid at all costs, pray and run.

Another TJOC entry, we have Ignited Freddy. Easy to deal with if you know what to do but if you're stuck in a room with him, might as well get a quick prayer out. He's extremely quick, prominent, and bites??? Fuck that. He's no Ignited Bonnie but I'm still keeping my distance.

Molten Freddy and Creation are two mangled messes that I'm staying FAR away from. They are merciless beasts that won't stop to get what they want. What do I even aim for?? The body? That's either a wired mess or endoskeleton spine. Absolutely not.

Har har harhar har harhar har har fedd. Original Freddy is an absolute beast to deal with in the game. He's a sneaky bastard and difficult to track. Have you seen those eyebrows? He's one angry dude. How can I fight against that? And it gets worse from here!

Who doesn't love Funtime Freddy? I know I love his charisma. But I'm also terrified of charismatic individuals. And faceplates. Him and Bon Bon tag-teaming is a match made in hell. I lose. How can I win here unless I have a magic cattle prod or something?? IT STILL GETS WORSE????

Ohhhh boy. This is the highest I've had any FNAF 4 animatronic and for good reason. Nightmare and N. Fredbear. Sweet fuckin Jesus. If I look outside my door and see those red eyes, I'm calling it quits. There's nothing I can do except hope my death is quick. Their designs are so over the top and kinda goofy but I'm their setting, they're horrifying to me. So yeah, I'm not messing with them. Not a chance.

And that's it for the main cast! Should I do other FNAF lists of characters/animatronics? What do y'all think about this?

[austajunk]

Kokomare for no.16 please

Yuma and Halara now?! I’m so spoiled! Fufufu!

Triggers: Breeding kink, Yuma taking charge, Shinigami being Shinigami…also I headcanon Halara as Intersex. Please be respectful as always. <3

“Halara…nffff…ha… you’re so…so good…”

Yuma pushed a lock of dark hair from Halara’s face before he lost himself. His eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned, pulling his shaft from Halara’s lips and splattering a shot of white, hot cum across their glasses. The sticky deposit slithered down the rim of Halara’s glasses and dribbled onto their lips, allowing them to taste the salty excess for themselves.

Yuma faltered back against the hotel wall and shuddered, putting his hand to his chest. “Halara…you’re incredible…”

He was met with a sigh in response. “You don’t need to tell me what I already know,” the Master Detective said coolly. Yuma was almost going to say something in his defense, but that small smirk on Halara’s lips already had him defeated. Even when blowing him, Halara Nightmare was still relentlessly amazing.

“I hope you’re not actually remotely spent, Yuma. I didn’t invite you here for one unofficial fuck around.”

Halara unzipped their long coat and tugged their trousers to pool on the ground beneath them. Before they could remove their boxers, it had taken the gambling detective all of five seconds to get Yuma to abandon his clothing and to start kissing down Halara’s toned stomach. Honestly, it was strange to actually run his fingertips across a chiseled core for Yuma, but then again, Halara usually could defeat anyone who at them with a coin… so…

Yuma sighed and breathed in deeply, pressing another kiss to Halara’s waist before slipping his fingers through the waistband of their boxers. “It’s almost unfair how cool you are…”

Halara blinked, narrowing their eyes at him on his knees. “You think so? Heh. Again, you shouldn’t keep repeating things I already know of.” Then, they paused for a moment. “Yuma… I…”

“What is it?”

Shaking their head, Halara slid their finger gingerly into Yuma’s bangs and held his gaze for a moment. “I’m serious. I want…I want you inside of me.”

“Halara…?”

A light gasp escaped Yuma’s lips as his fingers slid down Halara’s last line of defense. He was face to face with an engorged clit, one much bigger than he thought anyone feminine could really possess. If anything, it was like a smaller penis…

“Yuma… I…”

“You-You’re so pretty, Halara!” Yuma exclaimed, his cheeks filling with color. He inhaled excitedly and cupped the swollen, enlarged clit with the palm of his hand. The cool contact drew a shiver from Halara and nearly made them weak in the knees. “It’s so pink here…”

“Yuma-!” Halara hissed, their clutch in Yuma’s hair tightening. “Stop it… that’s sensitive—!”

Yuma didn’t listen. Instead, his mind was elsewhere. “You…You want me inside of you right?”

This time, it was Halara’s turn to flush. Has anyone in the world ever seen the great and cool Halara Nightmare tremble before? Yuma could only count his lucky stars and try his hardest not to chuckle at them. He imagined if he did, Halara would kick him right out of the Sun and Moon Hotel naked in the rain.

Without another word, Halara marched to the wall and spread their legs to reveal a sopping, needy slit for Yuma. Yuma swallowed and followed them, slipping his chest to Halara’s back. His hand lowered and found that pink hole, sliding a finger up and down their folds.

The lithe Yuma retracted his fingers after Halara moaned and replaced them with his own hard cock. He kept Halara pinned to the wall and used his slick hands to gently grip Halara’s small cock.

“Fuck…” Halara hissed again quietly, shutting their eyes. Yuma bucked his hips against theirs, letting his cock rest in their heat.

“I’ll do it, you know?” He growled into their ear.

“Eh…?” Halara opened their eyes and blinked.

“I’ll breed you. I want it to be only with you, Halara…”

Suddenly a hot stiff pole of meat shoved its way inside of Halara’s pussy. They fell forward to collapse on the wall only for thei to be caught by their chest. Yuma’s hands held them up by their waist, groping them together as the cock drove into their from behind. Halara’s legs were forced apart as they were split wide open. They whimpered, bucking until they were hilted on the rookie’s cock.

“How—How are you—?!” Where did this strength come from?!

Yuma grunted in response and lifted them effortlessly, ramming them down with full force each time.

“Please!! Ah…! Yuma, you’re making me…ngh-!!” And it was true. It felt like the Yuma’s meat was reshaping their insides. Had it really been so long since Halara had been with another person? But Yuma aimed to breed them…to fill them with his seed…

Every thrust made Halara cry out, throwing their head back until he caught their chin. Their eyes were already starting to roll back as their body was submitting to his cock. Halara willingly parted their lips and let the rookie’s tongue swarm their mouth.

This was for the best… Halara wanted Yuma to claim them forever.

“Mhmmm!” Halara groaned. His touches felt electric, even the painful tweaks to their nipples only made them wetter. Their tongue lashed against his while his cock claimed their womb, slamming into their special spot. It felt so good that Halara feared they would go blind from the pleasure.

“Go ahead…” Yuma said, giving the shell of their ear a possessive lick. “Tell me how you feel…”

“I can’t hold it anymore!” Halara cried out, arching their back. A rush of fluids pooled at the base of his cock, rushing past where they were plugged to the hilt. Halara’s hot juices flooded his cock as wave after wave of lust and pleasure wracked through their body.

Halara had completely lost themself and gripped the wall, riding Yuma as rough as they could. If Yuma claimed them, then they would claim Yuma.

“Oomph! Harder! Rougher! I need... I want to be creampied! I want globs of your baby batter in my pussy-“ Halara was cut off as a pulse was felt deep in their walls.

Before Yuma knew it, shot after shot of his hot, sticky white spunk painted Halara’s insides. "Nghhh!" He kept his grip on Halara’s hips tight as he came, shutting his eyes to savor the pleasure that rolled through his body. They panted together against the wall as Yuma worked up the will to stroke that engorged again. Halara groaned and those walls contracted against his cock once more.

“I could get used to this…” Yuma grinned, adding a gentle kiss to Halara’s neck. “Ha…”

“Hn. Personally,” said Halara, with an icy edge to their voice, “I don’t think a couple should talk after sex…in my opinion…”

“Noted…”

—

“You are completely unbearable,” Halara said, letting their head fall into their hotel pillow. They covered their face in embarrassment, biting their bottom lip and praying Yuma couldn’t see their expression.

“What? Is something wrong?” Yuma continued to smile pleasantly, forming a heart with his hands above Halara’s womb. “I can’t help but to be excited about my seed taking inside of you…”

“Ugh…I never realized you were this disgustingly sentimental about knocking someone up…this isn’t how you usually portray yourself at all…”

“Ah…well…” Yuma chortled, gritting his teeth. His eyes shifted to meet Shinigami, who flashing him a wide smirk and a thumbs up in her blobby form.

Shinigami sailed down above Halara, stifling a laugh and made the same heart shape with their simplified hands as Yuma did.

Yuma shrugged and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well, I was kinda following someone’s advice…”

[thedeliverygod]

Repostober: Day 29

Hiyori has a wish and puts her 5 yen on Yato's shrine, but she doesn't know quite how to say it out loud when he asks about it.

Cutting Ties

She understood why Yato’s talent for cutting ties was necessary. She had seen the healing it had brought to the people that he had used it on. And yet every time he had to use it, she felt her throat close up and her hands start to shake.

It was all too easy to picture sekki pointed at her and those same words falling from his lips.

“You feeling alright? You kinda look like you’re going to be sick.”

Yato was bent over to lean in front of her face and she noticed a worried Yukine peeking out from behind him as well.

She shook her head and brushed a hand through her hair nervously, “I’m fine. Maybe just a bit tired.”

“Then don’t worry about our tutoring session today! Go home and get some rest.” Yukine stepped forward, surprising both her and Yato.

“I’m okay, really.” She raised her hand to wave him off and gave a small laugh but he only gave her a stern look in response.

“No, seriously. Go home, Hiyori. What if you are getting sick like Yato said? I don’t want you to push yourself and get worse.”

She parted her lips before giving a sigh of defeat and nodding, “Okay.”

Happy with her response, Yukine started walking forward while Yato stayed back. “He’s gotten super protective over everyone since—ya know. Anyway, I’ll check in on you later.” He gave a quick wave before running after Yukine.

The smile lingered on her face as she reflected on Yukine’s actions, but faded quickly as she kept walking and her fears sunk back in. Once she was home, she was pulled into a few chores by her parents and thankfully distracted for a small amount of time.

Alone in her bedroom, everything crashed down on her again as her eyes immediately moved towards the shrine that sat on her bedside table. Out of frustration, she dug for a five yen coin and deposited it on the shrine, ‘If it’s up to me, I won’t ever forget you. So please don’t ever consider cutting our ties. No matter what other people—other gods say. I want to be with you longer.’

She held a few fingers over the coin until she believed her willpower had truly been put into its essence before she let go to finish the prayer, clapping her hands together.

Not long after, she sat down on her bed and her phone made a loud ding to let her know that she had received a text message.

Can I come check on you?

She let out a sigh. Of course he would want to come over right now.

I guess so.

Practically as soon as she had sent the reply, he appeared in her room in a bright burst of light. “Hiya.” He greeted with a small smile before sitting next to her on the bed, concern taking over his expression, “How you feeling?”

She shrugged, not knowing how to answer, “Alright. I still don’t think I’m getting sick.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, not knowing how to answer either. Eventually his eyes slid over towards the shrine and he noticed the shine of the new coin. He reached over her to grab it, “You’ve got a new wish though, it seems.”

 Her mouth flew open as a bright red blush took over her face, “No!”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, “You’re just randomly donating five yen to me now?”

“No! I just… I didn’t… want you to see that.” She hid her face as she took a breath.

“…But you put it on my shrine.”

“I know what I did.” She hissed back before letting out a loud groan.

“So you have a wish for me…” He tried to figure out the situation out loud, a puzzled expression, “But you don’t want me to know what it is?”

“Yes!” She answered, exasperated.

He blinked back at her, his expression unchanging.

“I know it’s stupid, okay.” She jumped up from the bed and crossed the room, unable to look at him.

She didn’t hear him get up but she felt the gentle touch of his hand at her wrist, “Any wish of yours is never stupid.”

Hiyori turned around and met his gaze, though she didn’t answer.

“My question is just, what aren’t you comfortable telling me?” He took his hand back to his side and placed it at his hip, “Knowing you, it’s probably something to help someone else.”

“No, it’s selfish.” She mumbled, looking down at her feet.

Yato scoffed, “I doubt it.”

“It is!” She raised her voice and looked up at him fiercely, “It’s something that would ask you to put my wants above many others.”

Donning a more serious expression, he took both of her hands in his and asked, “What is your wish, Hiyori?”

The tears immediately started streaming down her face and she swallowed a sob as she let out, “Don’t ever cut ties with me. No matter what Tenjin-sama says. Or Kazuma-san. Or Bishamon-san or Ebisu-san or… or anybody else.”

His eyes darkened, “Have they said anything to you?”

She shook her head, “No! No, not recently… I just, I just… I don’t want to lose you.” She grasped at his wrists as her knees started to buckle, “I… can’t stop thinking about it. When you have to do it… for other people. And I don’t—I don’t want someone else to decide what’s best for me.”

He let her fall into him and guided her down onto the floor, mostly into his lap. “We’ve been down that road before, Hiyori. And you told me that you didn’t want that. Until the day that you tell me you’ve changed your mind, I will always respect that.” He ran a hand through her hair soothingly.

She looked up at him, correcting, “I won’t ever change my mind.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” He dug in his jacket pocket and held out the five yen coin, “And technically I don’t need this.”

Hiyori shoved it back towards him, closing his fist, “Consider it insurance for you to keep your word.”

“I’m a little hurt that you don’t trust me, but fine.” He pocketed it again but gave a pout.

[blood-and-pizza]

How would Rockstar Freddy react to a lost child being excited to see him?

I think Rockstar Freddy would be VERY pleased to know there are children out there who still like him, even if he is an older model. More importantly, however, he'd be glad the child isn't crying over being lost. Definitely makes it easier for Rockstar Freddy to ask the child enough questions to help them find their family.

Rockstar Freddy would be very kind and sweet to the child, but once he finds their parent or guardian, he's going to charge said parent or guardian a finder's fee. "PLEASE DEPOSIT FIVE COINS."