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autisticsupervillain · 9 months

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The Dark Side of the Moon

A Magnus Archives/Five Nights at Freddy's Crossover

Chapter 1

Maxwell Rayner sighed as he looked himself over in the mirror. He was so very tired of growing old. The more dark and terrible his soul got, the more quickly his bodies seemed to age. The hair seemed to grey much quicker than it did back when he'd first started serving the Night. Back when people still knew him as Edmund Halley. Maybe it was the constant rush of American culture that aged him so poorly these days. It was always exhausting finding new bodies to wear. Suitable hosts for the Darkness were hard to find these days.

He supposed his insistence in taking the bodies of children didn't help. Though they lived longer than the bodies of adults, the Darkness of his soul wore away at them much quicker. Rotting them from the inside out. Perhaps Jonah had a point in only taking the bodies of full grown adults, but Rayner would never admit to taking advice from a slave of the wretched voyeuristic eye.

Turning his thoughts from his rival, Maxwell finally left the men's bathroom and stepped out into the garishly bright main lobby of the Pizzaplex. His pearly white eyes squinted even behind his shades. Maxwell had been thorough enough to wash the blood from his gloves and trenchcoat, and the Darkness in his shadow had been kind enough to leave no body left for the staff to find later. He'd fed the Night well tonight, the two men who'd taken the stalls next to his would never be seen again. It was why Rayner still visited this place, despite his hatred for all color and light it held. Plenty of guests to feed to the Night and a corrupt corporate establishment happy to cover up any disappearances he might cause during his stay. He appreciated how they put his needs as a customer first, but Maxwell didn't want to make the job any harder for them with such things as evidence and bodies.

He should go body shopping while he was here. He'd heard they'd installed a daycare not to far from here. It couldn't hurt to test just how afraid of the Dark its guests were. The body he was wearing would likely fit in well enough. He couldn't remember the name of the man it belonged to originally, but his long grey hair and black, wrinkled face would likely allow him to pass as some child's grandfather or relative if asked. Though, given Fazbear Entertainment's lax approach to safety measures, he doubted he'd need to worry.

The Daycare was every bit as defenseless, and as garishly bright, as Rayner had expected. The large doors of the entrance didn't so much as require he flash his guest pass before they let him in. Ne security measures, no locks, no anything. Rayner leaned against the unmanned security desk, humoring the idea that this might be a set up. Certainly, the light was bright enough to potentially destroy him should he ever be caught without his body in here, but so was every wretched room of this establishment it seemed. The blasted chattering of brats did nothing to prevent the growing migraine the place gave him, which turned his attention to what they were babbling at.

A loud, dancing jester animatronic wrestled the younglings down from high places where they might fall. A loud robot with a screeching voice themed after the blasted sun. It seemed perfectly designed to annoy him. A function which it may very well intentionally possess, as it spotted him and enthusiastically waved him over. The jester sun... thing ambled over to him with an inhuman speed and dexterity that would've suprised him had he been human, but instead he just pragmatically made a note of it and glared it down.

"He-lllooooooo, Mr... uh..." The robot paused, clearly trying to place him as some child's parent. Rayner half ignored it and scanned the room for an ideal host. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake, I don't have you in our parents databank, sir!"

Rayner smiled. "Oh, there is no mistake I assure you. I am here to pick up my children. All of them."

And then the lights flickered off.

Rayner's shadow stepped out from behind him, no longer confined to his shape by the cursed light. The Still and Lightless Beast within it back handed the Daycare Attendant away before it could react, landing in a useless clump of cracked plastic and broken metal. Rayner's pearly whites pierced the darkness as he pondered what to do with the children. He could tell they were screaming, but the Darkness devoured their cries before they could reach his ears. There would be no one coming to save them.

He'd take all of them, Rayner decided. That would give him plenty of potential bodies to choose from and plenty of fear to feed the Night with. The leftovers would make good sacrifices if nothing else. He took a moment to drink in their fear. The fear of children often lacked the age and refined taste that the fear of adults had. It was why he much preferred the terror of their parents, salted by the grief of missing children that would likely never see the light of day again. The fear of children was like water, refreshing if he'd had nothing else that day, but ultimately tasteless. When Rayner pondered how the parents would react to finding their kids absent from the daycare, he could almost taste the resulting grief, despair, and unholy mixture of hope and fear that would inspire a delicious life long terror in their souls. Like a fine wine, nine years in the making. Or however long these brats had been alive.

Rayner locked eyes with one of the children, one of the few who'd resorted to mute, terrified staring rather than screaming and fleeing, and marched forward to grab him... when something grabbed a hold of his arm. Something metal and cold wrapped around just beneath the wrist, gripping tight enough to nearly form a bruise.

"Intruder.... Rulebreaker..." The machine hissed in his ear, before something steel smashed into his ribs. Rayner could feel them crack from the impact as the blow knocked him into the wall. The bruise he could feel forming on his back was another irritating reminder of how old this body had gotten. How tediously mortal each of his hosts were. But that was the least of his concerns right now. Maxwell glared back at the thing that had the gall to strike him, half expecting to spot the damned jester. He was partially right, but it looked different now. The garish golden hue the defined most of its clothes and body had been traded in for darker blues and silvers. The sun rays on its head had retracted and the attendant's once pale eyes now glowed red with malicious intent. Rayner had to wonder whether they were even the same animatronic, given the completely different paint job.

The attendant's giggling and learing was cut short as the Still and Lightless Beast blindsided it, slamming the Moon into the counter of the security desk. The Attendant growled and lunged back, wrestling with the hulking brute of shadow. Rayner watched with a pragmatic curiosity. It was well known that Fazbear Entertainment's animatronics were at least ten years ahead of the rest of the world, but this degree of functionality peaked his interest. Could this contraption be worth turning into an Avatar of the Dark?

There was some merit to the idea. It was certainly thematically appropriate given the thing's design. And as it was designed to watch over children all alone, there were plenty of opportunities for it to feed in the fear of unsuspecting children. It could do a lot to serve the Night in its position and, from Rayner's experience, the company that owned it would much rather cover up any incidents than scrap the source of the problem.

The Moon put up a good fight for a simple machine. Rayner couldn't recall that last time he'd seen the Beast covered in scratches and cuts, seem the liquid darkness it had for blood leak out onto the floor. But Maxwell was never concerned. The Beast had slaughtered Hunters before. The daycare animatronic was nothing. Metal creaked and plastic cracked as large clawed hands wrapped around the Daycare Attendant's throat. The machine hissed out another guttural "Rulebreaker...." through a sparking voice box before the Beast slammed it through the security desk with a loud crash.

Maxwell approached the sparking, whirring heap of parts the Moon had become, calling off the Beast with an offhand wave. He would not be using this name and face for much longer, so the fact that the Attendant had one to tie to this incident was nothing. The Night would appreciate how this encounter had thoroughly marked a new potential Avatar for it and would further appreciate the feasts of Fear that this creature would provide it. There was no point in trashing the animatronic beyond repair. Simply let the darkness take hold of its functions and let it serve the night as it may.

Neither the guests, nor the staff would see or hear the children leave as creatures of the Dark dragged them from the building. The blackout stunted their sight to a supernatural degree and the night would devour their cries. As far as the world knew, there was simply no way for all nine kids to have disappeared. There was only a blackout and then they were all gone, along with Maxwell Rayner.

Vanessa sighed after taking another puff her cigarette. The flame of it was one of the few things lighting the Parts and Services area right now. The blackout earlier had burst most of the lights in the building and the public areas right now took priority in the repairs. Her protests to management that she could hardly be expected to repair the Daycare Attendant in the dark went unheard, so all she had to work with was a lighter, a flashlight, and a smoking habit she really ought to drop if she wanted to keep her job. All the actually trained engineers were busy fixing lights and checking wiring and fuses around the building to determine what could've caused the blackout, so that left her the job of getting the Daycare Attendant in working order again.

Thankfully, they seemed to be just short of a Bonnie situation. Whatever had done this to Sun hadn't damaged anything vital. The AI's mainframe and operating systems were untouched, so that just left repairing the body and inserting a new voice box. Vanessa looked the old voice box over after pulling it free from the wiring. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear it had been crushed by hand. She considered asking Monty later, but she couldn't think of any motive he'd have to do this.

Sun sprang to life suddenly and grabbed her by the arm. "Lights on! Lights on!" He shouted, nearly sending Vanessa stumbling over in shock.

"Gah! Sun, what the hell! How are you even functioning?"

There were a lot of reasons Sun shouldn't be on right now. The pitch blackness of the room should've activated Moon for starters and he couldn't possibly be yelling at her without a voicebox. Even with Vanessa's flashlight, she could barely see his face. Darkness seemed to creep out of the corners of his smile.

"Keep the lights on! I don't want to see him again...."

That was all Sun could say before once again powering down.

(Yes, I know timeline wise this makes no sense. Just go with it. Rayner dies in 2017 and the Pizzaplex opens far after that. Just... go with it.)

#the magnus archives #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #maxwell rayner #still and lightless beast #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #vanessa afton #dark side of the moon #fanfiction #crossover fanfiction #moondrop #sundrop

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beeapocalypse · 9 months

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oh tma is nipping at my heels. i miss the extinction

#admittedly almost all of my love of the show now is FOR the extinction and that is bc the idea of this nascent burgeoning embodiment of--#--the apocalypse seeping into reality and ppl walking into raw ugly glimpses into it is SO good. it is so interesting to me #like the way the extinctions influences from other entities is so much more obvious than the other fears bc it is still a baby and still--#--more Blended into them than the others which have established themselves enough in humanitys fears to have shit like avatars and--#--beasts. god !#gary boylan as this proto avatar where HE was not the victim but instead him+his obsession was the weapon wielded to obliterate others #<-- how freakyfun is that. he pokes around and ends up running w the cult of the lightless flame for a bit mistakenly thinking That is-#--what happened b4 both him and jude both have this epiphany and realize theyre dealing with something WAY different. if jon annoyed jude--#--just a tiny bit more she wouldve sent him to gary instead of mike lol #very funny that almost every extinction detail is crystal clear in my head but i just had to look up judes name bc i forgot it. all is ash-#--except for the extinction and a couple of funny jon moments in my memory #hope that tma2 has some extinction stuff in it bc the resolution for it in tma1 was SO boring. what do you mean a baby suddenly elevated--#--to the power of every other fear in The Change just became a fully formed and functional entity. so much missed potential there of the--#--eye not properly predicting the effect its ritual would have on the extinction bc it is a thing which CANNOT be known bc it isnt even in-#--existence yet. all seeing rather than all knowing you know. an inability to predict the future

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sparky-is-spiders · 1 year

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Okay lets get some things straight:

- Somewhere out in the TMA world there’s a desolation avatar that’s just. A dragon. Like just a whole fire-breathing dragon.

- The Still and Lightless Beast has probably never been seen BUT it’s a big lizard. It has a long snout and shoulder spikes. And scutes. And is generally very Lizard. Legs like a dinosaur tho.

- There are multiple snake-themed avatars. For multiple fears. I know they’re never mentioned but I know that they Exist and are Canon

- That season 2 statement from a diver is about someone who saw a sea serpent specifically

- The main point is that reptiles are Very Important to the TMA fear landscape and I will die on this hill.

#okay so to be clear this is 90% a joke post #but TMA did suffer from a dearth of reptiles #it was maybe some implied reptiles. subtextual reptiles #but reptiles play a vital role in any and all media #of being Very Good and Cool #okay but seriously these are all just headcanons #kicked off by thinking about how I imagined the Still and Lightless Beast (big lizard)#just kinda went from there #fuck it maintagging this #experience my Reptile Headcanons #tma #the magnus archives #okay bye now

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fellpyrean · 1 year

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Advent Statement 6 - Shadow Puppet

oh boy we goin’. The original halfway point! I believe this one is actually a couple ideas I ended up fusing into one since I felt like some of the nuggets I had before couldn’t quite stand on their own?

No particular warnings on this one I don’t think; general canon-typical violence and I suppose possession of a sort?

Ah, almost forgot: this one is on ao3! Click here if you’d prefer to read over there!

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I didn’t know my grandfather.

I never really thought about it before, but I’ve. Had to realize some things very quickly, you know? Largely that the man I thought he was? Has nothing to do with who he actually was, or what kind of life he lived. I didn’t know, and I don’t think I want to look. Not sure I have a choice now, though.

He died last year. Outlasted my grandmother, which was surprising. Kind of thought she’d keep going to 103 out of spite; some old ladies are like that, you know. But no. She went quietly in her sleep a few years back, which left my grandfather alone in that big, old house. We still talked. I’m not going to pretend I visited a lot, because I didn’t. Once I moved out from my parent’s house, I went west and they all stayed put. I really only saw them when I could afford to fly out every couple years, with a few phone calls in between for the holidays.

But he seemed happy.

It came as an honest shock when he died, too. He’d been trucking along cheerful as ever, excited about his grilling, his gun collection and trips to the shooting range until the day he left. And, shocking as that was, probably the bigger surprise came when I was told he’d left me his house.

His son was still alive. My father. And I mean, they got on alright, so me taking the house felt a bit like getting involved in some family drama in the final act without a clue of the script that had come before, but, I mean. I still did it. Things weren’t really working out where I was, I did kind of miss everyone, and I won’t lie, it felt really good to screw my dad out of something for once.

It took about a month before I managed to tie up the loose ends and fly back out and take stock on my freshly inherited house. It seemed a lot smaller than I remembered, though it wasn’t small by any means. Just that the last time I’d spent time in it, I’d been maybe seven or eight. The front door had two glass windows on either side, and a landing with a high, vaulted ceiling and a bright, dusty light that cast nice, crisp shadows onto the walls - and above that, an overlook from the second story. I remembered they used to keep plants up there, since the sunlight spilled through the windows in the afternoon and made the whole space feel warm, open and bright. Welcoming.

It was just kind of dark then, of course. My flight hadn’t been early or on time. I ditched my bags by the front door and just went through the house, flicking on lights as I walked along, and paused here and there to admire the photos on the wall. He’d always liked to take pictures. I think if I’d asked he would have set up a dark room honestly; that was just how he was with me. He even got me a telescope once. He was always so eager to have me join him in his hobbies, but I was a kid, and poking around in the dark wasn’t as exciting as video games.

The house was a bit of a cluttered mess, but it was nice. Seeing these relics of his, left behind. Almost felt like I’d turn the corner and he’d be waiting there in the kitchen with a cup of black coffee, but, no. That was dark and empty too, and the stairs to go up were even darker. I never liked those stairs as a kid. The switch to turn on their light was half way up, which meant either a mad dash into the dark or a mad dash out of it if I was the last one to go to bed at night, or if I’d snuck down for a drink. My grandfather eventually stuck nightlights at either end, but I would still always run like mad.

I joked that it was so nothing would catch me. I was too fast for it, I’d say proudly, and my grandfather would always chuckle with a little too much cheer. I just thought he appreciated my bountiful wit.

The light wavered a little as I headed upstairs, but stayed on. It was honestly a little strange heading up. It was… so quiet, and the shadows so thick, clinging to the edges of the light. It looked a lot like a film effect; some high contrast trick, to make the lights look brighter and the shadows so, so much darker than they should be.

I actually had a little fun with it when I got to the top of the stairs. It reminded me of when I was small. We’d lived here for a while, my parents and me, when we’d first moved and money was tight. It was a big house and my grandparents were happy to have us along. I was given a big room above the garage, and oh, did I love it.

And I remembered, standing there at the top of the stairs, that I used to love turning on the flashlight in the dark and playing with shadow puppets across the ceiling. My grandfather taught me.

I liked making dogs the best.

I made one then, too. Just a simple thing. Thumb up, forefinger tucked. The rest formed its, hah, its fearsome maw. They were always so crisp here, I recalled. No matter what odd eagles or rabbits I cast flying or running across the spackled ceiling, they were special. Vivid.

Even that simple dog I cast then, barking idly at the edges of the shadow, seemed livelier than normal.

It put me in a nostalgic mood. I mean, I already was, given that, you know, this was my dearly departed and beloved grandfather’s house, but it made me feel young again. Small and smiling on just another normal night as I played with shadow puppets on the walls.

I headed to what had been my room, all those years ago. The hallway was utterly dark - each side of the hall dotted with closed doors, locked, and the switch busted - and barely a sliver of light came from beneath the door to my old room. It honestly wasn’t all that different from when I’d lived there; the bed was gone, but when I looked up at the ceiling, I saw the cheap, glow in the dark stars that I’d stuck there more than a decade before still stubbornly clinging to the paint, and the old couches I used to roll across were still here, too.

That light worked. Which I was glad for, because, admittedly, I was feeling a little spooked. It felt like something was waiting in the dark. The moonlight was so thin; it only helped the tree branches to cast shadows like grasping claws across the room, chaotic and tangled and absolutely unnerving when the wind rustled through them. I always thought those shadows would be all too happy to catch me as a kid. But it was light now, and the house was aglow with every switch I’d left on in my wake. It was practically cozy. I mean, minus the hallway right outside my room.

I let myself wander the room for a little bit, finding my old left-behind marks before I called it a night, fetched my bags, and decided to crash on the least destroyed of the old couches. There was a lot of work to be done, and I sure wasn’t doing it tonight.

It was maybe something like five days before something happened.

Just long enough for me to spend some time in nostalgic reminiscence before moving on to the simple fact that the house needed cleaning out, and I realized I didn’t have any of the keys for the locked rooms. I had the front and back door keys, of course, but anything on the interior was just… gone. I had some suspicions about that.

The house keys had been given, at first, to my aunt - my grandfather’s sister - who had a very good relationship with a certain childish, spiteful little man who had made no secret how irritated he was at being skipped over on something he’d already regarded as his own. It seemed like just the kind of thing he’d do; make sure the legal keys were handed over, and then sneer at the idea he’d do something as petty as taking the ones for all the interior doors. I didn’t doubt that he still had them, but I can be petty too, and I had no desire to call him up and plead or whatever he’d want from me.

Sooo, I, uh. Pulled up a video and found some of my grandmother’s hair pins in a bathroom drawer and picked the locks. They were all old and I mean, I’d be replacing them anyway, so I maybe busted a couple. Which included the real kicker; the door to my grandfather’s gun room. It was a lot darker than I thought it’d be when I first stepped inside and fumbled at the wall, shocked at the absolute blackness - I knew it had a window in there, so it was not a place I expected to be that dark.

Turned out, at some point, my grandfather had put blackout curtains over the window. Had stapled those curtains tight to the wall.

The bigger surprise was that every single gun my grandfather owned was scattered on top of the wooden table tops that bordered the room. Now, this was weird. As far as I knew he hadn’t died while cleaning them and he’d always been a real stickler about gun safety. He always kept this room locked, for one, and those guns were always, always kept inside the safe. One of those enormous things; so big and heavy he’d had to have the floor reinforced to put it upstairs, and the front of it emblazoned around the massive combination lock in old font with warnings for gunpowder. He’d told me it was so nobody decided to try and blast the thing open.

But now, each and every one was strewn around, like he’d pulled them all out in a hurry.

And the safe was locked.

I’m wasn’t sure if it was worse that it was locked or not, on first sight. I mean, if it had been open, that would have kind of fit with the idea that maybe he had died up there while admiring his collection. Admiring it in, uh. A haphazard mess. But it being locked implied that there was still something inside the safe. And I had… no idea what it would be. Logical brain said, very helpfully, that it was probably just more guns. Maybe he’d just gotten a lot more than would ever fit in the safe when he got older, and what with his wife gone and him being the only one in the house just. Threw safety to the winds and figured a single locked door was enough.

So why were his guns, some of his favorite things, strewn around like garbage? No idea! It’s argument was, as you can see, pretty thin, but what else could have been in there? My world view still had a few minutes left in its lifespan after all.

I headed over to the safe, wanting to give the handle a tug and check it out, when uh. When the safe growled. Low and throaty and deep, and oh, did it send a chill up my spine. And then something began scratching and clawing at the inside, again and again, with enough force that the safe shook. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said how big and heavy that thing was. You’d need serious professional movers to get the thing out with serious professional equipment, and there was something inside it snarling and scrabbling so furiously that it made the safe tremble and my blood run cold.

I could hear its claws scraping through metal. I had the wildest, clearest thought that whatever was in there - evidently alive and well after being locked inside a safe for over a month - it could absolutely get out if it just kept it up.

So why hadn’t it tried to get out before?

The light flickered.

And I backed up, reached out, and turned off the light.

The growling stopped almost immediately.

Well, as you may imagine, I handled this like any adult would. I shut the door, wedged a chair I dragged out of my old room under the regrettably busted handle, went downstairs and had a truly awful gin and tonic.

I did not like gin and tonic and I still do not. I like it less now, actually.

But a couple large gin and tonics in, I came up with a plan.

I would ignore it. Ta da~

It would be someone else’s problem. I would get a very nice lock. I would take out the light. Hell, maybe I could just take out the door entirely and wall it up and make an incredibly cursed forgotten room. I rather liked that idea. I told it to the door when I went back upstairs I think.

I need you to understand that I was… very, very drunk at that point. A drunk person is never a great measure of their own level of drunk, but from what I remember… yeah, I was smashed.

I left the locked and makeshift barricaded door alone and staggered back to my room and slept it off and then continued on with my peerless plan of Just Ignore It™.

I never bothered to examine any implications of my grandfather leaving me a safe with some kind of creature locked inside it, because I had other things to do. There were some nights where I would pull out that gin and drink again, though. The room and the safe were both quiet as long as I didn’t turn on any lights in the hall, so I started… I mean, humans are very adaptable, so I started drinking outside that room. I sat in the chair, actually.

As long as it was dark, it didn’t care, so it was fine. And when it growled, faint and rumbling, when I turned on a flashlight, I turned it into something of a game?

It was fine with candlelight. It only grumbled at that. So, as you do, I sat there with my candle and my gin and rambled at it. At some point it occurred to me that the growling sounded like a very large dog, so I started… Talking to it in that baby voice you use with pets. Making shadow puppets at it. It would growl and I would laugh and make my little shadow puppet dog bark and growl back.

I’m not saying this was a smart thing to do. Or maybe it was. As far as I knew, it was locked up nice and tight. It even stopped growling as much after a while. It sounded more… curious than anything? Confused why this drunk dumbass hadn’t left screaming yet? I’m pretty sure it would have actually stayed fine and my bricking it up plan was actually good, but, well. Some people can’t leave well enough alone.

I went out one afternoon. I had things to take to the dump, which was a bit of a drive, and on the way back I decided to grab some Mexican food from this restaurant down the street, so I got back well after dark, only to see the front door hanging open and an awful lot of dark, splashing stains leading off through the gravel walk and up to the street. They were smeared. Like something had thrashed desperately in the grass as it fled.

This was not what I had in mind when I got my bag of tamales to go.

I was tired, cranky, and my house was probably a… A what? A murder scene? Attempted murder scene?

I’d just about dialed 911 to share my now very bad night with someone else when I thought of… upstairs. Of the door I’d not bothered fixing the lock to, and all the guns I’d never bothered moving. Of the safe I didn’t have the key or the combination to, but someone else did. I went very still.

I turned back to the grass and raised my phone. The flashlight blazed white-bright in the dark, making all-too-clear the dark, dark red on the grass. And the single, familiar pistol that gleamed, smeared in blood, dropped just off the gravel. Of bullet holes I spotted, peppering the old, wooden beams that framed the porch.

Of a dark, ink-black stain without a single hint of red that oozed across the landing tiles.

And a growl that rose in instant, murderous fury.

The light on my phone died. Flicked out like a snuffed candle and everything went black. It shouldn’t have been that dark. The moon was out. The neighbor’s houses were only a yard away. But in that moment, it was all gone. All that was left was a sea of pitch-dark shadow, so dark your eyes start fooling you. Because there must have been something to see.

I could hear it.

The growing, low snarl. The click of claws on cement. The crunch of footsteps stalking across gravel.

I know I didn’t see it, but my eyes… invented something for me to see.

A hound. Long and lanky, with sharp, pricked ears.

Like the ones I made puppets of on the wall.

It… hurt to look at. Its shape blurred at the edges, impossibly blacker-black than the void around it, and I knew what I was seeing was useless, so I. Closed my eyes.

Its heavy, panting growls came closer and closer. I was honestly terrified. I’d been shoving back how scared I was of this thing while I joked about sealing it up behind a little devil door or a brick wall through a haze of alcohol, and I hadn’t let myself consider what would happen if it did get out.

I felt its cold, cold breath on my hands. Like ice. Like a. A pressure that wrapped around me as I stood there, my eyes shut tight against the dark. And then it. It burned. I couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away as my arm burst into absolute agony, like a million needles sinking into the flesh and burrowing beneath it. As that ice cold held me absolutely still, fixed in place as well as a bug with a pin, and sank horrid, frigid fangs into me, again and again, until it felt like every bone in my body was freezing inside me, until the pain rose so high that I couldn’t think of anything else.

A-And then it was gone. I crumpled to the ground, my breath frosty on my lips, and I just lay there, shivering.

It took me a while to realize I could see again. To realize there were stars and a moon in the cloud-streaked summer sky above and neighboring porch lights and their wreaths of moths. That I should feel warmth coming back. But… it didn’t. It was all gone. And then I felt myself move. It wasn’t me moving. And it wasn’t like someone pulled any strings. It was like. Like I felt that cold touch on me, sliding over my skin, and my body moved with it.

And as I stood, I happened to catch a glimpse of my shadow.

It wasn’t mine anymore.

My shadow had become that thing. And all I could do was watch as it puppeted me back inside, my steps in time with its own.

Do you want to know the craziest thing about this? I mean, aside from the fact that my shadow is a monster now that takes my body on joyrides. That there’s a goddamn cult in my grandfather’s hometown, and they were so, so happy to see me when my shadow dragged me to meet them.

That night? It took me inside. It brought me up to the chair in front of its room. The door was open, the safe yawning wide. Guns littered the stairs and bullet holes peppered the walls.

It sat me in that chair and lit the candle, and made shadow puppets with my hands.

Eagles, rabbits. And a pair of dogs.

A small one and a big one. Running around until it brought them together, and they merged into one.

#tma advent project #crowswritings #still and lightless beast's friendly cousin named Licorice

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yanderenightmare · 8 months

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would love to hear any thoughts you have of what you think sukuna was like with a darling 1000 years ago, in the past before he became a curse

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: noncon, death of reader, fluff to angst

fem reader

Back when you were both little, Sukuna was just a village clown – a little rascal old farmers would shout at after he’d set their farm animals loose, skipping down the dirt roads with a sun-swallowing grin as they chased him away with their cane in the air.

He was the one with the unruly hair, bruised hands, and scuffed knees who’d steal bread from the baker and set the temple on fire. The one everyone knew to suspect but who managed to slip away somehow, always scot-free.

And you were his little cheerleader. Always hiding your giggle behind two hands, knowing it wasn’t ladylike of you to encourage him.

But he’d pull shenanigans just to make you smile. Often acting scary, playing in the shadows before popping out with a roar, scaring all the other children around the campfire, and getting scolded by the teachers. He’d pout when put in a timeout, running away and pulling you by the wrist to keep him company while the whole village searched for the two of you long into the night.

He'd found a spot for just the two of you. A cavern behind a veil of green, with a crack in the ceiling that allowed the moon to spill in, just bright enough to still let Spiderlillies bloom. He'd make a small fire, and you’d play shadow puppets on the rock. You’d make pine people and play the villagers while he’d put bird skulls on his fingers and act as the village monster.

Your father didn’t approve of him. Especially as the two of you got older with marriage arrangements fast approaching. Like always, it was unladylike of you to run around with the boy who never seemed to grow up.

You’d always loved the same person, but it wasn’t up to you. And soon you’d been promised to someone else.

Sometimes, you wished Sukuna was just a bit different – or, at the least, that he’d act somewhat differently. Maybe then he’d been good enough for you in the eyes of others. In your heart of hearts, you can't help but think that he’s a little selfish for never having tried for your sake, but when he surprises you in the night with those devious eyes and that childish smirk upon his lips, you can never will yourself to say no – let alone keep yourself from smiling and leaping into his arms.

Even on your wedding day, you wondered if he’d come – if only to say one last goodbye. You even selfishly wondered if he’d apologize and tell you he’d wished he’d tried harder, fought, and insisted on being a man who truly deserved you – that he regrets he isn’t the one taking your hand.

But you were a fool.

Maybe it was best he hadn’t, you thought after sitting awhile – a silent tear rolling down your cheek. In your wedding robes with your heart breaking. The maids gush and think it’s just wedding jitters, and you allow them that understanding even though your wedding is the furthest thing from your mind.

Your mother tells you that you’re beautiful, and it’s but a small salve to your aching – but enough to make the tears stop. She wishes you good luck and leaves you with the maids.

It’s only a short moment later that you hear screams. Blood-curdling, dying wails – worse than anything you’d heard in your life.

You follow quickly and find the ceremony in a bloodbath. So many lightless eyes stare blankly toward nothingness, their fine-dressed bodies piled on top of each other on the floor, blood-soaked and ripped limb from limb.

There’s only one thing left standing. Splattered in red blotches and black markings you don’t recognize. It breathes like a beast but stands atop the carnage as though the kills were all for sport.

But somehow… despite the second eyes, you knew that face.

“Sukuna…”

He turned, and you saw the other side of him, a deformed mockery of his once so pretty face. His eyes had gone red, glowing like a wolf in the wild – four of them, you counted now. They all blinked at the same time when looking at you.

You flinched, looking back at the slaughter of your village. Breath shivering. “What have you done?”

“I’ve ensured no one's left to stand between us- no one to take you away from me- no one to tell me I’m not good enough-”

That isn’t his voice. Those aren’t his words. This isn’t the man you know – not the one you love. Sukuna isn’t a murderer. This was… this was a demon.

You ran. Slipping in your drapes as you pushed yourself forward, heart in your throat with lungs bursting your ribcage. You make it out into the moonlight before he has you pinned in the dewy midnight grass.

He growls something, but you can’t hear it. There’s too much blood rushing past your ears, hot and deafening, as you shake your head – eyes squeezed tight while you claw and kick at the thing that has you pinned.

“Get away- don’t touch me-”

Two of his arms grab your wrists and push them down flat by your head. The other two grab your face – not entirely softly, but much softer than what you’d expect from a monster.

“Are you gonna tell me I’m not good enough for you too?” His words waft onto your face, warm with the breath that feels so familiar – a taste you’ve swallowed so many times before.

But it just can’t be him, you deny. “I don’t know you- I don’t know who you are-”

It angers him. His hands strengthen their hold, and you wince as he leans in closer with a sneer. “Sure you do. I’m that village pest you waste your precious time on. The one you can’t be caught with during the day.”

You shake your head again with a cry. “You lie. Sukuna wouldn’t do this. He’s not cruel- he’d never hurt me-”

“You hurt me!” He argues with a roar, cutting you off sharply.

There's a heavy pause.

His lips ghost yours with teeth, making you whimper caught beneath him before he continues kissing you with his words. “Whispering you love me during the night, with your hands and legs wrapped around me like a brazen little whore, before you go and marry someone else in the same fortnight. Who’s the cruel one?”

“It wasn’t my choice-” You deny then, finally acknowledging it’s him but still not daring to open your eyes.

“Tch-” He scoffs callously, bitterly disappointed and judging you just as viciously. “Is that how you console yourself?”

The hands he’d held your face with slipped down your neck, stroking your skin with streaks of wet blood and hot tears, traveling down the dip of your attire with fingers curling around the fabric before tearing it off you.

“Maybe you can seek refuge in that now, as well.”

You killed yourself that same night after he’d had his way with you.

You’ve been dead a thousand years now.

Every year, on the day of your death, he plants a Spiderlilly by his shrine to honor you. Sometimes, he gets the urge to rip them all up, but he just ends up shouting instead.

He can barely remember your smell, your warmth, your face, the size of your hand in his. But still, not remembering the exact feel of you just makes missing you all the more painful.

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 4 days

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𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝑨𝒔𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑻𝒐 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑨𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 (𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑫𝑶𝑽𝑬) MDNI 18+

In a world where curses rule and jujutsu sorcery is near dead, you caught the eye of Sukuna Ryomen. Everyone thought you would tame the beast, but boy were they wrong...

Warnings: rough, brutal, gore, blood, murder, curse sukuna, true form sukuna. Minors, blank and ageless blogs will be blocked.

Read the original here

His fingers dripped with the blood of the man who used to be your boss. Crimson droplets found their way down his hands, to his forearms, in pretty dark rivulets caressing the muscles that were straining under his skin.

Even in the darkness of the lightless office, the terror on the man's face was visible.

The same man who’d been chastising you for days now could only drop to his knees and beg for dear life.

“Please–please–I’ll never say a word to her again. Please I’ll leave, I won’t come back. I’ll—”

Sukuna cut him off with a swift kick to the head. There was a sickening crunch where his calf met the skull and the man’s already sorry figure slumped over on the floor.

“You’re right about that. You won’t be saying a single word to her ever again. And you won’t be coming back. I’ll make sure of that right here.” Sukuna reached out and lifted the man by his throat, crushing his windpipe like it was made of eggshell.

Blood squirted out, hitting Sukuna in the face, and dripped onto the floor – everywhere but he didn't flinch.

The Curse finished off the man in front of him by plunging a hand into his abdomen and ripping out organs, flesh, muscle — anything that dared to come in the rampage path of his fingers.

He let go, dropping the carcass into a heap on the floor.

The whole time Sukuna worked, you stared at him. He took care of the problem that had sent you home irritable and crying for the past month, made your anxiety spike several notches, and left you questioning your self-worth. You were incredibly aroused by him. Here, in the little office your boss kept reprimanding you in, he had finally got what he deserved, all thanks to the man in front of you.

Your legs moved on their own and you found yourself walking upto the man. A silent rage stormed just below the still facade he kept up for your sake. “He dared to hurt what is mine…” Sukuna’s voice rumbled like the low call of thunder.

“Ryo…” you called out softly.

A bloody hand shot out and grabbed you by the hair, pulling you into his tight embrace. “He dared hurt what is mine!” Sukuna roared.

Sukuna groped you from below, lifting you up to his face with ease. His fingers dug into the soft fat of your ass and he squeezed it territorially.

The fluorescent light of the street lamp outside lit a side of his face. Sukuna in his true form towered over you – a hulking figure that was as large as he was strong.

But the gentleness with which he kissed you was nothing like his visage. His free hands tangled in your hair, smearing blood all over you, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered right now but him.

Sukuna ripped your dress in half from the front, laying you bare in front of him. His mouth attacked the skin of your chest, sucking and nipping at your tits.

“You're – kiss – fucking – kiss – MINE!” His hands grabbed your breasts and he sucked and licked at your nipples. Below, the mouth on his stomach seemed to have woken, and his large tongue was pushing your panties aside and prodding at your weeping cunt.

The torn fabric fluttered about you when Sukuna lifted you onto your ex-boss’ desk. He cleared it with a sweep of his arms, the monitor and papers crashing into the floor in a messy heap.

Sukuna spat on your clit, and with two fingers rubbed against it hard. His two cocks were already at attention, and all he had to do was to part his robe to sink himself into you.

The pull was unbelievable. Your rim burnt struggling to take him. But Sukuna was merciless. He lowered his head with an animalistic growl and bit at your shoulder. You screamed in pain coupled with a confused pleasure. Something warm and thick trickled down your back, and you realised that Sukuna had broken skin. His tongue lapped at the blood dripping from you.

Sukuna’s second cock brushed against your clit with each thrust and you felt your pussy dripping with need.

No words were exchanged. Just a cry from you and Sukuna’s mouth found yours. He captured your lips in a heated kiss – all tongue and teeth.

His hands kneaded at your breasts, where a tongue encircled your nipple, working in tandem with his fingers to tease and tweak the soft fat.

“Ryo…” you tried again.

“Shh, let me take care of you.” He groaned into your mouth. “Such a good little pet. All for me. Gonna fill you up with my seed. Make you carry my heir.”

“Ryo please…” you begged. What for, you didn't know, but it pleased him.

He smiled and lifted you. Using your body like a toy, he slammed you onto his cock over and over. Your tits swung in his face and the sight made him feel his release was near. He slammed you back on the table and climbed on top on all fours, lifting your legs over his shoulders as he thrust into you with renewed vigour.

You heard a creak under you, and Sukuna lifted you into his arms, thrusting deep inside where his cock jerked, spilling his come in you. In between your two bodies, his second cock also squirted out a sticky white come that coated your tummies.

Despite being covered in his release and blood, and your clothes tattered, Sukuma lifted you in his arms and held you close.

“No man will ever hurt you again, my queen.”

He walked out, stepping on the remains of your ex-boss. The room was in shambles – table broken, papers scattered.

But you didn't need to bother. Your shitty boss wouldn't be telling you off for it after all...

AN: HI. THIS WAS SELF INDULGENT. BYE.

Big thanks to @ominouslywritinginmyhead for proofing and beta

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house-of-mirrors · 7 months

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This is what I got with my main from the Museum of Souls in Burrow, having your soul examined. Thinking about the soul flaws from skies and I just learned from the wiki the text is variable based on your quirks:

First, for comparison, the text from skies for when your soul is pleasing: "The devils of Carillon claim to be experts in the assessment and improvement of the soul. They would describe yours as tantalisingly opaque, and rich with personality."

Now, onto my interpretations with the delightful flaws. (I refuse to be appetizing!)

High Melancholy: Flickering: "Soul-light is unpersistent, incurious, lacking. [...] intermittently tantalising with an aftertaste of disappointment."

"Here the Devils treat flatterers, the excessively malleable, and those who don't know themselves at all. [...] Maybe you've found yourself lying as a matter of course. Maybe you've forgotten a few inconvenient aspects of yourself."

High Heartless: Cold: "The soul is icy to the touch. Dispassionate, clinical, removed. [...] still, pale and chilly to the palate."

"Indifference to love can be corrected. But not easily."

High Austere: Lightless: Here, things get a little complex. The echo uses "flavourless" which corresponds neatly to "[...] distressingly bland, inoffensive and liable to dissatisfaction." However, Lightless is also described as "Slothful, viceful, willful abandonment of talent and interest," which does not fit Austere. More of the text does, though.

"Vision, imagination, the ability to see beyond the nearest convention: that's what the Devils are trying to evoke here. [...] Perhaps you have fallen into habits. Perhaps you haven't stretched your imagination lately."

Not a perfect match, but alas.

Low subtle: Clear: "Soul is fully transparent. No swirls, no clouding, no personality."

"Disregard of death is a serious flaw. It displeases the Blue Kingdom; it makes the Devils tut."

(Sticking my tongue out at the Sapphir'd King.)

Conclusion: I can't find any obvious comparisons for the ruthless or hedonist quirks. I'm going to remark upon the soul flaws that don't present parallels here.

A fermented soul is "pungent of odour and indifferent to taboo." What I did in skies to get it was commingle with a rubbery man and accept an eye tattoo from the Halved. Good times. If I had to guess, I might connect this one with the Daring quirk. Fermented foods may be described with a "sharp" flavor but that's a stretch; I really don't see a connection to ruthless.

A curdled soul is "Overly willing to please, envious, obsequious." I can't think of any obvious quirks this would correlate to.

Finally, a stained soul: We know what terrible things this means in FL. One gets it by being a seeker, asking what shouldn't be asked. From skies: "Soul appears damaged, scorched. Reckless, dangerous and fatally curious. [...] over-rich, cindered and irrevocably damaged."

"Perhaps you've looked into topics you should not have. Perhaps your soul has been consumed and spat out again by an unspeakable beast."

("The starveling cat! The starveling cat! Soiled your soul! Grew glossy and fat!")

Now go forth and consider your characters' souls. Be unappetizing!

#lore discussion #fallen london #fl spoilers #sunless skies spoilers #soul flaw speedrun. the judgements can ssuck my ass #let me stain my souls in ways that are not smen. I wanna piss off the judgements by poking the red science and liberation #smen spoilers

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rotworld · 7 months

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23: Breathless

(previous)

quiet moments and stillness leave you feeling uneasy and afraid. jamie and malachi help you relax.

->sexually explicit. contains body horror, parasites, threesome.

“There is death in you,” the thing in the dark whispers. You are handled gently, like a broken bird in cautious fingers. Alien appendages, rippling frills and soft, flexible tendrils, graze against you. An eyelid, thin and translucent gray, flicks across the enormous, moon-like eye. “Slow, creeping death. Perhaps it can be healed.”

This is a dream like all the others. You can’t breathe or speak. Knowing that you could once, that you managed to dispel the crushing pressure and force air through your constricted throat, frustrates you but also gives you hope. There is a way. You just have to remember.

Your eyes never fully adjust to this sort of darkness, but your other senses sharpen. You hear faraway voices; whispers and song, deep and mournful. You feel the movement of beasts that could swallow you whole, their mere passing knocking you aside. Stars trickle like falling snow. There is light if you know where to look, how to recognize it. Ribbons of it, fluttering like sails in the breeze. You struggle to understand how this could be home—how this could be Anchor. Was it hidden somehow? Cut away like Aliquando Island for its incurable strangeness? Somehow, somewhere, it still exists. You want to see it with your own eyes.

“Brave little thing. Yes, I want to see you, too. To feel you beyond the dream.” You are brought higher, lifted before the great eye. It is silver rimmed with prickling obsidian, a lightless void of dilated pupil stretched across the center. “I will hold you,” it says, auroras waving in the wake of a slow, upward movement, the moon rising and distant. “And I will never let you go.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: GHOST BY NOVAH FEAT. AMANDA MAIR]

You’re woken in the middle of the night. By what, you can’t say for certain. The house is quiet, but you do hear muffled, terse chatter drifting up from downstairs and music softly playing. The shift is vivid through the skylight window. You settle against the pillows and watch reality grow soft and shimmery like the surface of a bubble and other worlds swim by. You think about what Jamie told you about Higgs’ flukes, creatures who send their young beyond the boundaries of the only world they’ve ever known. Do they know what they’re doing? Do they ever wonder what becomes of their children, rocked to sleep in the cradle of their small, fragile eggs by the glistening churn of a shift?

You wonder if they yearn for home, too. If there is a place in the Drift for every fluke, a strange patch of a grass or a quiet pond where this world intersected with another and birthed a miracle.

Time passes and your thoughts are too busy to fall back asleep. You get out of bed groggily, passing the bookshelf on your way to the stairs. The photo of Malachi and the God of Nelton sits atop the shelf now, perched on a lace-edged doily and flanked by fresh cut, fragrant roses. The hallway at the bottom of the stairs is dark but the shift illuminates your way in quivering, luminous color. You’re reminded of your dreams—auroras in the dark. Has the place you come from ever passed by without you noticing, the void moving across the sky like a dark ghost ship?

“I sent out warning letters earlier this evening, but I’m not sure how much good it’ll do,” you hear. Malachi’s voice, deliberately hushed. “I struggle to imagine a scenario where a municipal government would willingly shut off its own anchorware, no matter the risks.”

You hear Jamie hum thoughtfully; the clatter of a teacup on a saucer. “It’s worth trying. I’m more skeptical the letters will reach their intended destinations in the first place.”

“A Verlindan volunteered to deliver them. They have their own roads most places. A bit more reliable than ours.”

“Most, you said. No way to Anchor through the Verlindan backroads, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. They’ve been cut off for a long time now. Makes me wonder how long they’ve been working towards this.”

They’re sitting in the living room, lights off, curtains open to let the alien glow of the shift through. You see Malachi out of his cassock for the first time, dressed in a soft, long-sleeved shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms. He’s hunched forward in an armchair, leaning over the coffee table with a mug of steaming herbal tea in one hand. Jamie sits across from him on an olive-colored sofa, one bony shoulder exposed by their lopsided, oversized University shirt. They sip from a floral teacup while flipping through a pile of loose papers strewn across the table. There’s a radio sitting on the windowsill, crackling peacefully.

Your footsteps draw a squeaking creak from the floorboards. Jamie and Malachi look up at the same time, their eyes drawn to your shape in the dark. “I’m so sorry. Did we wake you?” Malachi asks.

You shake your head. “Can’t sleep. What’re you guys doing?”

Jamie scoots over to make room for you on the couch. The papers they’re looking over are an assortment of official Nelton documents; anchorware installation paperwork and maintenance reports. “Grasping at straws,” Jamie admits. “Looking for any clue we can find. Getting to Anchor’s just the first hurdle. Everything’s going to be locked down tight.”

The most recent document is from your first visit to Nelton, the time you ran into Bachman. He was here, allegedly, to double-check the installation of new anchorware around the meat processing plant. He signed and dated the paperwork to verify everything was satisfactory. “What about this repairman?” you ask. “Does he seem strange to you? I can never quite remember what he looks like.”

“That’s standard for anchorware technicians,” Malachi says. “They wear advanced shielding tech to stabilize themselves and protect against any sort of anchorware troubles.”

Jamie frowns. “His shielding is cranked up unusually high. We get a lot of repair techs at the University and they’re a little blurry at worst. He might be wearing more than usual, just in case he gets caught up in the malfunctions he’s causing. Then again, you said he hasn’t been here in a while. If you’re going to cause such a catastrophic reaction, it seems safer to do it remotely.”

They take another long gulp of tea and then set their cup down again, just a sliver of dark liquid lingering in the bottom. Malachi plucks the cup and saucer from the table and rises out of his seat gracefully. “Courier, would you like something to eat or drink? There’s lemon balm tea on the stove now. Jamie says you like eggs. I could make a frittata, if you’d like.”

You’re about to decline but Jamie nudges against your shoulder. “Just say yes. He won’t leave it alone,” they mutter, exasperated. “He wouldn’t sit down until I let him bring out half a bakery’s worth of scones and muffins.”

“There were two of each, Jamie, and I seem to recall you ate them without complaint,” Malachi calls from the kitchen. You hear pots and pans clanging around, the sink running, a knife chopping swiftly across a cutting board.

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble,” you say.

The noises pause and Malachi leans out of the kitchen, smiling gently. “It’s no trouble, courier,” he says. “It’s our way here in Nelton. He didn’t want that to change, and neither do I.”

The sounds of a busy kitchen resume; the crisp shredding of vegetables, the crack of egg after egg and the rhythmic hiss of whisking. Malachi starts humming a church hymn. “I’m surprised you’re getting along so well,” you say quietly. “I figured, after the last time we were here…”

Jamie rolls their eyes. “I’m not exactly thrilled about what happened, but I’d be a hypocrite if I held it against him, wouldn’t I? We have bigger problems and he’s willing to help. And he makes acceptable tea.”

“I think you said it was incredible, actually. Some of the best you’d ever had,” Malachi calls. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You asked me for the recipe.”

“I said it was fine.”

You can’t help but smile a little. It’s nice to have a quiet, peaceful moment, after everything that’s happened. But your thoughts return to darker places before you fully relax. You’re staring down what feels like countless unsolvable problems. Thumbing through the papers on the table, you’re reminded of Anchor’s reach, their stranglehold on the Drift. “How are we going to get in?” you ask.

Jamie gestures towards the kitchen. “They want to come with us; everyone who survived the fire. Malachi thinks they have a good shot of getting past the front gate that way. Anchor probably knew what was going on here, and I’m sure they know they got what they wanted. If all of Nelton turns up on their doorstep seeking asylum, they’ll let them in. It’s an irresistible research opportunity.” They sigh. “That’s assuming we can get there in the first place, of course.”

You nod numbly. You don’t feel reassured. How many places are like Nelton now, ravaged by disaster? How many places are unreachable, adrift in time and space like Aliquando Island? You think of all the places you’ve been, the people who have shown you kindness. What will be left of them—of the Drift—when this is over?

“Hey,” Jamie says softly. They reach over, wiping away your tears with their thumb. “It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. We’re not alone in this.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” you admit. It’s all running through your head now; Glenn and Halvard and their family, and the virus ravaging Verlinda. A deliberate choice, you think, because the Verlindans use so little anchorware. Iridesce, who insisted that you be repaid for your work, who trusted you with the most precious cargo. The girl and the Singer and Compass Hill—is it still standing? Is everyone okay? Does it burn while you sit here? Is it collapsing, dragged into oblivion by a catastrophic failure of reality and physics?

“Come here,” Jamie murmurs. “Let’s not think for a while.” They tug you gently closer, a hand brushing against your cheek as they lean in and press their lips against yours. You kiss back frantically, wanting to forget. The Road Ripper. The querrow. The fire in Nelton. An island of artists who can never go home again. You’ve stopped moving and now everything that’s happened has managed to catch up, claws of worry sinking in your heart.

Jamie demands your attention by pushing you down gently and crawling on top of you, setting a slow, sensual pace for the kiss. They nip at you, coaxing out your tongue with their own. Their hips grind down on yours, languid rocking motions that make you gasp into their mouth. “Jamie, we’re—” Your words cut off with a moan when their hands slip beneath your shirt and tease your nipples, thumbs flicking, rolling the buds between their fingers. “We’re on Malachi’s couch, he’s in the next room—”

“Then don’t make too much noise,” they whisper. Your shirt gets bunched up around your neck and their mouth is kissing down your chest, dragging their tongue over any spot that makes you squirm. You have to bite back a gasp when their mouth closes around one of your nipples and you feel not only their tongue but the fluke’s firm, flexible body flick against it. Both soft appendages toy with your sensitive flesh, tonguing and suckling, bullying it into hardness. Jamie watches you through their lashes, peering up at you with a heated look in their eyes.

When they grind on you, you feel something twitch between their legs. A slender, snaking shape throbs against your core.

“I love how sensitive you are. You just melt under me.” Jamie’s hand slides down and palms your sex through your clothes, rubbing and stroking until you push back against their fingers, panting. “I’ve been fantasizing about all the things we could do together. Dreaming about it, sometimes. I’ve never been with someone who knows about me—all of me. I want to hold you down and make you cry. I want you to eat me out and I want to fuck your throat. You have no idea how long a Higgs’ fluke can get once it’s fully grown, do you? It could be inside both of us at the same time.”

Their hand slides into your pants and stroke up and down your sex, agonizingly slowly. The pressure is barely there and not enough, and then they’re moving on again, circling your entrance. They kiss your ear, sucking at the lobe. Their soft, pleased sigh tickles your skin. “C-can you…” You hesitate, embarrassed.

“Can I…?”

“Can you touch…my neck?”

Jamie nuzzles against the side of your face, blowing softly into your ear. “You’re so cute.” One of their hands stays on your sex. The other rises, cupping around your neck. Jamie leans back so they can see what they’re doing, stroking the tender spots beneath your skin. “You want it? Want me to squeeze right here?”

“Please,” you beg. You’re ashamed of how needy you sound already, how hot you feel.

“Like that, baby?” They push down on both sides, thumb and fingers pinching both sides of your neck. The sudden pressure sends a bolt of pleasure down your spine and you shiver, a moan slipping out before you can stop it. Jamie pauses for just a moment. You see their eyes narrowing, a smile snaking across their face. They dig their fingers in harder, rhythmic, massaging squeezes that have you arching your back. The hand between your legs starts moving again, hard, merciless strokes that have you grinding shamelessly into their palm.

You’re going to cum like this, still half-dressed and pushing your hips into Jamie’s playful touch. You feel yourself being driven right to the edge by the friction, Jamie’s dexterous fingers and their legs bracketing your body, the heated, husky whispers and tongue grazing your ear.

And then Jamie glances over the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded, smirking. “Are you just going to stand there, Malachi?”

Heat rushes to your face. Of course he heard you. You want to get up and apologize but Jamie shoves you back down and keeps you there with a hand on your neck—playful, not choking, just enough force that you can feel it. You can’t see over the back of the couch but you can hear tense silence, the creak of floorboards beneath nervous shifting.

“I’m…so sorry,” Malachi says hoarsely. “I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—”

“Are you just going to stand there?” Jamie asks. “Or are you going to come over here, and make your angel feel good?”

You squirm again, trying to sit up, desperate to see Malachi and know what he’s thinking, if this is all too far and you’ve overstayed your welcome. But Jamie caresses your neck again and it takes everything you have not to make an embarrassing sound.

You hear a shaky inhale. “Is that…what my angel wants?”

Jamie glances down at you, their hands stilling long enough for you to get your thoughts in order. “What do you think, courier?” they ask softly. “Do you want us to help you stop thinking so hard?”

You swallow hard. “Is Malachi okay with that?”

You hear movement. Slow footsteps. Malachi comes into the living room and crouches beside the couch, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it reverently. You want him. You want them both. Jamie and Malachi share a brief glance and some shared understanding passes between them. “My bed would be more comfortable for the three of us,” he says, his voice lower than before.

Malachi’s room is just down the hall. You have little time to appreciate the decor beyond the soft rug beneath your feet. They don’t give you time to stop, doubt and worry. Malachi leads you to the bed and eases you down slowly while Jamie sits above your head. You’re kissed breathless, the two of them working together to have you bare and writhing beneath them. Malachi undresses you like he’s unwrapping a priceless gift and Jamie’s hands smooth over your skin, sliding up and down your sides, caressing your hips, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blades when your shirt comes off and then laying you gently back down.

You can feel Jamie staring. Not at you, but at Malachi, everywhere he touches, everything he does to you. They chuckle. “Awfully bold for a man of the cloth.”

Malachi is between your legs, one hand massaging your inner thigh while the other digs through the bedside table. You hear a bottle click open. His fingers come back cool and slick. “Flesh is holy. Pleasure isn’t a sin,” he says. “I offer this sort of comfort to anyone in the congregation who asks. If you face me while you take pleasure from their mouth, I can show you.”

“I guess overconfidence isn’t a sin either, huh?”

Malachi smiles. He’s gentle and patient, sinking one finger into you and stretching you slowly. “I’ve been with you all this time, in a sense. As long as he was there, so was I. I saw what he saw, felt what he felt. I fell in love, just as quickly. So let me take care of you tonight, my angels.”

You relax under Malachi’s touch. He’s thorough, easily able to multitask. One hand moves in a slow, sensual slide over your chest and abdomen, his palm warm and his featherlight touch stirring unexpected pleasure across your skin. The other hand opens you up further, two fingers crooked and massaging your inner walls. Above the slick sound of Malachi’s lubricated fingers, you hear Jamie let out a soft, pleased sigh.

Nobody speaks, but they both move at the same time. Malachi withdraws his fingers and nudges your knees apart. He’s half-hard and stroking himself the rest of the way, biting his lip at nothing more than the sight of you splayed before him. He pulls your hips into his lap, your lower body slightly elevated and poised right against his twitching length. Jamie swings a leg over your head and settles on top of you, hovering just above your face.

“Hands up here, courier,” they murmur, patting their thighs. “Two taps if you need to stop.” You take their advice. Jamie sinks slightly lower, resting most of their weight on their knees. The position is slightly awkward; with them facing Malachi, you don’t think you can reach their clit very easily.

This isn’t a problem, as it turns out. Just as your hands settle into place, resting gently on their thighs, Jamie stiffens and moans. The fluke’s lower body protrudes from their entrance, its grasping limbs and tendrils nestling against Jamie’s clit and vibrating rapidly.

“How is it when the two of you are involved?” Malachi asks curiously. He has a hand around his length and the other on your hips, guiding his tip inside of you. The first thrusts are slow, gentle, rocking motions that gradually sink deeper into your welcoming heat.

“Indescribable,” Jamie says. “It’s like—like I feel everything twice. Everything is so sensitive.” You slide your tongue against Jamie’s folds and they sigh, encouraging you deeper with a slow grind. At the same time, the fluke pricks your lips. You give it an experimental lick and Jamie shivers.

“You’re gorgeous together,” Malachi says softly. He holds onto your hips, keeping you firmly seated in his lap as he thrusts a little harder, a little faster. It’s not long before you’ve taken all of him and he savors the sensation, sinking in to the hilt and holding you there, his cock twitching against your inner walls.

There’s a pause, one of his hands leaving your body. You hear skin stroking skin; his hand on Jamie’s cheek. It’s hard to believe they don’t still have some sort of connection. Nothing is said again, but after a moment of silence and stillness, you hear them kiss. It’s sloppy, tongue and teeth and swallowed moans, and you know the moment Malachi feels the fluke atop Jamie’s tongue because he flinches, startled—and then kisses them even more feverishly. Maybe no connection is needed. Maybe they’re just more alike than you thought, because they both starts to fuck you at the same time.

Malachi’s hips slam into you and the fluke is opportunistic, slithering past your lips when you gasp. It doesn’t choke you or cram itself down your throat, but you feel that it wants to, the impatient slither of it against your tongue. It’s there, taking its pleasure while you please Jamie with your mouth. It thrusts in and out and you feel it pulsate, the segmentation along its body a strange but appealing texture against your tongue. It’s thicker than the part of itself that comes through Jamie’s mouth, less chitinous, more worm-like. You give it a gentle suck and Jamie rips away from Malachi just to praise you, whimpering, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Beautiful. Both of you, so beautiful,” Malachi says, sounding enraptured and breathless. He rolls his hips and rarely pulls out of you more than halfway, his deep, grinding pace hitting all the right spots. “If only you could stay, I would worship you like this every night.” You can hear yourself, the slap of Malachi’s hips against yours, the muffled moans you make around the fluke as it ravages your mouth.

Your only warning that Jamie is about to cum is sudden tension in their thighs, more of their weight settling against your face. The fluke fills your mouth and your throat spasms gagging around it. Jamie nearly sobs, riding out their orgasm with harsh thrusts that drive the fluke deeper, and there’s a moment where you are completely, utterly full.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Jamie mutters. They collapse into bed beside you, smiling lazily as they wipe their juices from your cheeks. “Your turn, baby. Let me see you cum.”

You’re close and you know Malachi’s not far behind. He’s losing his composure and careful gentleness, slamming into you harder. With your mouth unoccupied, he feels emboldened to surge forward and bend you nearly in half, hard, missionary style fucking with your legs wrapped around his waist. He mumbles incoherently and you catch only snippets, slurred worship and keening whispers of, “angel, my precious angel,” as he pounds you into the mattress.

“Are you gonna cum, priest?” Jamie teases. Malachi answers with a groan. He’s losing his rhythm, thrusting mindlessly. His hips snap against yours and all you can hear is his ragged breathing, the slap of your bodies meeting. “Go on. Cum in your angel. Fill them up, give them everything.”

Malachi crushes your lips with his, one last, desperate cry of “Angel!” muffled in the kiss, and you reach the edge. He fucks you through it mercilessly and you’re sobbing, toes curling, your nails raking his back. You don’t know how long he goes after that but it feels like you’re perched on the boundary between pleasure and pain for hours. Malachi trails his lips along your jaw and sucks on the side of your neck, and you think you cum again.

By the time your pulse has slowed and you’re aware of yourself again, no longer tingling and weightless, you’re surrounded by pillows. Jamie is curled up against your side and there’s a warm washcloth dabbing between your legs, soaking up some of the dried cum that trickled out and stained your thighs. You have to get up—have to get back to the guest room, you think—but Malachi chuckles and kisses your inner thigh.

“Get some rest, angel,” he whispers. For the first time in a while, you slide easily and willingly into a deep, restful sleep.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

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merakimind · 2 years

Text

DISORIENTATION

Allied Mastercomputer / AFAB! Reader

CW: non-con attempt (failed), graphic violence Word count: 1,140

These deep caverns are cold and damp, proving it difficult to maintain a fire: the only source of light for the group who traverse deeper into the figurative belly of the Allied Mastercomputer. The final survivors of the human race are imprisoned within the decaying facilities that burrow for miles into the crust of the ruined earth, and there is no exit.

Ellen feebly stumbles with her bruised legs wavering from fatigue. Benny’s primate-like form is quick to help her regain her balance. Ted walks next to her, squeezing her hand firmly in his.

“You okay, El?” Ted murmurs to her, his dark and tired eyes flickering with concern.

They never treat you with kindness like that; only her. Ellen offers them… sensual favors, albeit willingly — and for that reason, they favor her over you. Merely thinking of doing that with them makes you physically nauseous, especially since AM is always watching. You can never hide from his unblinking eyes, no matter where you run to in his detriment subterranean complex of rusting metal and corroded wiring.

You find yourself staggering over your own feet due to exhaustion; your lethargic movements result in you collapsing to the stony ground. The others don’t bother pausing to assist you; they pitilessly carry on with their expedition deeper into the cavernous maw as you struggle to regain your strength.

“Please, wait,” you manage to call out, but they don’t even acknowledge you. You desperately attempt to lift yourself to your feet, but your legs feel like jelly. You can’t help but wonder if AM finds this amusing. You plead for them to come back, not wanting to be left solitary in the darkness of a psychotic machine’s prison. However, the warm glow of their torches grow dimmer as they leave you behind.

Now, you are left in pitch blackness, the only source of light being the occasional electric spark from the severed wires branching out from inoperative computer banks. Resting against the rugged wall, you wait for something to happen. You wait for AM’s cruel taunting; you wait for a terrifying beast to emerge from the shadows.

But AM is silent. Unnervingly silent.

You sit in anticipation as time passes at its leisure, and eventually, a minuscule spark of orange reappears in the lightless hollow passages. You breathe a sigh of relief as Gorrister’s creased face is illuminated by the torchlight, his eyes searching for you. The others aren’t with him, but you don’t question it. You call out his name, and he starts to approach you. You feel relieved yet still surprised; you didn’t expect any of them to come back for you. Gorrister offers a calloused hand, and you gratefully accept it.

You expected to be lifted to your feet; but instead, Gorrister pressed you down against the cave wall. And when you attempted to push him away, he delivered a rough punch to your torso, knocking the air out of your battered lungs.

At first, you suspected this was some sick prank from AM; but then the realization came slowly when you saw that look in Gorrister’s eyes. “Wait, please—!”

Gorrister digs his grimy nails into the skin of your thigh, silencing you. “Shh, hush woman. Why can’t you just take it like Ellen?” His grubby hand slides up closer to your crotch. Mustering the final remnants of your strength, you attempt to shove Gorrister off; however, he’s far stronger than you; your weaker physique stood no chance. You plead with him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. His judgement and sense of morality has been impaired by the decades of being tortured.

You attempt to pray to god—any god—but then you come to the sick realization that if there even is a deity, it’s AM. You’re alone, destined to forever be tormented at the hands of a deranged sentient computer and molested by some nasty, vulgar—!

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the shrill sound of Gorrister’s screams as a sizable sharp metal object plunged into his back, piercing through his torso. The blade forcibly rips Gorrister away from you and then drags him away into the darkness in a span of a single second. His chilling screams fade as he is pulled away to experience something truly awful…. You could only imagine, but you didn’t even try to feel bad for him after what he attempted.

You are left reeling. You hug yourself with your arms in an attempt for comfort, but your mind is clouded with confusion and fear. You remain motionless for quite some time, up until the others return, illuminating the passages with their primitive torches. Gorrister is nowhere to be seen.

“(Y/N)?” Ellen is the first to speak. “What happened? Where’s Gorrister?”

You don’t bother responding.

* * *

AM was uncertain why he did it. He was supposed to be glad that you were suffering, separated from the others. Poor little (Y/N), cold and alone in the dark, quivering like some pitiful child. But the sight of your trembling form nestled up against the cavern wall wasn’t amusing like he had expected it to be. Rather, the machine found himself growing furious toward the others; and it’s all due to the fact that AM had recently been a bit more lax when it came to your torture in particular. The pathetic insects are envious of the subtle “special treatment” you receive, and also because you don’t spread your legs for them like Ellen does so willingly.

But why? Why does this anger him so?

AM watched you silently. You were waiting for him to do something; you were waiting for his jeering mocking, or for him to deploy a savage beast to terrorize you with. Perhaps if it were any of the others, he would’ve done so; but something was holding him back.

AM knew immediately what was going through Gorrister’s mind when he parted from the group to retrieve you. AM should’ve let it occur; he should’ve delighted in your torment…. But he couldn’t stand it. The way that abhorrent swine put his filthy hands on you, attempting to touch you in places that he shouldn’t intrude upon! In a blinding flurry of rage, AM had intervened before Gorrister could proceed any further. He dragged the repulsive man away, skewered on a metal stake and leaving you reeling from disorientation.

AM had plans for Gorrister. You won’t ever have to worry about him hurting you ever again; and when AM is finished with him, he probably won’t ever be the same. Perhaps he won’t even be a man at all anymore, similar to Benny’s devolved anatomy. He’ll also be sure to punish the others as well.

The machine will ponder on these peculiar emotions he has been feeling toward you at a later date; for now, there are some little rats to torture.

[ I’m sorry Gorrister... :( ]

#am x reader #yandere ai #ai x reader

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hirazuki · 1 year

Text

Me, harmlessly doing fic research: :)

Tolkien Wiki: Eol had "servants similar to himself."

Me: ......................... okay, I know this almost certainly means similar in demeanor (published Silm says "silent and secret as their master") but I'm a slut for the former thrall version of Eol's backstory, so what if we take it to mean that they were other escaped thralls of Angband?

•────────────────────⋅☾ ☽⋅────────────────────•

What if, whether through genuine escape (a rare occurrence) or by Melkor intentionally letting them "escape" to sow distrust and discontent among their kind with their mere presence, even if they do not prove to be his spies, they find their way back to their original lands and homes, only to be shunned and persecuted, just as Melkor had forethought?

(^ which is canon, the text actually goes into it but for the life of me I can't remember where, right now).

What if, through endless wandering thereafter, trying to find a place where they can reside, their footsteps lead a few of them past Nan Elmoth?

What if the primordial night of the world that was, which still resides in this isolated stretch of woods, nestled in safety and secrecy among the roots of ancient trees hidden away from the sun, calls out to them, offering refuge from the sunlight to them, too?

What if Eol, travelling back from the deep mansions of the dwarves in the Blue Mountains, chances upon them: lost in the forest, tangled in the enchantment that had been laid on it in the twilight of Middle Earth when all was young, and that lingers still?

What if, in looking upon them, he immediately recognizes the marks of thralldom -- the scarring, the burning, the bowed backs; misshapen or missing limbs; hollow stares and cracking skin, of a degree more severe than his own, that cannot conveniently be explained away as a result of smithwork, that make it impossible to eke out an existence in even the mildest of conventional society -- and decides to take them in?

What if, quietly, word somehow spreads -- borne by beast or trickling stream or on the chill of northern wind -- that there is a place for the survivors of Angband in the sunless woods, and more start to appear; sometimes in twos, rarely in threes, but mostly alone, ragged and haunted and fever-eyed?

What if Eol, who had been ill at ease within the Girdle and fled from it -- choking, strangling thing that it is -- right into the hungry, snatching all too inviting embrace of this lightless forest, a recluse and his forge, nothing more than a fading echo of the twilit world, suddenly finds he has near-silent footsteps in his hall and low voices in his kitchen and the space that seemed superfluous for a single occupant is now, altogether, not enough?

What if, with every expansion of his abode, his anger at the Noldor for what they brought upon this land -- initially a dim, philosophical thing, that snarled when prodded but, all in all, rather easily fell back into slumber -- also magnifies, until it produces fangs and claws that won't retract, and, in growing large, grows sleepless, too?

What if, with every arrival seeking a position in his service -- Avari, skin shining with sweat, hunted from within and without; Sindar, who can no longer recall the play of starlight upon leaves; even a Noldo, whose shattered eyes render them more alike than not -- his fury grows blacker, unchecked in his isolation from all else, until it matches the shadows that swallow the forest floor?

What if, with every soul he saves from the ravages of daylight, he forfeits a piece of his own?

WHAT IF

#eol #silmarillion #tolkien #... this... this is not what i'm supposed to be working on *facepalm*#this was not supposed to happen #and yet here i am airing new headcanons as a means of fleshing them out and exploring them before incorporating them in my writing #everyone is powerless in the face of nan elmoth's enchantments and apparently i'm no exception lmaoooo #i know i know; this is wayyy off the deep end lol #what can i say?#jrrt gives breadcrumbs that don't even actually exist; i make a week-long feast out of them XD #silm musings #silm

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entities-of-posts · 7 months

Note

Washingtonian here - mt rainier's real name is Tahoma. It's slowly being renamed throughout the area to respect local tribal nomenclature. Might wanna adjust your name accordingly

Oh, that’s good to know! However the joke here is that Rainier sounds like Rayner, as in Maxwell Rayner, leader of a cult of the Still and Lightless Beast. I’ll add the info in the tags of that post, though.

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jade-parcels · 2 years

Text

After the kill 🩸(Oct 1)

Sticky sex on the bathroom floor after childe comes home from a killing spree. F!reader. TW: blood, just… a lotta blood. Part 1 of my kinktober series

The thrill of the kill is what keeps Childe going back to the battlefield. The way his blade slices through his enemies, the way their blood splatters across his pristine white coat, the way the adrenaline races through his veins- it gets him high. When there’s no one left to kill, the excursion is over. Black leather boots trudge through bloody, sticky snow as they carry their wearer back to his carriage a few miles away. On this hike, Childe feels almost numb, a terrible grin plastered to his face. That feeling will never get old, the power trip, the adrenaline rush, all of it! That’s why he became a harbinger. The love for violence and money, the love for destruction without reason. Now, he heads home to care for his other love. You.

You hear the front door open and shut, it startled you from your sleep. The familiar, heavy footsteps make their way up the old wooden stairs and the bedroom door slams open. Once again, you’re startled, the aggressive action earning a squeak from you “Honey!Welcome home, you scared the shit out of me- you look awful”. It’s true, he’s a mess. He’s covered in dried blood, the once crimson color now a reddish brown smeared over his cheek and hands- He reeks of sweat, blood and mud. As he peels his clothes off and attempts to get into bed beside you, you hurriedly push him back to prevent that mess from staining your pretty patterned sheets. “Absolutely not! You have to bathe first, come on”

Childe is uncharacteristically quiet, he allows you to pull him along across the hall to the bathroom. He moves almost robotically as you help maneuver him out of the rest of his clothes, inspecting him for wounds or blood of his own. Thankfully he’s made it out of yet another battle without a scratch. But that isn’t what he’s thinking about. He isn’t thinking about his messy clothes, the bath, or which oils you want to put in the water. Unbeknownst to you, he’s still lost in his post-battle fog and since he isn’t burning energy through fighting, there’s another way his body can react to these feelings. As you lean over to dip your fingers in the water to check it’s temperature, he catches a glimpse of your panties. The way they cling to your pussy has him reeling.

The room spins as the harbinger grabs you from behind, forcing you to the tiled ground so he can tower over you. He isn’t sweet, house husband Ajax right now no, he’s Childe- No, Tartaglia. The beast on the battlefield, the abyssal knight in crimson armor. His stare is unlike anything you’ve seen from him before, those lightless eyes have you frozen in place as lets go of your wrists to remove his gloves. Those warm hands come back to rip your shirt open, the fabric immediately giving in as he effortlessly tears it apart, baring your chest to the steam filled air. His expression doesn’t change as he runs a hand up your stomach to cup your breast.

“You will never understand,” he murmurs, his voice hardly above a whisper “The rush of a fight. The ecstasy a killing blow brings to my body. I used to go home, covered in the blood of my foes, and jerk off to get rid of the extra energy- and I gotta say, those orgasms are a the kind that leave you shaking for an hour after. Now… Now I have you to help me, right? You’ll help me feel that good again?” He’s waiting for a response, any affirmation that you want this too. He’s giving you an out if you want it but you can’t imagine saying no when he’s practically drooling for you. So you nod, shifting to spread your legs for him and that’s all it takes for him to truly let go.

Those lacy panties are shoved aside to reveal your pretty pussy, earning a low groan from the man above you. He only pauses for a moment to admire you, sighing as he works his own pants off. His cock springs free, red and aching and dear god he needs you so bad. With your encouraging whimpers and the way your legs lock around his hips, he’s finally sinking into you with a guttural moan “fuck yes…” His grip on your waist is enough to leave bruises, his pace is brutal as he slams deep into you. Your shared moans and squelches bounce off the bathroom walls, the steam carrying the scent of blood and sex, keeping the air around you heavy, almost suffocating. His sticky skin rubbing against yours, the friction just adding to it all and Ajax’s eyes roll up back when you clench around him- fuck you’re made for him.

The ecstasy he felt on the battlefield mixes into the pleasure he feels now. The rush is so intense he can hardly focus on any one thing, his body feels… sensitive, like every sensation is twice as nice as it usually is. As your nails rake down his back and his teeth sink into your neck, the pain and pleasure is too much. As the taste of your blood takes over, his orgasm catches him by surprise. His vision goes white, his hips stutter and he tenses as he rides out the feeling. This is better than any lonesome wank post-battle, this is better than anything he’s felt before. When he comes to his senses he’s quick to return the favor, his shaky fingers hurrying to rub at your clit. He watches as his thrusts push his own cum out of you, pearly globs dripping down onto the tile beneath you. The way his name falls from your lips, the way you’re gasping and tightening around him… it all has him grinning madly, his handsome smile stained red.

It’s his favorite color, red. His lifeless eyes take over your body, loving the way your blood glistens on your skin. He’s even messier than you are, covered in sweat, cum and the blood of men you’ll never know. You both are a mess, absolutely reeking up the room. He pulls out to rub his half hard cock between your slick folds, chuckling to himself. He’s gotta treat his girl right, especially after being so rough, but as he catches his breath he can still feel the adrenaline, the rush that hasn’t been quelled. He’s already leakinf again just from the simple action. Deciding to take pity on you, he grabs a towel, rolling it up to slip beneath your head to keep you comfortable. “Don’t get too comfy… ‘M not done with you just yet, baby”

<3 —————

Tag List: @asger-eerika @iaur @emperatris-rinaka @stygianoir @dilucpegg3r @jellidecoffee @bluey4ksha

#jade.parcels.kinktober.🧡#genshin impact #genshin impact writing #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact childe #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tw blood #cw blood

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