dragonnarrative-writes

[dragonnarrative-writes]

its so sad when a fanfic trope initially centered around noncon/dubcon gets popular enough that it turns into a watered down extremely consensual healthy-relationship version of it

as retribution i think i'm going to start taking vanilla tropes and making them noncon. the barista is putting roofies in the coffee. there's only one bed and the other guy is getting chained to the radiator. there's no social or legal protections for assault within soulmate matches

[dragonnarrative-writes]

anyway. Riddick (2013) jackals appreciation post

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Ghost takes scary!reader to the woods thinking it would be good enrichment for you to be hunted. He does this with the sergeants, too. A simple game of chase that gets their adrenaline pumping after too long of just handling paperwork.

He expects it to be the same with you, if not more of a fight when he finally catches you.

Instead, two hours in with no traces, ghost is starting to realize he may have underestimated you. Because suddenly hes feeling eyes on the back of his skull, and a hair raising instinct in him tells him to run. Something deep and primal that screams danger when you allow yourself to be spotted 20 steps ahead. Not a clue, a warning.

You grin, confident in your environment with one of ghosts knives held in hand. When did you manage to grab that? Feeling for the first time in a long time like prey, ghost starts running in the other direction.

Its you hunting him now. He shudders at what youll do when you catch him.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

a couple of you in my inbox are on the same wavelength as me. this has absolutely been done before

but you find price through a friend of a friend who knows a guy who maybe once did a job with him.

if you're lucky, you're granted a sit-down. the place smells like smoking is still legal indoors, and the coffee maker's never been cleaned.

he sizes you up the second he sees you. he waits for the usual script—"please mr. price, kill this man for this paltry sum. what do you mean i'm lowballing you?"

you don't give him that. you sit down in the seat across from him, shoulders caved, eyes bloodshot, clearly chewing on your request. but you don't ask for a hit.

you ask him if he'll teach you how to hold a gun, how to shoot it, how to kill. then, almost quieter, if he's got recommendations for a clean-up crew (he does, a group of three). someone who'll make sure there's no mess left behind.

you pique his interest. you don't fight him on the fee increase. money's no object for this task. you put him on the spot about the timeline. he throws out another ridiculous number: six weeks. to his delight, you don't fight him on that number, either.

not even when he insists he'll be there for the killing. to consider it a final exam of sorts.

and he is a good teacher. punctual. thorough. patient. even when you can barely hold the thing, shaking like a leaf, he never loses his temper. he keeps his voice low and steady, murmuring encouragements until they buy him tacit permission to get closer. freely adjusting your stance and grip. watching shivers travel like lightning down your back. between your shoulder blades. maybe between your legs.

he listens well, too. always a kind ear and open shoulder. you tell him your target—the man who hurt your sister—he really deserves it, something about putting hands on her. he doesn't give a damn about your reasons. you could've come to him with someone who cut you off in traffic, and he'd've agreed.

you give him more than you think. more than you probably mean to. scraps of your life after shooting practice. work, dinner plans, other little admissions that slip loose when you're tired and you can't stop yourself. he sees the moment you realize and try to retreat. plainly hoping that after the deed's done, you'll send him the last installment and toss the burner in the river, and he'll move on to the next job. but it's too late, he's seen you. he knows you.

so when the day arrives, when you see it through and kill a man, you break exactly how he thought you would. shaking, sniffling. face wet with tears and blood spatter you hadn't accounted for. he's there before you can open your mouth, stripping the pistol from your gloved hands, hauling you into his chest, turning your face away from the gore.

he hides a smile above your crown, whispering praise in your ear and rubbing circles into your back.

he's already drenched your car in lighter fluid. there are a pair of new passports and falsified papers waiting in his. nik's got the plane and the bogus manifest.

a short holiday is what you need after this. a couple weeks to lay low and let this blow over.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Thanks for the tag!

favorite color: Purple 💜

last song: Nothin's Gonna Stand In Our Way by Spectre General

currently reading: have i ever read anything in my life???? Rereading Harrow the Ninth, I guess.

currently watching: A Crown of Candy (Dropout)

currently craving: corned beef hash. greasy. cooked thin so it's got a lot of crispy bits to it. on top of it? two eggs. fried medium. a fruit salad on the side, and a large glass of orange juice.

npt: @sentientcave, @rawme-price, @roller-rink-haruno, @superhoeva

getting 2 know the mutuals - thank u @luvwich for the tag and so sorry this took me so long, first ever tag game on here !! lol

1. Favorite Color: green of any variety

2. Last Song: good dancers by the sleepy jackson bc i am cold and miserable and yearning for summer

3. Currently Reading: lapvona by ottessa moshfegh. slowly. it is testing me

4. Currently watching: i don't watch much tv tbh. lately i have been comfort rewatching all of claire saffitz's gourmet makes videos

5. Currently Craving: a swim in the sea. a big bowl of beef pho. a man to put me in a headlock

no pressure tagging some mutuals!! <3 @theorist-fox @xoxunhinged @the-californicationist @fulltacs @yeyinde

[dragonnarrative-writes]

could we possibly get some more on underdeveloped dragon reader? i'd give my firstborn child to read more on them ngl

also good luck w the masterlist!!🫶🏻

We're finally getting to some smut! Surely this won't backfire at all... [Part 1][part 5]

Price is already trying to justify his actions before he takes them. Your wing is spread across his lap, and it looks so wrong and different from what a dragon's wing should look like. Does it matter if he's essentially groping you when it will help you heal?

He pointedly ignores the fact you've been shoved into your instincts since the op. It's difficult enough for dragons to control their instincts inside another's nest, but the fact that you're injured means you've been running on instincts for weeks now.

The pot of ointment is small, about the size of his palm, but Price only needs a little. He scoops out a small amount with his claw and tells himself it's for your own good, that he's doing this to help you. The ointment is cool against your heated wings and has you whining into the nest, wings fluttering because oh god that felt nice. The pain subsides where his fingers gently rub the ointment into the tips of your wings.

He has to bite back an appreciative rumble at the way you flare the wing out, inviting more touch. God, you look so tempting and you don't even realize it. Slowly, he works over the entire length of the wing. Ointment seeping into your skin where scales should be. Each press of his fingers into your delicate wings has a heady sensation you've never felt before rolling through you. Mind fuzzy and happy because your protector is here, your sire, and he's making you feel better so there's no need to worry.

His hands jerk a bit when you rumble out a pleased sighs of sire and happy. It sounds so wrong coming out in between pleased moans, and much to Price's mortification he feels himself chub up. The muscles near the base of your wing are taught with tension, and he presses down with more force to work them loose. Surely not for any other reason. Definitely not because his instincts are yelling at him to treat his mate so well. He mutters under his breath "Fuckin hell kid... you're trying to kill me..."

The rest becomes a blur of sensations that feel so, so good. You don't remember much aside from the safe cozy experience of your sire taking care of you, but price remembers it all. The breathy moans, the twitch and spread of your wings, how your back arched when his palm pressed over your spine. His cheeks flush at a particularly rough press that you tensing up with a whine then going lax.

Did you...? Fuck. Price finishes up quickly and lies in the nest just long enough for you to doze off. The air is cool when he retreats to his office. Shamefully wrapping a warm palm around himself and imagining you playing your wings out for him, at the stretch of him. It's a shitty orgasm, he can't smell you or hear your rumbles. Shame hits him quick afterwards. He's your superior, your captain. What he just did surely crossed a line. But...no one needs to know, right? He just...won't tell anyone and pray that you're too deep into instincts to forget.

Back in the nest room, ghost opens the door with a tray of food and vitamin tablets in one hand. His eyes scan over your form, taking it all in and narrowing at the conclusion he draws. He frowns, closes the door behind him.

"Christ' sake kid..."

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Do you ever start writing something that you’re excited about and that seems like it’s turning out well and that you’re getting eager to share, and then you start typing it up or doing an edit pass and it’s just awful it’s awful its premise is fundamentally flawed and it’s out of character and the prose is clunky and the plot is badly paced and ludicrous and the whole thing is embarrassing, how could you have done this, how could you have sunk so much time into this, you can’t even look at it, how is this that shining thing you were so excited about, how could you even have considered finishing it let alone sharing it with anyone, you’re crying, your mother is crying, nuns are spontaneously exploding in the streets,

[dragonnarrative-writes]

consent is very important! that’s why I’m willing to edge you until I get it

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Pretzel girl is very flexible.

she's teaching him yoga

[dragonnarrative-writes]

she's so cute, the poor thing. what the fuck is he supposed to do with a pretty girl like this? (18+, a little smidge of dark!simon)

she's so dumb. she nods when he talks, says yes, simon, yeah when he asks her if he can take her home. she purrs yes, simon, m-more when he buries his masked face between her thighs as he makes her ride his covered mouth. she sings when he touches her, cries when his gloved fingers fuck her open, and she whines s-so good, simon, please, more, simon when he bottoms out into her soft cunt with all of his clothes still on.

vest strapped, thigh holsters still buckled, cargo pants still around his waist, nothing but his belt buckle open and his zipper down when he fucks you into the cushions of your couch. you're drooling, positively cock-stupid, bouncing with the rough rhythm he keeps. it's salvation, coming home to a pretty girl underneath him, and he wants to hold you hard enough to make you bleed when he grips the meat of your hips and watches your ass push back against him.

so dumb. so stupid. the prettiest girl he has ever seen, and she has no idea what it is that fucks the shape of them into her so that they will know if someone else has been here. she has no idea what the thing on top of her has done, has no idea how deranged and terrible his mind is, she doesn't know.

she never asked how he knew where she lived. she never asked how he knew which button to press in the elevator. she never asked how he knew to turn left instead of right. she never asked where he got that key, or why it worked when he opened up the door of her flat.

all she asks for is for him to fuck, please, simon--m-more!

she's so cute. she'll do just fine.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

reblog if you sit at the feet of fat chicks like a beloved and loyal hound instagram | bluesky | patreon

[dragonnarrative-writes]

fuck, i just remembered the butcher/serial killer ghost fic i have languishing in my wips

imagine being a reporter that's noticed a pattern in seemingly 'unrelated' murder cases spanning the past few months, and you realize that all of them involve the use of a butcher's tools- hooks, cleavers, bolt guns, etc.

so you go ask your local butcher (the big masked manc that tells awful jokes and doesn't entertain personal questions) a few questions. how hard is it to get a bolt gun? how difficult would this style of dismemberment be, given the tools of his trade?

he gives you bullshit, darkly jokey answers meant to confuse and terrify you. telling you things like 'bolt guns aren't hard to get hold of if you kill a butcher first' and 'cleavers don't usually cut through bone that thick, unless you're as big and strong as me'

it quickly becomes clear simon is messing with you, and when you lose your temper and blurt out that you think there's a serial killer in the area and can he please take this more seriously, he goes Far Too Still. dark eyes bore into you as the silence drags on to a deeply uncomfortable degree before he speaks.

you mean here, in this area? that shouldn't be. this is his turf, anyone who's anyone knows better than to muck about in his spot.

and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he's being set up. cutting up people using butchers tools in his back yard? they're trying to get him fingered as the culprit, and as soon as that particular lightbulb goes off, simon's pissed.

to your complete surprise, he tells you he's going to help you solve this, that he'll tag along with you on your investigation and use his knowledge of the tools employed and the area the bodies were dumped to help bring the killer to justice. if you ever try to question why he'd help you, he just reaches behind you, grabs a big handful of your ass, and tells you he's grown fond of the view.

[after all, he's done a fantastic fucking job of entertaining his hobby of killing off horrible, abusive fathers under the radar. he's been doing it for years, stalking and killing men who send their families running to shelters and hospitals and never seem to catch a consequence until he arrives. he never uses the tools of his trade, and he never shits where he eats- he always drives an hour minimum to go hunting. and now some faux copycat prick is gonna march into his backyard, leave some bodies, and try to leave big neon signs saying 'the butcher did it'? fuck that.]

[dragonnarrative-writes]

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Maybe if he was a little less fuckable we wouldn’t be in this mess

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Gaz, Laswell, Nikolai, Ghost, Graves, Ale, Rudy, and fucking Herschel, "Morning, John"

Soap: "uh his first name is Captain"

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Schlocktober: A Fake Event Where Anything Goes

While other people are out here dropping Kinktober prompt lists with 9000 stipulations, I bring you this.

It's not a real October event, but it could be if you believe. The prompts are here for anyone to enjoy anyway.

Why "schlock"?

It means trash/junk, and that's the quality of content I'm striving for with these prompts. It's also fun to say.

But, y'know, if you want to take a prompt and turn it into a masterpiece of a whumpy longfic, go for it.

What fandom is this for?

Whatever fandom you want.

What ships can I write/draw?

Any of them.

Even [my fandom's most despised ship]?

Especially [your fandom's most despised ship].

What if I want to combine prompts? What if I want to write or draw things out of order? What if...

Go for it.

Are crossovers okay?

Do. Whatever. You. Want.

What if I want to create something problematic?

Send me the fucking link.

What does [prompt] mean?

You tell me. It's all open to interpretation.

Are there any rules at all?

Sure.

No AI use. If you need an LLM to write your schlock for you, consider a long walk off a short pier. If you need it to do your editing for you, use a beta reader instead. A stick figure drawn on the back of a napkin is better than soulless AI art.

Tag appropriately. 'Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings' means anything goes. 'No Archive Warnings Apply' means your work is guaranteed not to contain any of the major archive warnings (non-con, major character death, graphic violence, or underage sex).

No irl bigotry. Your characters can be problematic as all get out, but if you try to post a weird pro-JK Rowling essay or something you're not going in the collection, bud. Don't kill the vibes.

What are the vibes?

Just have fun.

But other people are having fun wrong!

Shut the fuck up.

Are you going to be doing this?

Probably not.

How do I participate?

There's an ao3 collection right here:

Schlocktober on ao3

Otherwise, just hashtag #schlocktober or something, idk. I don't expect anyone to actually do this.

Text version of the prompts under the cut.

Day 1:

Quadruple Fisting

Inappropriate Use of Labubus

Sex-Related Injury

Day 2:

Quesadilla Cocksleeve

Taking Notes During Sex and Grading It

MyPillow Humping

Day 3:

Erotically Burning Hair

Nostril Worship

Fuck or Live

Day 4:

Gap Tooth Kink

Pegging with a Square Peg

Peeling Sunburn

Day 5:

Not Squirting, Not Pee, but a Secret Third Thing

Nipple Sounding

Enemas to Lovers

Day 6:

Defiling a Puritan

Room Temperature Play

Edging on an Edge

Day 7:

Bidets

Too Many Legs

Shallow Throating

Day 8:

Lingerie Made of Crabs

Not Water Sports, but Water Leisure

Masturbation Pollen

Day 9:

Nonconsensual Consent (NCC)

Afterneglect

Last Time

Day 10:

Human Centipeding

Ball Slapping

Fuck or Die Trying

Day 11:

Sex on Meth

Plucking Hair by Hand

Harem on Strike

Day 12:

Second-Hand Creampie

Haggled Use

Age Progression

Day 13:

Cactus Insertion

Antibreeding Kink

Mechanical Bull

Day 14:

Banned on TikTok

Predator/Predator

Prey/Prey

Day 15:

Scissoring with Scissors

Butterplay

Cannon (Artillery) Compliant

Day 16:

Dueling Gloryholes

Inedible Cum

Purple Nurple

Day 17:

Pimple Popping

Lap Riverdance

Pain Without Pleasure

Day 18:

Nonconsensual Soloplay

Weakness Kink

Genital Swap (Not Whole Body)

Day 19:

Chip Clip Nipple Clamps

Spatchcocking

Wound Fucking

Day 20:

Boot Blasphemy

Understimulation

Gamma/Delta/Sigma (G/D/S)

Day 21:

CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Torture)

CBT (Cock and Ball Therapy)

Asparagus

Day 22:

Autocannibalism

Actual Jackhammering

Extrasensory Deprivation

Day 23:

Going in Dry

Aroused by the Smell of Rubber Cement

Sterilization Ritual

Day 24:

Genitals Stuck in Zipper

Ennui Kink

Earwax Wax Play

Day 25:

Actual Handcuffs (They're Under Arrest)

96ing

Sex as a Sedative

Day 26:

Hospice Roleplay

Gas Station Sex Pills

Balls So Blue They're Practically Purple

Day 27:

Extreme Temperature Cockwarming

Promiscuity Cage

Salt Daddy

Day 28:

Sex with Crocs

Anal Toeing

Breaking a Sex Contract

Day 29:

Coming in Someone Else's Pants

Clowns

Cloning Gone Wrong

Day 30:

Lube As Spit

Pet Work

Clear Showers (Character Is Adequately Hydrated)

Day 31:

Pumpkin Seed Snowballing

Candy Apple Coating

Ghost of a Sex Offender

[dragonnarrative-writes]

(me on a first date) and what do you think of the inherent intimacy of surgery? have you considered the love someone must have to put their hands under your skin and hold the most grotesque parts of you and put them back together nicely? is anyone really closer to you than that? we all get uh a little enamored on the surgery table don't we haha. wait come back