#lost to the preds

[boiled-ginger-ale]

headcanon of the day by our beloved @roseytoesy (the second comic was drafted by them too <3), peso will headbonk people when he wants to be stored but doesnt have the energy to ask; its a way for him to communicate without the awkwardness of verbally requesting it. it makes barnacles and kwazii especially melt every time he does it-

[viperpitsfilly]

Commission for a bud on discord

Commission info right here!!!

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS NSFW

[limitless-blue]

predprey AU - Sapnap injures one of his cute lil bunny paws somehow and keeps limping, trying to avoid putting weight on it (bc ow) but he doesn’t walk very fast so Serpias takes the initiative of grabbing him and carrying him around by the scruff 😭 Sapnap is so used to being randomly Snatched at this point tho so he gives in :3

that and asking Conter how to fix his paw, which results in either him actually fixing his paw or in… other activities :3

aw poor baby ):

as a bunny, his palms/soles/paw pads are softer than everyone else's, even conter's, and as a result, they're prone to getting scraped or cut. he's usually pretty diligent about wearing shoes and gloves when he's out of his burrow to protect them (he knows this just means he's not giving them the chance for the skin to harden or thicken, but that would mean having to let them get callouses and shit, and that hurts D:), but sometimes, they get too overstimulating, so he'll take them off for a few hours.

during one of these such hours, maybe he steps on a particularly sharp piece of cobblestone, maybe someone decided to ambush him while he wasn't paying attention. either way, he ends up hurting his paw; nothing too bad to warrant wasting resources to heal it, he's fine with just letting it heal naturally. unfortunately, that means he has to let it breathe, and he can't wear a shoe on that foot, which means having to be even more careful because now his foot's injured and exposed.

he only limps for a day, but it's enough to make the guys pamper him, cooing and babying him as if this injury had left him bedbound. serpias ends up carrying him everywhere (not even carrying him to wherever he needs to go, but just going about his own day while carrying sapnap with him).

it's his complaining that ends up being the last straw for conter. sapnap wouldn't be sapnap if he didn't complain about every slight inconvenience to himself, and of course, that means chattering the ears off of whoever happens to witness his misfortune. the predators find it adorable, he's just a little bunny, there's nothing he can do that isn't adorable.

conter knows he's full of shit though; playing it up to get them to spoil and coddle him. conter ends up dragging sapnap away to his burrow (under the guise of letting their poor little bunny rest, of course), and forcing him to lay down on his back. conter lifts sapnap's foot to his face, cooing in faux sympathy about how injured he is, how much it must hurt, and he applies a healing potion to his foot. sapnap protests, says they can't waste potions, and besides, it's fine, he can heal it naturally! but conter just shushes him, says in that condescending, mocking tone of his, that he's just taking care of him, isn't that what he's been after? doesn't he want conter to pamper him?

sapnap just pouts up at him, because yeah, he wants their attention and he wants them to coddle him a bit, but he didn't want it to be over so quickly )):

conter plants a kiss on sapnap's foot, right where the injury was, and apologizes, says he's so, so sorry, how could he ever make it up to sapnap? his poor little baby, so much misfortune in his life— conter has to make him feel better, doesn't he?

slowly, gently, lovingly, conter takes off sapnap's shoe, pushes down his pants, strips him of his shirt, planting a kiss wherever he reveals more skin. unlike every other time they have sex, conter fucks sapnap soft and slow and gentle. he wouldn't want to risk injuring sapnap any more, now would he?

regardless of how slow, conter still fucks him for hours, still wrings orgasm after orgasm out of sapnap, cooing in his ear, complimenting him, praising him, using that condescending tone that never fails to humiliate him. sapnap doesn't know how, but conter always manages to make him feel so loved and like he's being mocked at the same time, and he never hesitates to abuse this shortcut to getting sapnap's dick hard as rocks.

by the time they're done, the rest of the team can't even tell that conter had healed sapnap, the little bunny's limp seemingly worse than before...

[voreaholics-anonymous]

Mega prey-brained this morning

[vorthodoxy]

ask game:

an area where hikers often go missing, there are conspiracy theories about why it's so dangerous. In truth, an extra-hungry pred lives nearby

(idk if this counts as a trope but)

Absolutely Not | Not My Thing Personally | Not Very Much | Neutral | Somewhat | Quite A Bit | Absolutely Adore

this one ranges for me! im not particularly wild about feral preds, but the idea of a pred with a hiking path that doesn’t show up on the map going straight from their house on the edge of town to one of the more isolated loops…

maybe it’s a big, twisty enough trail system that they actually live in the area, in a friendly-looking cabin near one of the less-maintained spots. and they’re helpful! they’ll give lost-looking hikers directions (they know this place better than anyone else), and the hikers will come back with a story of the kind person who saved their asses.

of course, it’s a very different story if the kind stranger invites the hikers to rest and rehydrate back in their cabin. it doesn’t matter if the hikers are traveling as a pair, even as a small group. the buddy system will not save you.

[pixiedust-poppers]

Jake and the apex predators (<- furry au)

Idk though but like just think. Jake being a lion, cubby a bear (either brown or polar bear), Izzy is still a toss up, like I thought reptile like saltwater crocodile or a king cobra, but ngl I’m kinda thinking an orca..? For her now, or maybe a tiger hmmm

[annieqattheperipheral]

Mikko pulling up his knee highs in the box getting ready for his unveiling

[boiled-ginger-ale]

I like to imagine empire’s jimmy doing something dumb like almost falling off a cliff around Joel and Joel just immediately eating him so he will stop dying

Jimmy would be furious. Joel would be unfazed by his protests.

Jim kicked at another pebble as he strode alongside a deep fissure to the north of Tumble Town, bickering playfully with the god he called his friend. Joel's strides across the red dirt were much greater than the little sheriff's and he frequently had to stop to let him catch up. He crawled over a few stones, making some lighthearted jabs and laughing along to whatever dumb ideas the god tossed around for future projects, but mostly he was zoning out, just letting the words slide in one ear and out the other. Jimmy was vaguely aware of the god making a comment at him to watch his step, but it was drowned out by the sudden crack of stone and a feeling of weightlessness as the ground beneath him gave way to open air.

The tiny let out a shriek before he felt a firm grip around his middle and the snap of being stopped short in midair. He gasped softly and closed his eyes as vertigo kicked in, and when he opened them again, he was staring into Joel's eyes. Jimmy didn't like the look he was giving him.

"Jimmy, I blummin' told you to be careful!" He winced slightly. Joel sounded downright pissed at him, even if concern was seeping through the sharp tone.

"Sorry, sorry-" He held up his hands in defense, "Can you.. put me down now?" Something in Joel's eyes shined in a way that made Jimmy uneasy. Scheming, maybe. His vision blurred with the feeling of vertigo, but when it steadied again he realized, instead of being lowered to the ground like he'd asked, the god had lifted him up level with his face.

"..Joel?" He gave no response, and the sheriff flinched as he was suddenly faced with an open maw, glinting with sharp teeth. "JOEL!" Jimmy was cut off as his entire upper half was shoved unceremoniously into the god's mouth. He tried to squirm his way free, but teeth dug into his back whenever he moved, and he quickly decided it was safer to stay still and brace himself against the hard palate above him until an opportunity for escape arose. It was only a second or so later that the pressure around his middle lifted, but before he could make a move, the rest of him was pulled into the cavern too. The light died as teeth clicked shut behind him and with it any hope Jim might have had for freedom.

Joel swallowed firmly, and Jimmy could only wriggle helplessly as he was dragged down the god's throat, being squished in from all sides as peristalsis pulled him deeper into his core. When the pressure finally subsided, Joel hummed softly, rubbing at Jim through the layers of flesh as the tiny sheriff tried to reorient himself.

"If you aren't going to take care of yourself I'm just going to have to make sure you stay safe. You can come out when you've learnt to value your life, Jimmy." The tiny sputtered indignantly and shoved at the wall he could feel Joel's hand through. The only response it got was a soft purr from the god and the stomach space shrinking in some weird, slimy sort of hug. Jimmy grumbled a bit before leaning into the flesh. Knowing the god, he'd probably be in here for longer than that.

[carrotmakar]

i cannot handle this back to back

[lenacopperleaf]

And we’ve lost Matt Nieto from California :(

[moyazaika]

lost property

yandere! 'slasher' x gn! reader

cw; obsessive + possessive themes, severe codependency, toxic relationship dynamics, pred/prey dynamics, heavily implied nsfw, trigger happy and heavy gun violence, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by @kottiya who is literally the sweetest ever ♡ thank you for being so patient and i truly hope the wait was well worth it, i blacked out whilst writing this so excuse the fact that it's so long LOL 5.6k words but i hope you enjoy reading, because i had the time of my lifeee writing this ;) ♡

“tell you what, sweetness; since you hate me so much,” dean drawls. “how about i let you run? see how far you get on your own.”

in the soft amber glow of the setting sun, your lover looks otherworldly from where he’s lying down besides you. the light falls over his body just like honey, casting him in the warm colours of a dying day. and just as you know that dean is a terrible man, you know, just as well, that he is equally as beautiful.

and maybe, you muse, that’s what terrifies you most of all.

“you don’t mean that,” you murmur, “you’re not going to let me go so easily, not after everything you’ve done to keep me.”

“yeah, baby?” he lazily drags his fingers down the curve of your spine, all light, and tantalisingly slow; revels at the way you shudder beneath his touch. "and what's that, huh?"

neither of you need to say it out loud, and the curl of his lips is answer enough. instinctively, you inch away from his hold, burrow deeper into the crinkling duvet draped over your limbs to put some distance between your bodies. 

“fine,” you reluctantly decide to entertain whatever fantasy this is, lest he decides he was better off not giving you a choice in the first place. “let’s say i run. what are you going to do when you find me?”

“mm.” dean presses his palm flat against the small of your back and pulls you right back in towards him; close enough for you to feel when he smiles against your skin. “nothing that i haven’t done to you before, sugar.”

‘i just don’t understand.” you look up at him, searching his face for any glimpse of an answer. even if you wanted to believe in his benevolence, you know you’re not so foolish. you’re acutely aware of the fact that he’s playing you. “why would you let me do that?”

he regards you for a moment with some careful thought. “you’d look a gift horse in the mouth?” he lazily asks.

“from you?” you scoff. “no, i’d shoot the fucking thing.” 

“stubborn, aren’t you?” he grins, and it's all sharp teeth, eager to bite.

“just know who i’m talking to is all,” you correct. palms laying flat against his chest, you push yourself away from him. narrow your eyes; ignoring the fact that you can feel the steady beats of heart beneath your hands. “what’s in this for you?”

“alright, sweetness.” he concedes. “call it curiosity. call it whatever you want, i don’t really care. i just wanna see how far you’ll let me go.” he hums, and it's a pleased little sound you feel roll all the way down the length of your spine.

you blink up at him. “you mean how far i’ll get?”

“nah, sugar.” dean laughs as he pulls you closer, once again rendering your best efforts to put some space between your bodies all for naught. his laughter is pleasant and warm, and you let yourself sink into the sound as he wraps his arms around you and cradles you even closer. “i mean exactly what i said.”

— seven months later

the hotel hallway stretches on endlessly both ahead and behind you, suspended in complete silence. 

it’s disquieting, really, how quiet the nineteenth floor is for the few hours you spend weaving in and out of the messy rooms. pale yellow lights buzz overhead as you continue down the corridor, the sound of the room service trolley muffled by the patterned carpet underfoot; each step on top of tacky, little yellow stars.

you pause in front of room 728, another one of the identical doors that are lined up across the never-ending hallway like sentinels. the air smells faintly of cleaning chemicals and jasmine. need more air freshener, you think, inserting your masterkey into the lock. you need to get all of the rooms on this floor clean before the next check-in rush. got about an hour left in your shift. 

you’re just about to turn the key when you hear it. it’s quiet, but unmistakable. a short, creaking sound, almost rhythmic. your eyes instinctively look down at the door hanger. in the hotel's standard colours and stamped with its logo, the card is angled outward from the knob. please service this room, it reads. undeniable, then, that you’re supposed to be here, yet, someone’s still clearly inside. 

“just flip the damn sign,” you murmur under your breath, fingers already having pulled the key from the lock, turning back to your cleaning cart when—

a moan, from the other side of the door; drawn out, distinctively feminine. 

it must have been the bed, you realise, only then. you’d heard the sound of the bed frame creaking before you heard her. at this, you straighten, your heartbeat picking up. casting a cautionary glance down the hallway, you’re strangely relieved, for the first time, to find it’s completely empty. the same as always. an undercurrent of something chemical. a faint whiff of jasmine.

turning back to the room 728’s door, you allow yourself to press your ear gently against the wood for just a moment. low grunts, the rustling of sheets. she’s clearly conscious about the noise. or maybe he is, you muse, because her voice is muffled, a hand clamped tight over her mouth in an attempt at quieting the moans that would otherwise spill past her lips freely. 

the concept is incredibly foreign to you—dean always liked you loud.

you step back. 

slip the key in your hands back inside a back pocket. dust off your uniform and allow yourself one last look at the door, one last opportunity to imagine who lies behind it, before you drag yourself deeper into the never ending corridor. 

the sound of the room service trolley is muffled by the plush carpet underfoot, slightly worn in places where the footsteps of countless previous guests had passed, and yet no one ever lingered. 

no one, it seems, except for you.

-

the money is shit, but beggars can’t be choosers.

that night, you sink into the sheets all too ready to sleep off the day’s hard work, with a weary mind and an aching body. 

it didn't always feel this difficult, did it?

-

you're standing in front of 728 again.

the creaking noise continues, soft and rhythmic, too familiar now to ignore. you glance again at the door hanger—please service this room—still swaying slightly almost as if mocking you. every sign tells you it should be empty, but you know it's not.

that doesn't stop you from pressing the handle down and stepping inside.

the room smells of sweat and sex, the curtains still half-closed against the midday light. it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness within the room, and realise what it really is you're looking at when you do see them.

the stark white sheets are stained and sticky and falling off the edge of the mattress. there are clothes strewn haphazardly in a trail down the hallway and into the bedroom. a tangle of limbs on the unmade bed; both turning towards you the moment the door creaks closed behind you of its own volition.

you should leave. why are you still here? 

the air thickens as their eyes lock onto you in unison—and the sight of them, completely blank and unfeeling pools of absolute absence, makes you shiver.

your breath catches somewhere between your throat and your spine when it dawns on you what—who—exactly you're staring at.

he has you folded into his favourite position; knees tucked right up to your chest and face tenderly held down against the soft pillows by his mocking, loving hands.

despite the unwelcome intrusion, you make no attempt to cover up; content to remain lying completely bare before yourself. under your own silent appraisal, your back arches into dean’s chest, pressed right up behind you, and there’s no hand draped over your mouth; no attempt made to silence you. you only exhale slowly, your lips parted into a pretty ‘o’.

a strange, unexpected heat pools in your body as you catch sight of your glossy, flushed cheeks between the gaps in dean’s fingers as they so kindly keep you in place; right where you're meant to be.

he’s teasing the sensitive bruises he’s sucked into your skin with the sharp points of his teeth, and in that long moment, before he slowly lifts his head from the crook of your neck and turns his face towards you, you feel a terrifying, trembling want overwhelm you.

nice and slow, very deliberately, you watch as dean’s expression shifts into one of amusement. his lips curl into a grin so sharp and dangerous it feels like a knife is being held to your throat.

it is not a kind smile. not a teasing one, either. something far more unnerving, instead.

—inviting.

-

you wake up in twisted sheets.

the bedspread, wrapped around your limbs. hair clinging to damp skin. your heart is racing in your chest, and it takes you a few minutes to catch your breath and shrug off the phantom arms you swear you can feel holding down your face.

it’s just a dream. he’s not really here. he can’t touch you.

the insistent buzzing of your morning alarm reminds you to get up, leaving you no time to ruminate. you allow yourself to slip back into your routine and let the motions consume you, not for the first time, without a thought.

you tug on your cleaning uniform, admiring the hotel’s logo intricately embroidered onto the white shirt as you take your time to do up the buttons. it takes you even longer to do the tie, fingers awkwardly fumbling with the material as you work it into a loop. in the end, you’re proud of your efforts; you look put together.

you look like you belong. 

the low hum of the kettle fills the kitchen. the cupboard creaks open, and you reach for the same mug you always do. same brand of cheap, instant coffee. you turn back to the toaster when you realise something’s burning; the slice of bread blackens at the edges, but you don’t have the time to scrape it off. you bite into the solid crust as the door of your flat closes shut behind you, ushering you out into the busy streets.

the city greets you with open arms, like an old friend.

-

the alarm buzzes again, same time the next morning. 

you sit up slowly in bed, your back quietly cracking. it’s a satisfying feeling, but it fades away all too quick when you swing your feet over the edge of the mattress and find the floor is very, very cold. you used to wake up wrapped in warm arms. 

same shirt and tie as yesterday because it isn’t laundry day just yet. 

the same shitty brand of instant coffee again, which tastes more like bitter water, really. luckily, you’ve almost burned through all of the sachets. the kettle takes a little longer today, or maybe you’re just growing impatient. at least the toast is slightly less burned.

the city is as loud as it always is. you think you’re beginning to understand it.

-

the next morning is different. 

because instead of being packed into the regional train that leaves at six, you’re standing in front of the payphone like it’s a confessional booth. the metal is cool under your palm and the receiver far heavier than you remember it being as you run a finger along the edge of it.

your breath fogs in the glass of the phone booth’s enclosure as you spare a cursory glances over your shoulder. not because you think you need to—but just because this is what you always do. these days, it's become a natural part of your routine; like running, like hiding.

the coins you’re holding onto clink into the little slot, each one a small betrayal. 

you dial from memory, even though you desperately wish you didn’t remember the number. before you can convince yourself there are worse ways to destroy yourself, the phone rings.

you should hang up. you really, really should. you need to get out of here and just head to work like you’re supposed to; lose yourself within the crowds of other commuters during rush hour, another nameless face in the big city you’ve chosen for your condemnation.

but you stay. creature of habit, of course you do.

you think you die a little death when the line clicks.

“sugar,” a familiar voice answers—amused, lazy, far too pleased with itself. “i was wondering how long it’d take for you to crack.”

the rain begins to dot your shoulder, angled past the shelter of the phone booth.

“i haven’t.” you say into the phone, and are you convincing yourself of this, or are you convincing him? “not yet, dean.”

“baby,” he purrs, “you sure about that?” your fingers dig into the receiver as he continues. “it’s been a while since you’ve been alone, hasn’t it? you know i'd never blame you even if you did, yeah?”

“i’m fine,” you insist. “i’m doing just fine without you. i have a job that makes me wear a uniform. i have a flat with a bathtub."

there’s a pause where you think you’ve won—then, your hopes are dashed. a low, taunting chuckle. you think he might be enjoying your unravelling a little too much, and the thought of it is almost enough to make you hang up.

—almost. 

the rain outside picks up. a car passes by your booth in a blur, headlights slicing across the slick street. you can hear a train in the distance; your train, probably, but you don’t care nearly enough to move from where you stand. 

“if you have all that, then why’d you call, sugar?” dean’s voice is like velvet and barbed wire, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end when it dips an octave lower into something akin to a lover’s sweet murmur. “is it so hard to admit you miss me, baby?”

you say nothing, but your silence is an answer in and of itself.

dean hums, and it’s a pleased little sound that makes you shiver. “i had a feeling, ‘cause that’s one of the things about you i love most. you pretend to run, but you want to be found so bad it itches under your skin.”

the rain hits the booth harder now, a quiet chaos all around you, and dean’s voice is the only anchor. you close your eyes and you imagine him standing right behind you, fingers curling around the back of your neck.

“are you close?” you whisper.

he considers this. “do you want me to be?” 

“i don’t know,” you lie. you can barely hear your own voice over the rain. “what would you do if you were?”

"oh," dean’s laughter is low and mocking. “you're smart enough to know the answer to that, sugar.”

you allow yourself to imagine what the telephone might feel like digging painfully into your back. how dean’s hands would feel, warm and invasive, dragged down the length of your spine and running along something far sweeter. 

he’d make a mess of you, and he’d enjoy every second of it, and you think you might just let him.

“see, sugar?” barbed wire and velvet. beautiful. terrifying.  “it doesn’t matter whether i’ve caught you or not. i’ve still got you exactly where i want you, darl'. so you can run as far as you like,"

shit—

"you're still all mine, yeah?"

you hang up. 

the line goes dead. 

and yet, he lingers. because even after you’re halfway down the street and soaked from the rain, you swear you can hear him laughing at you over the phone. it’s distorted, derisive and, above all, to your horror, utterly fucking delighted.

-

the alarm rings again. you turn it off without looking.

you lie in bed for a while afterwards, staring at the ceiling and wondering how long you have left until dean finally finds you.

the kitchen is very quiet, save for the whistle of the kettle. cheap coffee again, but no toast this time. the toaster might be broken, you think. you don't know if it'll be worth getting a new one. you might not be here for much longer.

it’s laundry day and you only remember this when you realise your shirt is wrinkled and you really should have ironed it last night—you make do by smoothing over the creases half-heartedly. your tie is crooked and it stays that way because if you take the time to fix it, you’re going to be late again and you can't afford that after yesterday.

you don’t have any memory of locking the door behind you but you’re sure you must have; it’s routine, after all. 

when you step out onto the streets that day, the city doesn't greet you so much as it consumes you.

-

that night, after work, you don't go home.

instead, you decide that you're going to treat yourself. a nice cup of overpriced coffee, or maybe because it’s raining again, a hot chocolate would be nice too.

something to warm you up from the inside out is all you’re really asking for.

and even though it’s pitch black outside, you’re not really scared of the dark, because you already know exactly what’s waiting for you inside of it.

-

the next morning, the hotel lobby is as busy as it always is. and, as per your best efforts, immaculately clean.

women wearing wide-brimmed hats are followed by men lugging heavy suitcases with stickers of faraway cities slapped on. younger children run around the open space gleefully, and older ones exasperatedly chase after them. slow, soft jazz plays inside the echoing space, mellifluous instrumentals accompanied by the constant, excited murmur of the hotel’s patrons, all of which filter in through the beautiful revolving doors, which never seem to stop.

you push the room service cart out of the elevator, which slides shut behind you and forces you out into the lobby’s open space. you hear the sound of a bell from somewhere far away. that familiar tinkle that signals a guest is waiting at the service desk. 

it’s not your job; never has been. 

though when the ringing grows more insistent, almost mocking, it’s almost instinctual to glance back over your shoulder, eyes absently flitting to the patron responsible just out of a natural curiosity and nothing more and—

your breath catches. the world tilts sideways.

dean; leather jacket, heavy-duty boots, hat hung low enough to cast a shadow over his eyes and staring right back at you. he waves at you, like an old friend.

you have about a fraction of a second to register the sight of him, so close to you, before he’s reaching back into his pocket—

there’s a buzzing in your head, and it feels like someone’s wrapped you up in bubble wrap. 

—before he’s pulled out a gun. 

you watch, unable to speak, as he raises his arm. 

aims the pistol at the grand chandelier overhead. 

what happens next happens very slowly, like going through the pages of a flip book. one by one by one, the scene shifting just enough for you to register—

to catch a glimpse of his lips splitting into a deranged grin. to watch as he pulls the trigger. 

you don’t hear the shot.

you see, instead, the magnificent symbol of opulence as it comes crashing down right over the heads of the hotel guests. you make out, just barely, the sound of glass shattering and breaking into millions of sharp, dangerous shards, which burrow into soft, innocent skin. 

you meet his eyes over the destruction. he’s saying something, but you can’t really hear him over all of the screaming, and, what is he even—?

run, he mouths with a grin. 

there are no targets to dean's destruction. never really have been. you know this better than most, because you survived it once before. now, there is only whoever is unfortunate enough to find themselves in his way. 

dean turns the gun to the receptionist, and it’s the lovely woman who greets you every morning; the two of you frequently discuss the weather. she can’t be any older than twenty-five, and yet she’s brave enough to have her pretty hands curled around the corded phone, dialing emergency services and defiantly holding his impassive gaze.

he doesn’t even wait for the line to connect when he shoots. 

you don’t need to be told twice. 

you bolt.

the lobby erupts into horrified screams of bloody fucking murder, and all of the echoes follow you right down the winding hallway, sounding, the further you run, like a familiar, delighted laughter.

-

the kitchen is empty. the stove is still on, a low flame flickering beneath abandoned pans. something sizzles on their surfaces, burning, and it smells like smoke.

none of the cooks are anywhere to be seen, but they’d managed, even in their haste; to remember to lock the egress door from the outside. 

you can hear everything from here, but you don’t dare to cover your ears; no, how could you? this is all your fault, after all. this is what you wanted.

at the very least, you owe it to them all to listen.

-

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bang.

-

you hear him before you see him, this time. 

you’re not stupid enough to think this gives you any advantage over him. if you’ve heard him come closer, it’s only because he’s wanted you to know it. when the kitchen door swings open, you instinctively retreat away from him, your back finally meeting the kitchen counter. 

his pupils are dilated, so that his eyes are almost completely enveloped by the black. he chews on his lip as he considers you, cornered in the kitchen, while he merely stands in the doorframe; blocking your only way out of here. you watch, stunned, as he surveys the rest of the kitchen for any strays, before tucking away his gun, very pointedly still in reach.

a warning, then, not to scream. 

he’s always liked you a little loud; but you suppose this is the one exception to that rule. you might have laughed if you weren’t so—

fuck.

one of your shaking hands fumbles to pull open the drawer, digging frantically through the silver cutlery until your trembling fingers finally land on exactly what you’re searching for; curl around the heavy hilt of a steak knife. 

“dean,” you breathe. 

“hi, sweetness.” dean returns. patiently holds out a hand. “you wanna give me what you’re holding onto there?”

the jagged blade gleams beneath the light. floorboards protesting loudly beneath the weight of his heavy boots with every step he takes, closer and closer, until you can feel all of him—the hard ridges of his lumbering frame a hair's breadth away from your own body. quivering lips and restless fingers; reflexively tightening around the weapon in your hands—

“nah,” he clicks his tongue chidingly, but the amused lilt to his voice betrays him. “none of that, sugar.”

you say nothing, and he takes the opportunity to reach out of his own accord, rough skin of the palm of his hands curling around your own. his touch is so gentle, even when he brandishes the knife in your hold from you by the jagged edges of the sharp blade. older callouses split open anew; slicing through to warm blood that stains you, as much as it does him.

“how—” your voice breaks. you try again, searching his face for an answer to your question before you’ve even asked, “how did you find me?”

he carelessly tosses the knife to the floor, where it lands behind him with a resounding clamber that strips you of your sad attempt at defence; leaving you vulnerable before him. you wonder, for a moment, why you’d even really reached for it in the first place. 

dean’s answer is sharp and cutting, just like the smile that slowly spreads across his lips. “because you wanted me to.”

“what–what makes you think that?”

“you left me a lovely little trail of breadcrumbs, sweetness. hard to miss, wouldn’t you agree?”

yes, you think, i would.

“so i cut right through the rest of ‘em to get to you. isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks the question with a tone that implies he’s already aware of the answer.

“you’re asking me if i wanted you to hurt innocent people?”

“nah, baby.” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m askin’ you if you’re satisfied now. i know you like being reminded of how far i’d go for you. i was curious to see just this one time, even i let you run it, how far would you let me go?”

“and,” you echo. “are you satisfied?”

“ha!” his teeth are sharp, and you think he might like to bite you right now. you can’t look away from him. “very much so, sugar.”

“what—” a small part of you is relieved. another is terrified. you’re just not sure what the root of that fear is, anymore. dean takes a long, languid inhale, breathing you in and taking his sweet time with it, too. “what happens now?”

“you tell me how much you missed me, darlin’.” he savours the sense of you; so warm and alive and real right before him—exhales nice and low as he pulls you by your arm, still slick with his blood, so that you’re pressed right up against him. his voice drops an octave lower. “tell me how much you hated yourself for it, too.’

can you hate yourself for something you never chose to accept?

“i thought about coming to look for you first,” you admit. “on the lonelier nights.”

“oh, yeah?” his lips brush over yours just barely in the promising, torturous facsimile of a lover’s kiss at long last. “and why’s that, sugar?”

“i don’t know,” you lie.

“nah, baby. i think you know the answer to that just as well as i do.”

you think back to those lonely mornings. the monotonous humdrum of your insipid routine. waking up to a cold bed and a cruel city. staring at yourself in the mirror and barely recognising the person looking back at you. burnt toast. cheap instant coffee. no one to hold you, no one who cared.

“without you,” you confess quietly, barely recognising the sound of your own voice, “i don’t belong anywhere. i don’t even know who i am.”

look at you, so willing for your own ruination. it can’t be easy to remain so resolute in your own repression, and yet needy enough to let him in—the front door, forever unlocked, even when he’d given you the chance to run and hide and turn the key.

you must know it, now, too, because you’re shaking.

—both of you know it has nothing to do with fear.

“well, darlin’,” his fingers gently curl around the nape of your neck as you allow yourself to fall into him even further. “i’ve got you now, yeah? you’re just horrible at hiding from me, aren’t ‘ya?”

the always have been goes unsaid.

“what’re you gonna do,” you whisper against him, “now that you’ve finally found me?”

dean considers the question, the thoughtfulness accompanied by lazy kisses that trail down the side of your neck, to the hollow of your throat. "mm."

you look down at him through sweeping lashes; wondering quietly why it’s taken him so long to find you—and because he sees all of this for the silent invitation the two of you know it is meant to be, the answer is an easy acceptance.

“to you, sugar?” dean hums, and it’s a pleased little sound you feel roll all the way down the curve of your spine. you shiver when you feel him smile against your jaw, “nothing you don’t already want me to do.”

— epilogue

it’s late.

late enough that conversation within the local late night coffee shop’s thinned to murmurs and the last baristas working the closing shift have already started to wipe down the counters and pack away what hasn’t sold.

outside, the city still lies awake—buses hissing and taxis slamming their horns, as bustling crowds of pedestrians spill out onto the busy roads even when the crossing lights blink an angry red—but in here, it's quiet. a hush in the air, which smells faintly of warm coffee. the clatter and hiss of the steam wand has gone silent.

you tap your fingers against the counter where the last open register blinks softly. the barista taps on the register’s screen, lips forming a polite, empty smile.

“and what name is that order under?”

“sugar.”

the barista looks up. “sugar?” he echoes.

“it’s just my nickname,” you explain kindly.

“sure, sorry about that. that’ll be just a few minutes.” his voice doesn’t quite echo, but it hangs in the air a moment longer than it needs to. the barista, young and itching to get home, moves with all the swiftness of someone who’s grown very accustomed to a routine; reaching for the tall paper cup, the cocoa tin, the worn metal pitcher, all when he needs to.

the cafe is nearly empty—two students at a far table speaking in hushed tones over a glowing laptop, and a woman by the window sketching in a notebook, between periodic sips of her drink. the music’s already been turned off.

as the milk warms, you watch the raindrops hit the window looking out into the city. 

beyond the pane, the city blurs beneath a dreary pall of grey—traffic lights glowing like small embers through the mist, as people scurry down the sidewalk under umbrellas, their outlines softened by the rain. the rhythm of the droplets is almost meditative, serving as a quiet percussion to the stillness inside. 

the barista places the hot chocolate onto the counter, and you smile. “thank you.”

“no worries,” you reach for a napkin as he returns your smile, more genuine this time. “have a nice night.”

“i will.” 

you take the cup in both hands, and hold onto the warmth as you step outside. the bell overhead tinkles merrily on your way out.

the rain’s eased into more of a soft drizzle now, and you have no problem sitting on a bench in a nearby park underneath the shade of dozens of grand, towering trees. even a city as lonely as this can be beautiful sometimes. even if the night sky is far too polluted to see any stars, it’s comforting enough to know, at least, that they remain regardless of whether you bear witness to them. 

the drink is sweet and rich and a welcome reprieve from the cheap instant coffee you’ve been making for yourself every morning. it’s nice to savour it and let the hot chocolate warm you up from the inside out, as you observe the dozens of strangers passing by; out, even though it nears three in the morning.

when you’re finished with your drink, you simply rise from the bench, dust off your clothes, and set off onto your way home.

you don’t look back even once.

why would you?

you're not scared of the dark. you know exactly what's waiting for you.

rain drizzles down in thin, whispering lines now, slicking the pavement into mirrors yet barely even there. above, the streetlights hum softly, halos blurring in the mist.

moments pass.

then, a man turns the corner.

he’s got a hat hung low over his eyes. the rain slides off his black leather jacket. his heavy boots make a quiet splash in puddles across the pavement.

he slows in his steps as he passes by the lone bench sitting beneath the shade of the park’s towering trees. he comes to a stop, crouches down beside it. 

on the seat, a folded napkin sits, weighed down by a paper coffee cup. he turns the cup over in his hands first, finds, in fresh sharpie, the word sugar scrawled across the side. 

oh, sweetness.

he picks up the napkin next, unfolding it with two fingers. it’s unused, and unblemished, save for a single sentence written in the middle of it in black ink in familiar handwriting he’d recognise anywhere.

a number, and then a street name. 

he reads it twice. 

an address, baby?

then a slow smile slowly spreads across his lips; sharp and cutting.

ohh, you’re spoiling me, sugar.

he folds the napkin in exactly the same way that you had, careful not to create any new creases, before he tucks the darling thing away in his pocket for safekeeping.

the rain grows more insistent at this, pattering against the sidewalk in hurried little beats. it drums on awnings and trash lids, slips down the backs of street signs, trails down his jacket. even the fog spills in from the alleys like a slow tide, softening the edges of the buildings all around him, and yet all of it changes nothing.

the city stretches out in every direction, vast and uncaring, its rhythm unchanged by this invitation of yours.

he wonders what you're waiting for him to do to you when he finds you.

he stands up and stretches. continues down the path. the moment the man turns the corner, he vanishes into the dark one final time.

the only difference is that this time, he leaves remnants of his little visit behind, and takes a little something along with him; so that it’s impossibly to deny he was never really there—a quiet echo of something unfinished.

a threat, perhaps. or a promise, if you liked.

—something inevitable all the same.

[user211201]

My favorites stories (of 2024)

Looking for table of contents? Click here

Hi all, another year is almost over.

I wanted to take a moment to revisit some of my new favorites stories posted this year as well as some old-but-gold posts posted over the last couple years!

First, I want to put into spotlight some stories but out by authors that started out this year:

Catch! (βΓΦ) by @johnbrand

The Witch's Transformation part 1 and part 2 by @keozrb

Spare Parts by @yellowjestertfs

Personal Muscle, Uniform Included by @mrrharper

Miserable Nerd by @alphajocklover

Revenge: Jock Bro Style by @czascornertfs

The Jockrooms by @jockbroski34 (technically started in December of 2023, but...)

Some other reasonable mentions from seasoned authors this year would be:

The Silent Sentinel by @axeeglitter

Reversal Agents II: Going Back, the 2024 sequel to The Reversal Agents by @misctf

Immersive Mode™ by @artificial-transmutations

Be Kind Rewind (Fan title) by @salmonskinrolltf

americanalphajockbro.mp3 by @transform4u

3TH93USA by dumb-and-jocked (thank you for all your stories!)

AL:IV Everycop by @occamstfs

Next up are my old-but-gold favorites. Some of these authors have written dozens of stories and it was hard for me to pick just one favorite to recommend, but alas I can't make the post too long!

New Surf Instructor by @amalianetwork

Pledging the Frat by @agmsye

Mermaid Sire by @fafnir19

Construction Crew Recruitment by @bluecollarmcandtf

Well on your way (Fan title) by @bodriversblog

The Long Game by @captainmalewriter

Himbo Haunted House by @cinaedefuri2

Pills and Cubes by @deviantknight25

Rogue Muscle Drone by @dougtfs

Kristian by @fullfriendnerdpurse

Veni, vidi, vici by @guytransformedforever

Chess Rivals (Fan Title) by @hyphyphurray

Midnight Snack by @inanimatetffantasies

Pool Table by @jakelandry

Sentenced to Grow by @jd07201990

End of Shift by @joshslater (Phenomenal story, cruel and dystopian but super hot)

Making Todd by @joyfullovepirate

Get Digitized by @just-a-jock (Such a cool theme to write about. Would love to see more digitization-related stories!)

Replacing His Shirt by @mrcavanaughtf

Listen Up: Swimmer by newyoutf

The Box by @omnitf (and their many other excellent stories!)

Genieus Barber by @rakurairagnarok (Fellow Dutchie 🇳🇱)

Boxered into a promotion by @rozza22365 (I must admit it was hard to pick a favorite, haha)

Doctor's Orders by @king-craftsman

Magic Hoop by @the-tfstation

Career Day by @thetfchangingroom (One of my all-time favorites)

Oliver, the handyman by @the-volunteer-host

Terminal Boredom by @transformhim

Model Job by @octuscle

I also want to highlight that there are other good sites that also host great stories, here's some I'd recommend:

Thank me later, bro (Fan Title) by @adonker811

My Roommate Gives Me Nicknames by Derek Williams (From the good old NCMC days...)

Brothers in Arms by @idesofrevolution

Fantasy Models by Lusty Stallion

Permanent Vacation by Nameless

Won't let them change me by realhankmccoy

The Pred Policeman by RotherhamMan

Tailgating by TheBurdenBorne (originally posted on DeviantArt)

Swimming Confidence by ZacharyEverlust

If at this point you are still reading this post, thank you. Not too get too sappy but I really wanted to shine on a light on just how many amazing authors there are, some of which even still actively write stories today! Surely, there are some authors I may have forgotten but I think this is a good start!

I also want to quickly say thanks to blogs like @imsrtman, @bratboy197 for liking, reblogging, and archiving posts for everyone to keep reading. In this corner small corner of the internet where stories get taken down, authors move to different platforms, and some disappear into thin air it's nice to know not all stories are lost!

Furthermore, I want to give a special thanks @mrrharper for the good company and his tremendous help with proofreading some of my stories. As well as others in the community I have chatted with or helped archive more old stories!

Lastly, I hope this post motivates you to read and heart some of these great stories or perhaps inspire you to start writing your own!

-user2112001

[suzyandthefox]

ok but like

Vore in a protective , parent-like sense will always get me, it will always remain my favourite.

A pred giving a prey a comfort they lost, being their home temporarily.

The pred saying things like

"You're safe now"

"I will protect you"

"You're very brave, I'm proud of you"

For the pred to call their prey "little one" "small one", etc.

For the pred to hum a gentle lullaby to their scared prey

And for the prey to say things like

"Hide me"

"Protect me"

"I have no home/no body/nowhere to go"

The descriptions of a stomach as a cradle, the soft sobs a frightened prey lets out as they huddle into the soft flesh, they speak their fears and pain into the walls and the folds of the being around them.

And the walls listen to them.

To be cared for, to be loved, to be hidden where no one should see or harm you.

Idk man.

[moodymisty]

Author's note: Inspired by this anon along with the amazing snippet @kit-williams wrote for it

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Pred/Prey, Rough sex, Blood

You fall again, and the jagged rocks bite at your knees and palms. Little speckles of blood dot across your palms as you look at him, before quickly getting up and trying to run again.

A stupid mistake- now he'll be able to smell exactly where you are. He already can, you know the scent of your sweat lingers in the air like smoke, but fresh blood is like a beacon you can't get away from fast enough.

You lost him for a short while, slipping through a tunnel that wasn't large enough for him to get through. Your smaller stature remains your single advantage you have against him.

But the tunnels echo sound incredibly well, and you can sometimes hear his footsteps ringing through the system of caves. He can hear yours as well, tracking you down and gaining on you.

"Did you cut yourself? I can smell the blood,"

Entering one of the wider, huge main tunnels you look around quickly for a little rat hole to take next, trying to avoid standing like prey in the middle of such a huge area. You think you see a few options, but the one farthest down seems the smallest, and your best bet.

Rushing towards it you're almost there when you suddenly hear the sound of his footsteps thundering through the system of caves; Rocks crumbling underneath his feet.

"There you are,"

He appears at the far end of the tunnel blocking off your exit, and you nearly fall attempting to scramble backwards.

You know he's just playing, that this is just a fun game you had propositioned, but when he starts running towards you every primal, instinctual animal part of your brain tells you he's a predator- to run- you let out a bloodcurdling scream that rips through your throat and puts spittle on your lips.

Quickly you scramble towards the closest tunnel that you think can't fit him, but only by a few feet. Dug by the astartes you assume.

Vulkan however laughs at your screams, like a wolf driven by the squeaks of an limping, injured rabbit.

He's being slow on purpose, letting you run into your safe tunnel out of his reach. He's trying to extend the game on purpose and enjoy it. He could catch you in an instant if he truly wanted to, but half the fun is stalking you; Cornering you.

In a less stressful time you might find it interesting how despite him being so much softer than his fellow primarchs, there is still that latent, apex predator instinct in him that loves this. You aren't supposed to run from predators, it triggers that prey drive in them, and that's exactly what you think Vulkan is feeling when you scurry away from him. There's something in his eyes that's changed the few times you've caught sight of him since the hunt started.

"I can hear you're getting tired. How much longer do you think you can keep this up?"

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as you hide, seeing him walk past the entrance you just went into.

You try to watch and listen as his footsteps trail farther and farther away, and you assume he's going to the other side of the tunnel you're in. Cautiously peeking out the way you went in you don't see him, or hear him, and quickly you scurry out to try another way.

Down the large main tunnel you run and try to ignore the burning in your throat; You're so thirsty, you'd almost consider letting him catch you to just get some water.

You don't know how long it's been- It could only have been an hour for all you know. But you're so tired, stopping in front of a step in your path.

For an astartes it would be a steep step up, but for you, it's a small climb. You jump and with a grunt manage to fold yourself onto it, legs dangling. Your feet kick trying to dig your shoe in to get purchase on the rocks, trying to wiggle higher and get the rest of your body up.

suddenly you feel the ground begin to shake, the sound of his footsteps quickly begins to close in.

You gather all the strength you can to try and clamber for more purchase on the rocks, feeling your heart begin to race as you panic. Despite everything telling you not to you turn around and see him come into view, right towards you. Once he realizes that you're partly stuck he quickens, and you let out another scream as you quickly try and pull up your other leg. But each rock you get a toe on crumbles, causing your heart and your breathing to quicken as he approaches.

You manage to get to your hands and knees on the stone only for him to suddenly grab you by the legs, and you let another another scream. Your hands dig into the dust and dirt and rocks to try and clamber away, kicking your legs at his arms. For a moment you almost don't even remember this is Vulkan- your mind is just saying run.

"You thought you could sneak around me?"

Dragging you across the stone floor to him he lets you dangle off the step, lying on your stomach while your legs hang of the edge. He's tearing at your clothes, your bottoms torn to shreds and you gasp as you feel the weight of his cock against you. The thick head of his cock slips between your outer lips and pushes against your entrance, and you feel the burn of your muscles trying to stretch while the dirt and stone scratches your skin. Your dry throat can only manage to let out a pathetic cry, one that hiccups as your parched mouth can't keep the noise smooth.

"The hunt is over, now I can enjoy the reward."

The light in he room is dim, the candles mostly melted. You watch the little flames flicker as Vulkan puts a bandage on your torn knee, patting it gently.

"You should try to fall less down there, I wouldn't want you breaking any bones."

You puff out your cheeks full of air before blowing them at him. The warmth of his palms radiates over your skin, feeling good almost as if using a heatpack on sore muscles.

"I try not to, but it's a bit hard to keep upright when a massive primarch is running at you. You're lucky I didn't crumple to the ground and let my heart give out."

Vulkan chuckles, a soft smile on his face that makes your face grow warm.

"You know I would never truly hurt you," He says, and you nod.

"I know, but it's still terrifying," You say. Vulkan moves to bandage your other knee. "I think I could go for longer next time, though." The way he looks up at you is amused but dark, implying that you want more.

"You want to do this again?" You nod, an eagerness held within it that had you embarrassingly warm.

"Of course; I know the layout of the tunnels better now, I think I could avoid you for longer." Vulkan finishes bandaging your other knee and puts his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

"You assume I would bring you to the same tunnels?" Quickly you loose your smile.

"Yes! This is your home and you dug many of these tunnels, let me have a bit of an advantage!" Vulkan laughs, hands squeezing your hips with a comfortable pressure. You swing your legs a bit and one bumps into his stomach by accident.

"That is fair." He looks at you. "You should try not to exert yourself so soon though, I knew right away you would tire yourself out and I could corner you." You look at him curiously, holding your arms.

"You want to make it more difficult for you?"

Vulkan leans in to give you a kiss. His eyes have a bit of that darkness you saw down in the tunnels.

"No true hunter enjoys easy prey. We want a real chase."

[constantlyvornypredator]

Inexperienced pred eats prey for the first time. It was a wonderful experience, but days later there seems to be a problem; their guts don't seem to be doing so well. Their stomach feels both full and empty. They for sure digested their meal and passed it on but it just feels like something is sitting in here unable to move. They feel hungry but at the same time the thought of food makes them feel sick. They can only eat a little at a time without making themselves queasy. Antacids seem to only mute their bloated, gurgling tummy somewhat but the feeling of not wanting to eat remains. They figure it's just a bug and it'll pass but as the days pass the symptoms get worse.

They are absolutely sick to their stomach, writhing in bed as they hold and rub their aching tummy and fighting waves of dizzying spirals that make them wanna hurl. They can feel their stomach doing flips. Every convulsion of hunger and sickeningly deep squelch vibrated across their midsection. They really don't want to puke, but their stomach definitely needs to reject something - whatever that is.

The bellyache is too much, and the pred gives up fighting the urge to vomit. They run over to the toilet, clutching their stomach, lift the seat and hunch over expelling the contents of their stomach. To the pred's surprise; there is no vomit. Instead, it's a shirt soaked in their spit, mucus, and stomach acids. The same white-T their prey was wearing. Now it made sense!

The pred sits by the toilet lurching and hacking up the rest of junk inside him; underwear, dark blue jeans that have definitely lost some of its color, one sneaker after the other, a phone, wallet, a large set of keys, and a watch.

Lesson learned: Strip your prey before consumption!