#only to end up finding his needs filled in the belly of the beast

[storytellering]

"I didn't get these scars falling over in church."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

My tears ricochet

Next chapter

summary: There are thunder clouds in the horizon that threaten Eris’s chance of being a high lord. Rhys strikes a deal. The only thing left to find out now is who gets out of this deal alive?

warning: death, blood, enemies to lovers, fighting, forced arrangements, talk of marriage of convenience.

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Things were changing in Prythian. With the length of fea lives, high lords didn’t change often. But when the shift did happen, it was as if someone were to open a beast's belly, and suddenly everyone was on the fence; the territory was for grabs, and others could gain something from the new weaker high lord until the power fully settled in him.

“I’ll need you with me tonight," Rhys said, slowly swirling his drink in the glass. The tension could be felt in all the courts, but Rhys had been deep in his thoughts ever since the news about the new high lord had circled. “You’re in a mood to kill the new high lord of autumn already?", you mussed, making Cassian let out a snort. You had lost the number of meetings that had been held in the past week alone. And while you didn’t like Eris, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. On one hand, this, no doubt, had to be a relief. To know that the world was no longer tarnished by Beron. But the responsibility was still hard to carry all alone.

“A diplomatic meeting," Rhys clarified, making you roll your eyes, “That can be changed real quick with a dagger." But you could see the plea in his eyes. And something else. An emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. It had been there for a couple of days now. It was hazy at first, while Rhys was still contemplating it all in his head. Now, however, it was set and done, leaving a trail of unease in your gut when you caught a glimpse of it.

“I need you." You were not sure what exactly those words implied. Knowing how fond you and Eris were of one another, it was as if Rhys had planned a civil war to break out in the autumn. Unless he needed Eris to decline whatever offer Rhys was going to propose, and you were just the thing for that, “Fine, I’ll be there," you huffed, bringing the glass to your lips. Even if you knew that not even booze could make a meeting like that bearable, "I can't wait to see Eris’s face when you walk in." Azriel’s low voice filled the room, followed by Cassian’s chuckle. “You enjoy his misery way too much, Az," you said, shaking your head with a smile. “What can I say? I’m a simple man," the spymaster smiled before downing his drink.

Eris had been dreaming of this day since the moment he realized that this brutality would only end when Beron was six feet, make it ten so the bastard wouldn’t have a chance of crowning out, below. One thing he didn’t take into consideration was that the new power would rip at him from within. Leaving him quite shaky and restless. Not to mention that he didn’t have anyone to guard his back. His younger brothers were all corrupted by his father to be of any help at all.

“Apologies for your loss once again," Beron’s right-hand man clapped Eris’s shoulder. "The council will miss Beron’s presence," the other added sympathetically. No doubt, Eris thought. All the males in this room had been fed like pigs out of the same hod for decades. And Beron fed them well with promises that were never truly delivered. “But we do not doubt you, Eris," and here was the silent warning that they expected the same treatment from the oldest Vanserra. No doubt already able to sniff out Eris’s plans on wiping the council out. “Yet we are here to guide you if..." “If that’s all, I would like to end the meeting," Eris said, raising his hand. The yapping of these old men had drilled the last bit of sanity out of him today. With a flow of “Of course, of course," and “our apologies for holding you up," Eris watched them pick up their scrolls as they hurried out of the room.

The moment the door closed, Eris let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Exhausted. He was just so exhausted. If only he could sleep at night. To just… “You looked like a fox kicked by a hunter," Eris opened his eyes to the sound of a familiar voice. "Lucien, my patience is running low tonight." It came out harsher than Eris intended. He was glad that Lucien had agreed to listen in on the meetings in general. He didn’t have to. But Eris had no one to turn to. “This wasn’t that bad of a meeting," the youngest Vanserra said, pulling out a chair for himself. The meeting had barely touched on serious topics. Council had tried to swing the chatter to that, but Eris had fully focused on the food supplies and growing stock.

"Would be better if you came back to stand by my side fully," Eris pressed once more. While a part of him understood Lucien's choice, another was bitter that every offer had been declined. “You know I have duties elsewhere," Lucien replied like he had ever since Beron died. “This is home," Eris pointed out, fingers drumming against the table. Their eyes met, and Eris knew Lucien’s next words before they had even touched his lips. “This was never my home," he stated with a shake of his head.

Eris knew that, it clawed at him that Lucien had been out there, going from court to court. At the time, it felt like the best choice. To take him away from all of this. To make sure that no hits, whether physical or emotional, were ever directed at him.

“How’s mother?", Lucien cut the silence upon the two brothers. "She would have happily danced on his grave if she had a chance," Eris mussed. Both brothers couldn’t help but smile. It was crazy to think that she was finally free. No more playing pretend. Their mother was finally a free woman who could do anything she wanted. And even if it hurt to admit it, Eris knew that she too wouldn’t stay back home with him. Her heart had been elsewhere for decades already.

“Why are you still here, Lucien?" Even if Eris loved having Lucien back, he knew too well that he didn’t just linger to be there. There had to be a reason. “Can’t I come over to spend quality time?" Lucien smirked right as Eris cut him off mid-sentence, “Cut the bullshit." And here they were, back at square one. With all the real emotion swept beneath the masks they have been wearing, “Rhys wants to meet with you tonight." Eris let out a deep sigh at Lucien's words. He just didn’t have it in him to go through one more toying session today. “He has valid suggestions," Lucien reassured his older brother. “He can shove them right up his ass," Eris pushed back his chair, turning to pour himself another drink. “Eris, hear him out. You need allies now; you need recognition," there was truth in Lucien’s words. Even if the times were changing, some old rules still applied, even if Eris didn’t plan to rule by the textbook his father had created. But there were still things he couldn’t escape. “I’ve already made a name for myself, Lucien; they know what to expect," Eris stated bitterly. Not daring to look back. Not daring to meet his brother’s eyes.

Swallowed by the never-ending piles of work, Eris had lost track of time. Only the footsteps that sounded down the hall made him halt as he lifted his head. Listening. “Of fucking hell," Eris muttered. All the fibers in his body twisted. Because he knew. Knew without seeing. Knew it deep within his gut. "Joy and cheer!", your voice echoed as you opened the door to Eris’s study. The devilish grin shone across your face. "Hello, kitten," you mussed up at him. Cassian was grinning, barely holding back a laugh. Even Azriel ran a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Eris slowly gazed up at Rhys, “I would have offered you to sit, but since you brought that malice with you..." his eyes darted back at you. Looking you up and down in that profound, unimpressed expression of his. Even if deep blue had always been your color. No one wore it better than you did in Eris’s eyes.

“Oh, because you’re such a cuddly bun," you purred, crossing your arms over your chest. "Y/n," Rhys stated firmly, glaring your way. You let out a huff, “Not my problem; he has his nickers in a twist." You pointed at Eris, who pinched the bridge of his nose, “Lord forbid... I have no time for this. You know where to find the exit." Motioning with his hand, the oldest Vanserra gestured to the door. Already turning away to leave.

"Eris, at least let me make a proposition," Rhys insisted, stepping forward before glancing back at you, “And you sit." The order was degrading, at least. Like a youngster being scolded. "I'm not your lap dog," you grumbled, eyebrows knitted. “You sure look like one," Eris muttered under his breath, making you gasp.

You were about to give him a piece of your mind when Rhys cut in, “There’s unease among the high lords." Eris blinked a couple of times. The low lights were doing no favors for his already paler skin. "Rhys, you either tell me something I don’t know or you leave," the high lord sighed with tiredness. He had heard it all before. And one more conversation about this might end up being the reason why Eris was going to drop dead himself. Rhys stood silent for a moment before uttering, “They want to make a vote; they deem you not fit to rule until they know how Beron died."

And for the first time that night, Eris’s eyes were truly forced on Rhys. A new layer of tension lined his shoulders. “What?" he muttered beneath his breath. “They are planning to hold a meeting without you." Now those words cut Eris deep. That same wound Beron cut open over and over again. You’ll never be good enough. Do you think you could ever sit among them? With me gone, you will be nothing in their eyes. “That’s nonsense; I have a right to be informed about this." Eris gripped the edge of the table. A flame of anger rekindled deep within.

“You need alliances and show them that you have it under control," Rhys pointed out, no doubt having gone through all of that himself. In some ways, “I do have it under control," Eris snarled bitterly. “Well, reports say otherwise," Rhys noted, pointing at the reports in his hand. Eris’s eyes skim over the text with urgency. “Look… I’m offering you help”. Rhys's voice died down.

That same sense of chill ran down your back. It was as if something from deep within was warning you that this was way more serious than you had thought. Eris shook his head as he read. Almost all of the high lords were in on it. There were no direct threats there, but the implications were obvious.

“Marry Y/N," and the room died down for a moment. The silence was so intense that the ringing in your ears nearly made you hold onto your head. “What?”, You both breathed in unison before your eyes fell upon one another. One heartbeat. Two. “Hell no", “Over my dead body," both of your declines fell one after the other.

"Eris, you know how the council runs and how they are about the business. You need to make public appearances. You need someone by your side," and Rhys had a point. If most courts had moved on from council power, Beron had held onto them for dear life. They fed his power. Stopped the fires of rebellion for him. And now their way was Eris’s people's way. “I sure as hell don’t need that leech," Eris said in frustration. “Hey, word choice," Azriel pointed a finger his way, making the frown on Eris’s face even deeper. “I’m not marrying that monster," you hissed.

“I would once again suggest you look at yourself," Eris grumbled back, running his hand over his face. But you were done with him. He could go to hell the way he was standing now. It’s your brother who met your angered face. “Why was I not informed about this? What right do you have to even suggest this?" You stepped closer to him, your hands reaching for his shirt. “It’s a marriage of convenience," Rhys said again, trying to kill the frustration his suggestion had caused, “You play by the rules; secure the spot for Eris among that table, and then we’ll find a way to split you apart. My word will be worth more if you’re courting my sister."

No, this couldn’t be happening. Gone were the times when women were traded like pigs. This was a joke. A nightmare. You pinched your hand once, twice. Nothing. It didn’t all fade away. “No, absolutely, no," you breathed, your hand falling on your chest. This was not the life you had dreamed of. Not how it was supposed to go.

“What’s the catch here, Rhys?" Eris breathed. Was he even considering this? Surely he wasn’t. “He left Mor by the fucking border! Do you want me in ribbons by your door?", you pulled at Rhys’s black shirt, practically hissing through your clenched teeth. “I wouldn’t dirty my hands with you that much," Eris’s voice killed your huffs as you turned back at him.

"Asshole," you spat his way. “Whiny little girl," Eris huffed back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I fucking hate you," you shrieked in frustration, pulling at the roots of your hair as the situation slowly sank in. “Oh, you hate me? Do you want to know how I feel?" Eris laughed bitterly, his eyes not leaving you, “If you were my wife, I would put poison in your morning tea." His cold words sliced through you. You let out a bitter chuckle. Taking a breath to compose yourself. A shaky hand running down the skirt of your dress to smooth the material. “Ah, well, if you were my husband, I would happily drink it." Your words lingered in the air,and you could see it even if it was just a flash. A blink. That second of shock that flashed through Eris’s eyes.

With a quick step forward, you pushed at his chest, "Never do you hear me?" You hissed one more time, “Will never happen." His hand caught your wrist with a swift motion as he pulled you closer to him. Your chest firmly pressed against his as he muttered right against your face. “You’re screaming at me as if it’s my idea," Eris huffed, dropping your hand.

You blinked, turning back to your older brother. Who swore to protect you. To always look out for you. “You’re a shit brother, Rhys," you stated. Finding it so utterly hard to even look at him now. All this time. He could have warned you. Said something. Asked. But no. “I’m trying to stop another war from happening," he stated as if this were a simple transaction, not a life-altering decision. “By sacrificing me?" You hit your chest in frustration. Your youthful years would spent slaving in another country, and for what?

“Don’t be so dramatic," Eris huffed, making you let out a frustrated whimper, "Oh, my apologies for not seeing any gain in this for me." Rhys took a deep breath. “The court wants a married man with a powerful woman by his side." Here it was his lord's voice. Not your brother. He stepped closer to you, trying to reach for your hands, but you backed away instantly. “This is more about you than anyone else," he tried to reason. So you were to be a play toy. A figurine in someone else’s game. “Just unbelievable," you said, shaking your head and stepping back. Your leg hit the cabinet, sending a couple of bottles tumbling down. Rhys called your name once more, but you didn’t. Couldn't be here any longer as you bolted towards the door.

"Y/n," Rhys called out in warning, moving towards the exit as well. “Don’t you dare follow her; you’ve done enough damage for the night," Eris’s cold voice made the Lord of the Night halt. And for the first time that night, the uncaring mask on Rhys’s face slipped: “Don’t lecture me when I’m trying to help," venomous frustration seeping through, “I’m landing you my biggest asset. She’s my only blood family." Eris couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face, “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t toy with her like that”. Rhys’s jaw twitched.

"Careful," Azriel reasoned for the second time that night. Eris had forgotten that the two of them were even there. “Stop barking from the back rows," he hissed at the two batboys. Cassian quickly placed his hand on Azriel’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. Eris shook his head, “You miscalculated, Rhys; admit it." Turning back to reach for the bottle of brandy, Eris took a swig straight out of the bottle. “You’d gain power out of this. But your precious demon of a sister will never forgive you for this." That struck a nerve deep within Rhys. And suddenly, the suggestion itself felt ingenious. So there was a catch after all, huh? “A day," Rhys said firmly, “I’m giving you a day to think this through; then my offer is off the table." Like that. He was dismissed as if he too wasn’t a high lord now. As if Eris wasn’t in an equal position to demand. Eris leaned forward,“You were never the one offering, Rhys; it was never your call to make."

[lieutnt]

I beg of thee when you have more ideas to keep up the trans Miguel agenda with the baby trapping if they contain it. Am also good without,your work is amazing. You have me hooked. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

i wasn’t gonna do a part 2 but i had this idea so here we are

cw: baby trapping & monsterfucking

trans!miguel is all too aware of your animalistic tendencies when you transform - he’s observed you through his screens, watched as the lines between man and beast blur. he can’t help the way he rubs his thighs together, cunt growing slicker as you reign in the anomaly with such ferocity, sharp claws and even sharper teeth putting a quick end to the mission.

before you get back to hq you shift back (much to miguel’s chagrin), just finishing handing over the anomaly when miguel calls you to his office. you barely get through the doors before miguel’s on you, dragging and pushing you down on his seat so he can clamber on your lap, pushing your suits out of the way and sinking down on you. the adrenaline still coursing through your veins has you taking hold of his waist and bouncing him up and down, his tight wet heat sucking you in.

after pulling countless orgasms from miguel, despite his pleading, you pull out before your knot can lock you in place, instead cumming across his stomach. he collapses onto you feigning exhaustion, but he’s already planning in his head - if you won’t cum in him and give him what he wants, he knows someone who will.

it’s on another mission where your monster side is required. it’s over swiftly, and before you can transform back miguel joins you in the dimension, booting the anomaly through the portal and closing it. confusion and adrenaline make a dangerous mix, your body heaving as miguel stalks towards you. you can smell it, how soaked he is between his thighs, and when he pulls his suit down and bends over, all resistance snaps.

you’re on him like the animal you are, cock splitting him open as you fuck into him without hesitation, claws digging into his hips and teeth clamping where you can reach, staking your claim. by the time your knot starts to build miguel is desperately fucking himself back on you, begging you to breed him, knot him, fill his belly and it works, your hips snapping forward until your knot bullies its way into his slick cunt and locks you together, miguel’s eyes rolling back as he feels the sheer amount of cum that starts to fill him.

his dream comes true, as soon as your knot goes down you start fucking him again, mind completely overtaken by the need to breed the fertile little thing underneath you, more than happy to replace the cum that your thrusts push out of him. this time he really is exhausted, body trembling like a leaf when you pull out of him for the last time, skin already turning different shades of purple and blue from where you’ve gripped and bit him.

you aren’t happy with him when you transform back, you could’ve seriously hurt him, but miguel barely listens to any of your complaints, too busy floating through the clouds as you clean him up and take him back to hq, shuffling him to his private room where the second he hits the sheets he’s out like a light.

making your displeasure clear you avoid him the next few weeks. it's childish but it’s the only thing you can do to make sure you don’t snap at miguel. once he discovers he’s pregnant he finds you, giving you no choice but to speak to him when he hands over the positive pregnancy test. you’re sceptical but one deep inhale of his scent confirms it. anger curls in your gut but so does something else, a base instinct tucked away in your brain crawling its way to the front - the animal desire to show you can protect him and your growing brood, that you’re a suitable mate and can provide for him.

miguel’s never been more relieved when you reach forward to stroke across where his belly will eventually swell. you’ll forever be entwined with him now.

[discordantwritings]

The Sand Dragon and I Pt. 2 (Dragon! Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, dragon shifter! Crocodile, monsterfucking, canon typical violence, power dynamics are once again pretty whack, possessive Crocodile, Crocodile is Mean, oral sex, facefucking, masochism, lil bit of blood, overstimulation, belly bulge, creampie, aftercare is important guys, also vampire! Mihawk is there for a little bit

WC: 6k

Summary: An unwelcome guest, a slightly more welcome guest, and a display of ownership.

Notes: I had way too much fun with this. So I originally intended this to be the end of it buttttt if you guys want more or more fantasy type aus I have many ideas

Tagging: @okanadafreakingfan

While you don’t have to make as many trips all the way up to the entrance cavern anymore for water, there’s still a daily hike you have to make up to the fountain to fill your large metal bucket that you dug up. You consider asking if there’s a closer water source but that thought is quickly dismissed. You only see him once every few weeks by his design. No need to increase the rate at which he could tire of you.

You release the dirty water from yesterday back into the pool of water, watching the dust and dirt slowly sink and travel back to the earth. You’re about to refill the bucket when suddenly you hear a noise from the tunnel to the surface. Gripping the bucket tight you press yourself to the stone wall, waiting to see what comes out of the tunnel.

This isn’t the first time this has happened- wild animals sometimes have the misfortune of wandering down too far to find food and water but most of the time they leave fairly quickly. You assume it’s something to do with Sir Crocodile’s presence no matter how far away he is this was still his lair. So when a man- an actual human man- peers out from the tunnel you nearly drop your bucket in surprise.

It’s not long before he sees you, it’s a painfully wide open cave, and you see his eyes widen in surprise before he runs over to you. As he gets closer you can really see him- disheveled presumably from days of travel, beat up armor, and a short sword gripped in his right hand. Reflexively you back off from his fast approach and as you do he stops, putting his hands up.

“Hey- I’m not going to hurt you.” His words do nothing to calm you. “Actually- I guess I’m here to free you.”

Free? Why would you- oh, yeah. Most humans don’t consensually live in a dragon’s lair. “You- look-“

“No, no don’t worry everything is okay now!” Oh boy he’s really getting into the savior role. “I’m going to kill that foul beast and then you can come home with me!”

Right, like if you had been taken you wouldn’t want to go back to your own home and to your own people. “He’s going to kill you.”

“I’ve been training for this my whole life-“ You estimate he’s in his mid 20s, whole life doesn’t really carry a lot of weight- “And I will be victorious.”

You try to warn him more but he doesn’t hear you, already walking away to go deeper into the tunnels. You’re not sure how regular of an occurrence this is for Sir Crocodile but you know he’d probably just be annoyed to see some random human wandering around.

Maybe you’ve been living in a cave for far too long, away from humanity for too long, but as you reel back with your bucket it really feels like the best solution. He doesn’t even notice you until it’s too late, heavy metal colliding with the side of his head and knocking him out cold. His body slumps to the ground as the metal clang echoes again and again off the tall stone walls.

Well. Sir Crocodile is bound to have heard that. So you fill up your bucket, take a seat, and wait for him to show up.

This time you hear him coming and for the first time since you got here you see him in his full dragon form. You aren’t as scared of him but there’s no stopping your body’s natural reaction to cower in his presence. His large eyes look over the scene- the knocked out wannabe knight and you sitting there waiting for him. You don’t say anything, just patiently wait for his reaction.

“You knocked him out.” It’s not a question.

“Yes sir.” You respond, shifting in your seat.

“Why?”

“I assumed you would be displeased to find some human attempting to kill you wandering around your lair.”

“And?” He could hear you were holding something back.

“And… he annoyed me sir.” You admit.

Impossibly loud laughter fills the space as Sir Crocodile cackles at your response. You have to bite your cheek to not smile, this was probably the best reaction you could get.

“Oh, I didn’t know my pet had such a fire!” He steps closer, snout close to the unconscious man. “Such a pathetic excuse of a human. Some do not know their place.”

His massive jaw opens and you look away just in time so you don’t have to see him devour the man whole. Your eyes glue to the ceiling as you hear the awful crunch of metal and bone under teeth. After a few moments of silence you finally look back down to see those massive eyes staring at you.

“Good work pet.”

Now that you know what these emotions are swirling deep in your stomach, embarrassment mixes in as you try and temper your reaction. You hope maybe he doesn’t care enough to analyze your reaction, to care if you like anything he says. But the way his pupils narrow into slits tells you he knows.

“Keep up the good work.” His large body turns around, knocking over a few chairs and tables as he lumbers out of the space and back down to whatever cave he lurks in. You practically melt into the chair the second you can no longer hear his movement, mortified by your own reactions to this whole situation. As you straighten up the room you ignore the perverse want in the pit of your stomach. You know how he sees humans, how he sees you. Your sick attraction was yours and yours alone. This was just another hold he was forming over you.

But all the logic in the world doesn’t stop how happy you are for the rest of the week. Not to mention a few days later your food is restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, a gift you know is from Sir Crocodile.

He doesn’t really care.

But maybe he cares just a little.

The next time you see him you’ve made significant progress on his overstock hoard. Books are on shelves, you’ve relocated some rugs to the room, most things are at least in somewhat sensible piles, and you swear you can almost see the back of the cave. You were working on organizing the trinkets when you hear his voice.

“I didn’t think it was possible to get rid of all that dust.” Surprisingly, you don’t jump out of your skin at his presence, somewhat used to him sneaking up on you.

“It wasn’t easy sir.” You stand up straight as he walks around the space that is now open. His claws lightly drag along the bindings of books on the shelves, his reptilian eyes analyzing everything. You hold your breath, hoping that you haven’t done anything wrong in your organization.

“Categorical and alphabetical. Good enough.” He turns to you and sighs. “As much as I’ve tried to push this off, I have a guest visiting in three days. He’s just here for a meeting of sorts but I need the entrance cavern ready to receive. Don’t worry about food either.”

“Oh of course sir, I’ll get to organize that space tomorrow if that’s alright?” You wonder what kind of guest Sir Crocodile could possibly have, probably another dragon?

“And he’s human sized so I will be as well. Arrange appropriately. While I won’t require you to hang around you I would still like you to receive the guest so I’ve gotten you some more appropriate clothing.”

Human sized confirms in your mind that his guest is definitely not human. Curiosity at what clothing he could have possibly gotten you swims in your head but you’ll find that out soon enough. “I can do that sir. What time will the guest be arriving?”

“Around eight in the evening. He’s punctual, you shouldn’t have to wait long.” Crocodile walks over to the pile you were sorting through, gold claws picking up a wooden talisman. “I realize I’m giving you a sore impression of what I collect. One day you will see my real hoard, if you keep being good.”

You flush under his praise despite yourself and force your gaze forward so as to not make eye contact with him. He chuckles and you want to disappear out of embarrassment.

“I’ll see you in three days, pet.” And just like that he’s gone again.

It’s getting harder and harder to deny your reactions to him. It follows you at night to your bedroom as you fight the urge to touch yourself. You know somehow he would hear your moans, the slick noises you would inevitably create if you were to dip your fingers deep into where you need them. Knowing that you deny yourself, compounding your need with every visit he pays you. It’s becoming a problem how fast you grow slick in his presence but you keep pushing it off. Eventually it’ll pass.

Maybe.

When you get back to your room that night you find new clothes neatly folded for you on your bed. They’re the same deep green of his scales and as you touch them you feel impossibly soft silk. Holding it up you see that they should fit you perfectly, and you wonder how he knew your exact measurements. Probably a result of his impressive observation skills. The thought of his eyes raking over your body and analyzing every dip and curve of your body…

You bury your face into the clothing and huff in frustration. You really need to get your head on straight.

Focusing on setting up the entrance for a guest at least fills the time well. You arrange tables and chairs and then spend some time gathering the best looking items from the overstock to decorate the space. It makes it look more lived in, even if you know realistically it’s not going to fool anyone.

Soon enough it’s almost time to greet the guest of honor and you are hesitating by the tunnel up to the surface. Dressed in the somehow perfectly tailored clothes Sir Crocodile got for you the silk did little to soothe your anxiety. You were tasked to receive the guest but you’re not sure if that means right here or up at the surface. It had been a long time since you’ve been outside these caves and while you don’t feel yourself missing the surface… fresh air would be nice.

Sir Crocodile wouldn’t want his guest to have to do the long walk down by himself right? Your own shoddy justification is enough to have you traveling up to the surface. It’s much less foreboding than you remember, but you know that’s just because you’re used to so much worse at this point.

You know you’re almost there because you can feel the cool breeze of the desert night. Pausing, you soak it in, a sharp contrast to the damp, stale air that hangs in the deep caverns. It’s only a few more steps before you’re out, looking at the starry night sky. You forgot how beautiful it was.

Despite all these emotions never once does the thought of running away cross your mind. Not out of fear, but because your new life is actually pretty good.

“You’re not Crocodile.” A dark, smooth voice sounds from a few feet away and you turn to see what looks to be an immaculately dressed human man.

“No I’m his-“ What were you, exactly? Calling yourself his pet to a stranger feels wrong so you just use the next best term. “Servant.”

“Interesting.” He steps closer and you can see his sharp facial hair that accentuates his defined facial features. His long leather coat is lined with a deep blood red fabric that stands out against his pale white skin. You can’t help but think how handsome this man was.

“My name is Dracule Mihawk, I assume you are expecting me.” Bright golden eyes that almost seem to glow in the dim light of the night regard your form.

“Yes, I’m here to receive you, you can follow me down if you are ready?” You do your best to be formal under the scrutiny and that seems to please him.

“Lead the way.” With a nod you start making your way back down, feeling his eyes on your back the whole time.

The walk is eerily silent, so much so that it’s a relief when you finally get back to the entry cave and see Sir Crocodile standing there in his humanoid form. You shuffle slightly to the side to let Mihawk pass by you.

“Mihawk.” Sir Crocodile greets simply, tone unreadable.

“Crocodile.” Mihawk is equally unreadable until he casts a glance your way. “Is it too much to assume this human is a gift for me?”

You blanch at the question, looking worriedly over to Sir Crocodile. His face quickly pulls up into a sneer. “Don’t you dare lay an undead finger on my pet.”

“Come now Crocodile.” Mihawk is smiling now, but it’s unsettling as you see red flash over his gold eyes. “What use do you have for a human? I could use a new blood source…”

The golden hand quickly transforms into a wickedly sharp hook and loops around Mihawk’s neck as he tries to step closer to you. He growls, deep and guttural as he barely holds himself back. “I’ll rip your head clean off.”

Your heart is racing as Mihawk chuckles and throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. Someone’s grown attached to their pet.”

Crocodile lets the hook linger for a few seconds before it reforms back into a clawed hand. “They’ve proven themselves useful and loyal.”

“Oh I’m sure that’s it.” Mihawk turns back and sits in one of the prepared chairs. You’re not sure what Mihawk is implying there so you cast a confused look to Sir Crocodile.

“You can leave now.” He dismisses you and you nod.

“I’ll be reading if you need me sir.” You bow slightly to Mihawk as well before you leave, despite your fear of him.

You couldn’t leave fast enough, not catching any more conversation between the two of them. You find solace in your reading chair, book settled on your lap even though you can’t bring yourself to read just yet. Your thoughts swim as you finally process how close you were to dying and that Crocodile defended you, willing to kill someone he trusted enough to let in his lair for you. And that last comment from Mihawk… he wasn’t implying what you think he was implying right?

Thank the stars above your book is interesting so at least you can think about something else while you wait and make sure you aren’t needed any more tonight. Almost two hours pass before you see Sir Crocodile darken the entryway for the cavern. You quickly stand up, setting your book down on the chair.

“Do you need-“ You’re cut off by a wave of his clawed hand.

“Come with me.” He’s already walking away so you quickly follow.

You’re led down tunnels you haven’t been down before, going even deeper into the earth. You want to know what’s going on but stop yourself from asking questions that probably won’t get answered anyways. It’s nearly 15 minutes of fast paced walking before you stop at a gigantic set of carved stone doors. A scene of the desert has been carefully etched into the stone, somehow soft and delicate despite the hard working surface. Bracing both his hands on the doors he pushes open and with some effort the doors swing in. He walks in first and after a moment of your hesitation he waves you in as well.

So this was a real hoard.

You find yourself standing on a stone walkway above a giant pit filled with more gold and jewels than you thought existed. The walkway circled the expansive cavern- easily five times the size of the entry cave. You were stunned, mesmerized by the glimmering of the treasures by firelight.

“I told you I’d show you a real hoard.” His voice snaps you back to the moment as he continues to walk and you follow, eyes still glued to the center pit.

You follow him all the way around the radius of the pit until you’re across from the doorway. You come up on a large ornate throne and open overflowing treasure chests. He reaches down into one of the chests and plucks out a piece of jewelry. It’s a gold choker inlaid with more emeralds than you can count before he makes a motion with his other hand.

“Turn around.” You obey without hesitation.

“So obedient…” You feel him right behind you and something drapes around your neck- the cold metal presses into your throat and you know it’s that necklace he pulled out. Surprisingly deft claws clasp it into place as it settles surprisingly comfortably on you.

“Let me see.” As you turn you have to crane your neck up to see him since he’s so close to you- closer than he’s ever been.

“I didn’t think anyone would get confused but apparently I have to mark what is mine better.” The golden claws rake over the metal- over your neck- and your breath hitches. “I think it suits you.”

“It’s beautiful sir.” You can’t see it now but even just from the glimpse you got you know it is- perfectly matching with the clothes he got you.

“Quite.” His eyes rake over you and for once his pupils aren’t those narrow, scrutinizing slits. They are nearly full circles, pushing out that white grey of his irises to almost nothing.

“I want you to say it.” Crocodile’s voice is low, almost a whisper. There’s an almost inaudible rumble from his chest that you can hear. You somehow know exactly what he wants.

“I’m yours.” You look him in the eyes as you say that, his claws pressuring your neck just enough so you know they’re there.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You feel the heat radiating off his body and there’s not a doubt in your mind he can see how affected you are by him.

His claws continue to play at the edge of the choker while you try not to wither under his touch. You’d take whatever kind of touch he would give you but that doesn’t mean you still don’t want more. The desperate thought of him wrapping that large hand around your neck flits through your head and you shudder.

“What was that pet?” Of course it didn’t go unnoticed, nothing does.

“I was- just thinking, sir.” Your words come out fragmented but that doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact a smirk comes over his face.

“Thinking? What about? Tell me.” He leans down, further invading your space as that hand near your throat keeps you from slinking away.

While it’s hard to admit it to him, you don’t think for a second about disobeying him. “Your hand around my neck.”

A low growl leaves him as he gives you what you want, his hand big enough to fully wrap around your throat. You don’t bite back the moan that leaves you as he grips lightly, fully discarding any shame you have.

“You just need to ask and I’ll give you anything you could ever want. All the gold, all the clothing, all the books this world has to offer. Just say the word.” His grip on your throat keeps your eyes locked with his, showing you how truthful he’s being. Sure, he has a physical grip on you right now, but you can see you have just as much hold over him.

“I want you.”

There’s a moment where you’re confident the world stops moving as his grip reflexively tightens around you. You feel his breath, uneven, fan over your face as he stares down at you.

“Say it again.” He demands, voice little more than a growl.

“I want-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence before you’re being pulled up into a bruising kiss.

There’s nothing gentle or even kind about the way he kisses you. He takes- robbing you of your breath and thoughts as his sharp teeth drag over your lips, drawing blood. When he finally lets you pull away you taste the thick iron of your blood as you gasp for whatever air you can get past his grip around your throat.

It was everything you wanted.

He drags you backwards until he’s sitting in that huge throne and you brace your hands on the armrests as you continue to kiss him. You go breathless many times before he releases his grip on you, head pleasantly swimming from lack of oxygen. You press your forehead to his, the cool scales that dot his hairline running a chill through you.

“Too much for my pet?” He teases, claws slipping under your shirt and up your sides.

“No sir.” To prove yourself somehow you slowly sink down to your knees in front of him, hands drifting from the armrests to his knees. He somehow looked even better from this angle, broad shoulders filling up the throne and the sharp angles of his face gazing down at you.

Claws rake through your hair as you undo the fastening on his pants, an impressive bulge already straining at the fabric. Impressive quickly turns to overwhelming as you push away his clothing and get a full view of him. You had thought many, many times about what he would look like but none of your fantasies really prepared you.

He was massive- intimidatingly so. Your hand reaches out and grips his base and your fingers don’t come close to touching. He’s smoother than you would expect, long as he curves up towards his stomach, ending in an almost angular tip. You bring your mouth to his tip, taking him in just a bit. Salt and earth weigh on your tongue, surprisingly not too unpleasant.

Letting saliva pool in your mouth you messily let it drip down his cock. You pull off of him and use both of your hands to slide up and down his length, coating him in your spit. The hand in your hair grips hard and forces you to look up at him.

“I want you to look at me while you pleasure me pet.” The pain of him pulling your hair only turns you on further.

“Yes sir.” You keep eye contact with him as you take him into your mouth once again, tongue flattening as you slowly push him further into your mouth and down your throat. You can’t take all of him but your hands compensate, sliding up and down the remaining length in time with your mouth. Apparently though, it’s not quite enough.

“Oh, pet, let me-“ Claws dig into your scalp as he holds your head in place and thrusts his hips up to shove his cock further down your throat.

You sputter and gag as he forces himself down further than you thought he could go but he doesn’t let up, holding you there while you adjust. Finally you force your breathing through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you calm your throat down to take him.

“That’s it- knew you could take more- don’t think about a thing just let me fuck that tight little throat of yours.” He continues his assault and you let him, not making a single move to escape his grasp.

Your don’t have enough thought in your head to continue moving your hands so you just hold his base as he uses your throat. All that you can do is take what he’s giving you and do your best to maintain eye contact through the tears. You can only imagine what you look like to him- absolutely debauched as your mouth and throat stretch to accommodate him, tears and spit dripping from your face onto the stone below.

You’re not sure how long you’re like this, knees on the cold stone as you let your face get fucked, losing track of time and just about everything else. It’s only when his thrusts loose their steady rhythm and you can feel the throb of his cock that you snap back, suddenly hearing the words pouring out of Crocodile’s mouth.

“I knew you’d be such a good whore for me- you’re going to swallow what I give you aren’t you pet? It’ll be so easy when I pour it right down your throat-“ At least you know it’s coming and you hum in acknowledgment, the only way you can let him know that you want it too.

That noise in your throat seems to be all that’s needed to push him over the edge as he holds your head tight and spills his cum down your throat. You fight against the urge to gag, doing your best to swallow until he finally releases his grip on the back of your head, letting you pull off and gasp for air. You rest your head on his thigh while you catch your breath and you feel his hand gently brush against your cheek, a sharp contrast to how he was only a few moments ago.

“So good for me… does my pet deserve a reward?” You barely have time to process his words before you’re being moved, world flipping around.

Suddenly you’re sitting in the throne and Crocodile is on his knees in front of you, a predatory grin splitting his face. He doesn’t waste any time, sharp claws tearing and ripping your bottoms clean off. You want to protest but the words die in your throat as he holds your thighs open and stares at you.

“I knew you’d be soaked but all this?” You feel the sharp edge of his claws play at your folds. “My poor pet has been so pent up.”

He kisses up your inner thigh and as he gets closer occasionally his sharp teeth sink into your flesh, just breaking the delicate skin there. After every bite he licks over the wounds and you can’t quite see but you can feel that his tongue is longer than you would expect it to be. Your fists ball at your sides, every pinprick of pain sending a new rush of pleasure through you.

“You can grip onto me if you like, you won’t hurt me.” Hesitantly, you move one of your hands to his hair as he hikes your thighs over his shoulders. “I’ve been waiting to taste you since I first saw you, I just know you’ll be divine.”

His claws somehow don’t rip open you skin as he pries your folds open before diving in with that long, thick tongue. You immediately see stars as pushes his tongue into you and it curls inside you. The pad of his thumb presses down on your clit as he relentlessly swipes against your insides. He pulls back for a second, a single strand of hair falling in his face.

“If you’re going to take me I’ll have to get you ready.” You watch as his golden claws loose their edge but get thicker before they disappear between your legs.

Your legs instinctually wrap around his neck as you feel the cool metal press against your entrance. You hear him chuckle before his tongue swirls around your clit and he presses a single large finger inside you. The moan that leaves you would embarrass you if you were capable of that emotion anymore. The gold is thick and cold inside you, a feeling so weirdly foreign yet amazing.

All of the sensations- his finger inside you, his tongue swirling around your clit, his flesh hand holding your hips down- it’s too much. Crying out and griping his hair you cum all over his finger and tongue. Despite your orgasm Crocodile doesn’t let up for a second though, a second finger slipping inside you while your mind and body buzzed off the high.

“You’re going to have to get a lot looser than that pet.” The two fingers make a scissoring motion inside you and he uses the gap he creates to snake his tongue inside you as well.

You nearly yell in pleasure as his tongue reaches spots you can only dream of finding with your own fingers. Without thinking your hips move up to try and find more friction but his single hand keeps you pressed down to the velvet fabric of the throne. He shoots you a warning glare that only makes you want more. You’re already sensitive from the orgasm you just had so it’s not too long before you’re chanting his title and wrapping your legs ever tighter around the back of his neck. His tongue pulls out and you whine at the loss but it’s short lived as it travels up to your clit, flicking over it before you feel the very edges of his teeth scrape that sensitive bud and you feel like your nerves light on fire.

You’re gushing over his fingers again and he finally stops moving, pressing more kisses and bites into your inner thighs. Once your legs finally relax he slides his fingers out and uses both his hands to grip your waist as he flips your positions once again. This time as he sits on the throne you’re positioned on his lap, his length already sliding against your folds.

“Do you think you’re ready to take me?” His mouth finds your neck, teeth scraping against skin as you grind against his cock. “Or are you going to get off like this?”

“No- please I need you inside me.” You force yourself to stop moving to prove your point.

“Hm… you’re almost ready…” One of his sharp claws rips open your top from the center causing it too fall loose from your shoulders. Now all that’s left on you is that golden choker. “Perfect.”

Just one of his hands is enough to lift you up, the other hand lining up his cock with your entrance. You gasp as his tip presses into you, already stretching you out as much as his fingers. Digging your nails into the fur lining of his coat, somehow still situated on his shoulders, you do your best to stay relaxed as Crocodile pushes inch after inch into you.

“I- fuck- you’re too big-“ You sputter out as you feel him getting deeper, pushing your body to its limits.

“You just- fuck pet- you just need to relax. You can take it. I know you can.” You feel the cold metal of his gold hand rub tight circles around your clit. “You’re gripping me so tight just let me in.”

“I’m-“ You feel like you’re being ripped in half but there’s something about the pain of the stretch that feels so good.

You’re already so overstimulated and the filthy words in your ear and the quick movements of his fingers are too much. You cum with a wordless scream, burying your face into Crocodile’s neck. Taking advantage of how your body contracts and then relaxes during your orgasm he shoves his cock in the rest of the way- tip suddenly shoving against your cervix and sending a wave of pain through your body. You hit his shoulder and he pulls back slightly, soothing kisses pressed against your throat.

“See thats it, you could take me pet, see?” His hand rubs over your abdomen and lightly pushes you back. “Look at that.”

You look down and see your stomach bulging out slightly, showing you how far his cock had gone in you. Crocodile pushes down on the bulge with his hand, fascinated by the way your body takes him. You can only whine, uselessly clawing at his jacket as he sits inside you, unmoving.

“So fucking tight and warm pet. I should have had you like this from the first night you came here. But now that you’re here-“ His hips finally move, each thrust sharp and deep. “You’re never going anywhere else. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours- I’m- Sir please it’s- it’s too much-“ Three orgasms had put all your nerves on edge, each slide of his cock inside you overwhelming.

“Oh you can take it. You’re doing so well pet- just a little more-“ He quickens his pace and you cry out before he captures your lips with his own and swallows all your noises.

Pushed past where you thought you could go everything goes a bit numb, head fuzzy in a pleasant way. You give yourself up to him, let him take whatever he wants from you as you surrender. There’s no more thoughts in your head and you can barely hear the nasty things he’s whispering in between kisses. You’ve never felt like this before and you loved it.

The fog clears slightly when Crocodile nips at your earlobe. “I’m going to fill you up pet- how’s that sound?”

You can only moan in response, you’d be fine with whatever he asked you at this point.

“That’s it- so fucking perfect for me- taking it all for me and letting me fill you up- just like-“ He shifts his hips and thrusts faster, hitting deep inside you. “Need you to cum again, come on pet, grip me tight like that again-“

“I- I don’t know if-“ Your protests are quickly drowned out.

“Yes you can- come on now.” He presses against your abused clit again and your body caves to his demands as your walls convulse around him.

You feel his warm seed pour into you, mixing with your cum and gushing out onto both of your thighs. You’re only somewhat aware of how much cum he spilled into you, still leaking out of him as he slowly pulls out of you. Instinctively you wrap your arms around your neck and pull him close and you feel a warm chuckle in his chest.

“Does my pet need some affection?” Hair is brushed out of your face as one arm holds you close to his chest. “You’ve done such a good job.”

You feel him stand up but you’re secure against his large body as you’re carried off somewhere. Things are still fuzzy and you can’t track the turns down the tunnels but you feel the air grow damper until you hear the sound of running water.

“You’re going to have to let go for a moment.” He tells you gently and you obey, arms sliding off as he sets you down.

It isn’t until your feet hit water that you realize this cave is one giant hot spring. You immediately shuffle forward until you’re mostly covered with the warm water, the heat sinking into your already sore muscles. Crocodile, finally naked, joins you a few moments later, scooping you up from behind. He carries you over to a spot where he can sit and still be mostly covered with water and you stay curled up in his lap.

You’re so tired, mind and body exhausted from the night. It doesn’t even startle you when you feel Crocodile’s tail possessively wrap around your legs while his arms hold you at your waist. Drifting in and out of consciousness you occasionally feel him washing parts of you off, the smell fragrant soaps pushing you even farther to sleep.

You wake up slightly when it’s time to get out of the water, skin pruning from the over exposure. You towel yourself off and Crocodile wraps you in a soft robe before sweeping you off your feet once again.

It’s not long before you’re back in your room, gently laid in bed. You pull the covers over yourself as Crocodile scans over your body.

“Have a good night pet.” He says, rubbing your shoulder before taking a few steps away.

“Wait.” Your words stop his leaving and he casts you a questioning glance. “You said I could have anything I want?”

“Yes, of course.” He walks back over to you.

“Then… could you stay the night with me?”

Sir Crocodile isn’t easily readable, you’ve been fighting to understand his thoughts for months now through glances and sparse words. He was unmovable, strong, fearsome.

But you don’t miss the way his face softens at your request.

“Whatever you ask.” He slides into bed next to you and after some adjusting your back is pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around your middle and that large tail rests over your leg. You feel safe, secure, against his large frame.

“Sleep well my treasure.”

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 16: First Megnitude

There are a handful of vacant wooded lots around town, similar to the one that Säure just torched. And they are each, in their own way, important and meaningful, and really shouldn’t be touched or harmed.

They can, however, be repaired. In a way. And it has also been fairly easy to keep them free of people.

So, we’re sacrificing them for this. And he’s the one that is going to end up on the hook for it. Because everyone can recognize just who he is, and they see him doing it.

One after another, we draw Säure to each, and he torches them. Just like he did before. The exact same maneuver.

At least, for the next three.

The final four, however, are fairly close together. Which means he has to wheel about more, and slow down his flight.

And then, afterward, he continues to circle, confused as to what has just happened and why nothing more is vying for his attention. The scanning has stopped.

And instead of chasing him all over town, I had decided to make my way to that general area and do my circling at near street level, below the tree tops.

I was really hoping to catch him early, but we’d set this up just in case I couldn’t.

And now comes the really tricky bit.

Now I have to try to take advantage of his confusion and slower flight, and his ridiculously enormous skyscraper sized bulk, to get as close to him as I can.

Doing things this way did feed his belly with the fear of the people, of course. He’s stronger now than he was when he first took flight.

It’s a calculated risk.

But the thing is, I now need to make another calculated risk on top of that, and it’s terrifying.

And I didn’t plan this out in detail, because I had no idea what he’d be doing at any given moment. It’s totally an engage-and-adapt kind of situation. But I got the idea from my last encounter with him.

I think I want to get higher than he is to do this.

—

Sirens fill the air with their thin wailing.

Eight columns of smoke rise from the Fairport landscape all around, and he has caused them.

And suddenly, the incessant taunting message has stopped.

By the third signal, he knew that he wouldn’t find the Physicist at any of the locations he was drawn to. It was too obvious what was happening. And he would have flown off and returned home, in disgust and a refusal to play the game, if he wasn’t so buoyed with power and sustenance by the third attack.

Each subsequent wetland destroyed fed him less fear than the last, but the rush overall was so much more sustained and filling that he decided he might as well keep going.

It was as if the wiley Architect was personally inviting him to feed on this municipal buffet of popular terror.

A strange choice in strategy, since it has only made him stronger and more ready to defeat the jaws of any actual trap that may be set.

But now there’s nothing at all.

Is he being invited to keep rampaging of his own initiative? Has he been shown “safe” targets that endanger his source of food as little as possible?

It’ll only work for so long. There’s only a limited source of unpopulated properties within the city limits. Over the course of time, he’ll just have to get more creative if he wants to keep this surge of power up. And eventually, he won’t see any other option but to start killing people, and he knows that way leads to his ultimate destruction. Starvation being only the long term risk. Even now, he’s made himself the target of the U.S. military, who are likely holding back in order to watch him and attempt to find his weaknesses.

There’ve been a small handful of other dragons his size around the world, and a couple of them have had their run-ins with modern weaponry. Säure isn’t looking forward to that. 

But they were ugly beasts, clearly inferior to him. He suspects he has power that they did not. He just has to unlock it, like he did his ability to transform himself into something smaller.

Is that what this is? Has he been chosen by the Architects for one of their plans? Is he being given the opportunity to grow and learn at their hands?

He doesn’t want to believe it, despite how insistent the thought is. They’re nefarious and capricious beings, proving themselves untrustworthy and ultimately villainous. So, if he is being fed for some purpose of theirs, the day that he is to be discarded violently and ignobly cannot be far behind that moment of fruition.

No.

He must learn more and come to understand it.

So he’s making a figure eight low around the last four marked targets, which are now growing into larger conflagrations.

The neighborhood is the true center of the city, which has grown mostly Northward over the past few decades. Right on the edge of Downtown, the old Faiportian name for it being the Alphabet Ghetto, it’s no longer an area of any particular poverty. People who consider themselves to be middle class, as laughable as that is, have collected there. And now he can feel them cower so deliciously every time he makes a pass over their homes.

It’s full of old stick-built houses of various styles and so many trees. If the fires he’s started do spread, it could be a disaster for the city, and the people know it.

And his movement is spreading smoke all around the neighborhood.

If he wanted to, he could reach down with one claw and remove most of the roof of any one of the houses. Just one crushing swipe, and that family would have shelter no longer. They’d fear for their future more sharply, and he’d get the rush.

But his business right now is to find clues. To keep an eye out for movement or markings that indicate the actions of the Architects, or the Physicist specifically. Maybe a sign has been left to direct him further.

So, he’s focusing on that in the low and cold afternoon sun, only barely obscured by the smoke.

In the very edge of his peripheral vision, he catches a flicker of denser, darker fluttering movement in one of the smoke columns, and his head snaps to the side to allow his eye to center on it.

One of the city whelps is carrying something bulky up into the sky, using the heat of the fire as a concentrated thermal.

Bold.

He wonders how it can exert so much effort while breathing all that smoke. It should be weak and easy to snatch out of the air.

He turns and glides in under it, opening his jaws, and recognizes Meghan with a duffle bag just before he gets so close he has to use his memory of her location to zero in on her. With a maw as big as his, he doesn’t need a lot of precision.

He feels a bump and a scraping up his snout and forehead, once again.

Damn!

She’d done that before. He was certain she wouldn’t be able to evade him a second time, especially with all the power he’d just soaked, and the lack of oxygen in the air her tiny lungs must draw from.

This time he bucks his head back, in order to throw her and disrupt her flying, and then beats his wings hard to rise as fast as he can, leveling out quickly to pick up speed and turn as swiftly as possible. 

If he can just catch her falling and flailing with that ridiculous duffle bag in her claws…

—

Monday, September 2, over a month ago.

Dusk was falling fast in the Fairport Arboretum, and Wentin had already helped me confirm once again that I can tap into reserves of stamina and strength that should not exist. When pushed by circumstance to desperation, I can fly and fly and fly and fly.

The monster had suddenly stopped, and was now watching me from the ground while I clung to the highest part of the last tree I’d flown to that was still strong enough to support me.

It had been chasing me about the clearing that contained the observation tower.

Now it tilted its head at me and said, “Next lesson.”

“Yes,” I responded, feeling ready to do this.

“I forbid you to fly higher than the tree tops above you,” it said. “Which means, you cannot even cross this clearing. To evade me, you must enter the woods and remain there. And height will no longer be your savior.”

And with this proclamation, I knew I would not physically be able to do what it had just forbade of me. Unless I expressly refused to continue my training. If I wanted my lessons, I’d be bound in every way by its arbitrary rules.

But this felt familiar and doable. I’d only been training with Wentin since I could remember. It had been chasing me in my nightmares since my very first one, since before I was born. And when these memories gripped me, and I knew myself to be within one of those nightmares again, I could do the things I’d done before but had forgotten upon awakening.

This time, I would not forget.

But then Wentin ran at the observation tower, leaping up at it, and bounced off its supports to launch itself directly at me.

And all I could do was dive right into the woods, flapping briefly and as strongly as I could between trees to change my direction and keep moving, never to rise too high but also never to touch the ground.

And Wentin was ever closer behind me, leaping from trunk to trunk as if gravity fell in the direction that its toe beans pointed.

One moment above, and the next below me, it very nearly caught me in its claws or teeth countless times, on into the night.

And all I could do was push my ability to dodge and weave amongst the trees well beyond the bounds of my own belief.

—

But Meghan isn’t there.

She’s nowhere to be found. Not behind him. Not to either side. Not anywhere.

Not even on the ground, what there is of it he can see.

So he accelerates and twists and turns, trying to find her, hoping that she’s not found some way to cling to him like a remora or lamprey or something horrible like that.

—

Having Säure rise up beneath me as I’m trying to fly up and gain much needed altitude while carrying a bag full of electronics is worse than the first time.

Previously, I had been diving toward him, and had very little time to decide what to do, but I saw him head on with my own eyes. I was facing danger and in a split second would either die or evade it.

This time, I had been flying away from him and he was still catching up to me. It reminded me viscerally of all my chases with Wentin, from as early as I could remember in my life.

But, Säure’s enormous rising bulk and hot breath gave me the boost of air I needed to sail over his mouth and nose, and drop down to his brow yet again, scrambling over it and his skull to the space between his horns.

And there I’ve ducked into the draft of his head. There’s a pocket of air there as he passes through the sky with any speed, and it takes very little effort on my part to hide in it.

I’ve been practicing nightly since my last training with Wentin, and honing my ability to turn on my tail like a dragonfly. I can’t do it if I’m not in The Zone as they say. I have to be in the same state of mind I’m in when having a nightmare and taking control of it.

But Säure rising up beneath me to swallow me like a bug was certainly enough to put me right in that mental space.

Now, I’m surrounded by six gigantic horns, each the size of a hundred year old tree.

I examine the nearest one and find that it has these nice long crenulae, ridges with grooves between them, where I can stick a bone conduction speaker such that even I’d have trouble reaching it afterward. Nothing’s going to knock it off once it’s in there.

The trick is that I didn’t think to unzip the duffel bag beforehand, so now I have to do it while maintaining flight behind a rapidly and erratically moving dragon cranium.

I have to dodge and weave with the visual cues of Säure’s movements, and it’s no different for me than dancing with Wentin in its woods. Pure adrenaline and reflexes and some kind of violation of physics. And then, while I’m doing that, I reach down with my right foreclaw and grasp and grasp and grasp to hook it through the large loop of thin webbing strung through the zipper pull that I put there to allow me to open it while in dracoform.

In a lucky flurry of movement, I do open it, but nearly lose the bag.

It flutters precariously in the grip of my left rear claw, the speakers inside remaining there thanks to centrifugal force pulling them into the far corner of the bag, away from its opening.

My rear claws aren’t really meant for gripping. They’re my running feet. But I can strain to clench them around something if I absolutely have to, and I’ve been doing that this whole flight.

And I’m about to lose the bag entirely, it’s so precariously gripped between one claw and my big fat pad.

With the next strong downward beat of my wings, I arch my back, bringing that rear claw forward and grasping with both my foreclaws for the bag.

And I get it. It’s secured.

And I have to dodge and weave some more, and I nearly get slammed by gigantic dragon neck, and I find myself doing a barrel roll before having a moment where everything is relatively steady and easy to deal with.

Säure is pausing to think or choose his next move.

I let the bag hang from my left claw, and shove my right claw into it, reaching for a speaker. It’s the size of a bacon cinnamon roll.

It’s designed in such a way that I can easily feel where the adhesive side is, and can adjust my grip accordingly, its textures obvious even to my digits.

The adhesive isn’t sticky while I’m holding it. It’s a pad of foam-like material with Sharpie drawn circuit patterns all over it. All I have to do is touch it specifically to Säure’s horn, and it’ll stay there.

So, arm held out, speaker aimed appropriately, I dive in toward one of his horns.

—

Suddenly there’s a pop and a hum in his own skull. 

It feels like it’s coming from his lower left horn. Like an audial dimension of space has opened up in his head, unfolding from a point just outside of his usual perceptions.

And then another one, from the lower right horn.

He lets loose with the loudest screech of fury and indignant rage he can muster. And then, mid flight, reaches up with his right foreclaw to attempt to scrape whatever it is off of his horn.

The effort nearly has him plowing full bodied into the city, and he hardly avoids clipping the tallest trees with his rolling left wing. But he manages to right himself and pull up enough to flap safely to a higher altitude, slowly and agonizingly free from destroying his own hoard below.

Two more pops in quick succession increase the sensation of space opening up in his consciousness, and he shakes his head.

He can’t seem to stop this from happening!

He tries to duck his head as fast as he can, sharply and unexpectedly, but there’s two more pops, and all six of his horns are humming and his entire skull with them.

—

The next time he rises to gain altitude, I leap off the back of Säure’s head to give myself as much velocity as possible and dive toward the city below and behind him. I’ve already discarded the duffel bag, letting go with the last two conduction speakers placed.

I’m sure that bag is fluttering to the ground slowly enough it won’t really hurt anyone. I tell myself this.

It’s certainly less of a concern than the laser breathing angry aircraft carrier in the sky that’s literally feeding on the emotion of fear.

The turbulence caused by the work of Säure’s wings is fierce and buffets me this way and that, but I manage. It feels like dodging invisible trees.

This next phase will have to be up to everyone else.

—

Briefly, static fills his mind, followed by a distinctly feminine voice that's low and full of smoke, algae, and seashells, tinted with an accent that wobbles between something vaguely Scottish, what could be French, and a Vancouver B.C disc jockey.

He knows this voice. He's heard it before, nine years ago.

“Good afternoon, Daniel Aurelius Säure,” the Poet of the Architects says to him in his head. “Welcome to KFEN, the impromptu radio station that's in your head. I hope you've enjoyed your buffet of nightmares. Now we have a special after dinner act to serve up just for you, on behalf of the people of Fairport.”

He climbs as high as he can to see if he can leave the range of the transmission, but to no avail. But this gives him the aerial room to attempt to scrape the contraptions off his horns without crashing.

While he reaches for one of his horns with his claws, the Poet continues.

“Please relax. This will only take a minute or two,” it says. Then, as if to a sound tech while still on the air, “Can we have a mic check? Testing? Testing? One, two, three.”

And on the beat that would be four, a cacophony of whelp cries rises up from the neighborhoods of Fairport furthest away from him. It's like a circle of sound, faint on the wind, made of disparate calls.

And on the next beat, those from the next closest territories call out.

He can’t quite reach the device that's on his horn. He can’t feel it. He can tell it's still there by the ambient hum in his head. It's just too small, and hidden too well in a crevice of his horn.

And the next closest whelps cry out, as he works to regain altitude.

What if he folded himself up into his human form? Would these radio receivers follow him and still plague him, unreachable? Or would they fall off?

And then the whelps directly below him, including Meghan, call their challenges.

So, she's done her work and left him.

Immediately, he starts circling to change his location constantly.

Then the call cycle repeats, starting with this furthest from him again, and narrowing in, like an audial bullseye.

They all know where he is, and they're that coordinated. The bullseye adapts as he moves.

And of all things, the fear of the people he’s been feeding on begins to abate, sharply.

All he feels is the sudden loss of the flow of nourishment. There’s no other sensation.

But in its absence, it's too hard to not imagine a smugness, a pride, and a sense of regained confidence aimed at him.

The whole city begins to feel like his enemy, and he doesn't like it.

And then the cycle of calls occurs a third time.

He noticed something last time. Meghan’s distinctive cry has moved. Not only is he weaving and circling, but she is making a bee-line to the stadium.

Last time she was in the third circle of calls. Now she's in the second.

And she makes a point of crying out, too.

Is she trying to lead him there?

If she is, she's making herself a target. 

Säure has no qualms about burning her in the middle of a nearly defunct sports field. So he turns and follows.

“Now that we’ve got your attention, Säure,” the Poet’s voice cuts through his skull and mind again, “I’d like to recite you some of my poetry, if you don’t mind.”

[sitp-recs]

Masterclass in smut 🔥

Happy Friday everyone! As promised, here’s a multishipper/multi-fandom smutty reclist with my personal wank bank favorite ships doing the nasty and being 100% unapologetic about it. I could maybe split these between 2 categories, evocative and downright problematique filth - y por que no los dos??? Naturally, everything’s (very) Explicit here. Bon Appétit my horniessss

Has the Touch by professorfangirl (Bond/Q, 007, 2k) - the sexiest, most intimate and organic smut I’ve ever read, #writing goals

Bond is good with his hands.

Slip Free of My Grasp by @lqtraintracks (Harry/Sirius, HP, 3.5k) - 1st person pov goals, sinful and redeeming at once. This Sirius holds my heart

I don't want to be bad for him. I want to do bad things and still be, somehow, inexplicably, good.

Sardines by @shiftylinguini (Scorbus + Jeddy, HP, 4k) - a masterpiece with impeccable atmosphere, no one has ever made borderline incest feel so light & playful

It’s bad enough his cock is hard from listening to the impromptu midnight pornography of his brother getting off; Albus is not going to add seeing it to the list of reasons why he lost his mind, and presumably his eyesight, on the eve of his grandmother's seventieth.

Tremolo by Lilsoshie, marose (Tony/Peter, MCU, 4.3k) - stream of consciousness smut with insatiable Tony and exhausted af Peter

“You’re gonna ride me,” Tony decides, easing his fingers free and cherishing the unhappy whine the move inspires. “Up, come on.”

The Lies We Live With by @bixgirl1 (Jeddy, HP, 5k) - peak angsty smut, just the tip has never hurt this much :(

It doesn’t really count… is almost always followed by a lie, James learns, growing up.

Honeyboy by dollylux (Wincest, Supernatural, 6k) - filthy underage semi-public incest, see y’all in hell 🤠

While John's running an errand in the backwoods in Louisiana, Sam finds a way to keep Dean occupied. (Sex kitten!Sammy and trying-so-hard-to-be-good-in-public-and-failing!Dean.)

Ravishing by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 7.6k) - give me dead dove like this or give me nothing!!!

Theseus holds a dinner party at his home and once Newt plays his part, he escapes, unaware he has an admirer following him.

Toeing the Line by @shiftylinguini (Tedrarry, HP, 8k) - nothing gets me more into Harry/Teddy than watching Harry watch Draco fuck Teddy. Filthy & sweet but really, this is here for the brilliant title plus daddy kink

Draco wasn’t sure why watching his partner fuck Teddy until he screamed was somehow less morally iffy for Harry than just doing it himself, but Draco wasn’t about to judge. Not when he was balls deep, anyway.

Only As Directed by rageprufrock (Hartwin, Kingsman, 12k) - possessive love is knowing how to share :)

“Arthur is a bad man,” Roxy had said. “Fucking tell me about it,” Eggsy had muttered, and gone to put on the tarty trousers Harry had picked out for him like a fucking high-end pimp.

Burned Silk, Buckled Leather by @ruinsplume (Sirius/Draco, HP, 12k) - stunning catharsis smut, liberating and full of kink positivity

When Sirius discovers a down-and-out Draco Malfoy lurking around the edges of a Muggle kink club, he thinks he knows just what Draco needs. He isn't expecting to run into some long-buried needs of his own.

Euphoria by birdsofshore (Scorbus + Dralbus, HP, 22k) - my go-to wank material, dilf Draco can step on my face anytime

A fire is prickling in the pit of my belly. I feel a little like I'm watching this happening to someone else. Al's sitting there, reeking of another man's sweat and come. He looks miserable and anxious... but also well-fucked. I look at his mussed hair, his bitten lips. I've never wanted him more.

From Thy Bounty by feyrelay, natureboy (Tony/Peter, MCU, 32k) - masterclass in both building and resolving sexual tension

Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Sötnos by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 37k) - exquisite world building, blows my mind every time

Newt was expelled from Hogwarts but his parents managed to get him into another school, Durmstrang. There, Newt is taken under wing by the kind Professor Graves, who teaches him everything he needs to know about making new friends.

Heart Toward the Highway by Edwardina (Jo Harvelle/John Winchester, Supernatural, 43k) - the only F/M story you’ll ever need to read, I promise

Jo, fresh out of high school, has left home and wound up on the road with John, trying to learn the ropes from someone who isn't exactly sharing and caring. John, distant and impatient, isn't really a partner, friend, or role model -- which means that Jo's gotta get all stupid and hot for him. Their stoic apprenticeship starts to unravel as Jo starts to run out of clothes and John can't ignore her anymore.

Breezeblocks by hellhoundsprey (Supernatural RPF, 59k) - I have no idea how I found this, I don’t even read RPF. if you’re into cuckolding + humiliation: it doesn’t get any better than this

After months of doubts and suspicions, Jake ends up catching his husband red-handed when he comes home early one Friday afternoon. A/B/O

[swampstew]

𝔸𝕥 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 - 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟜

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat next to the log fireplace as we begin this in-progress, spicy/smutty reader insert story starring YOU (AFAB Reader) and the Kid Pirates. Powerade and snacks are provided! You can find links to the mini-series on Wattpad and AO3 at the end of the post.

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for mature audiences only. Spicy start and violence/torture.

The sound of wet squelching echoed in the air along the beat of slapping skin on skin. Gasps for air, moaning and raspy groaning breaking through like a chorus, the instruments of bodies thrusting into each other pulling forth a cacophony of high-pitched praises.

“Ooooohh Kid! Killer! Fuuuuck you’re both too big,” Y/N wailed, tears streaming down her face as the two chuckled and fucked her faster.

“Poor thing, think we wiped her out, Kill,” Kid grunted out, roughly gripping her ass in his right hand as he bucked up sharply into her throbbing pussy. Y/N let out another cry of pleasure.

“Tsk, we’ve only been at it for like 56 minutes,” Killer tutted, almost disappointed. Killer stilled his thrusting and without warning, lifted Y/N’s hips and rapidly pulled her flush down on to Kid, holding her down while Kid’s body jerked.

“Watch it! Not ready to cum yet,” Kid growled, pulling Y/N down to cover his chest. His arm held her down just above her waist. Killer spread her ass cheeks wide open and pushed his heavy cock back in place. While Killer drilled into Y/N, Kid focused on kissing her puffy lips, biting them and her neck as he gave her long, slow strokes of his cock.

“Hnnnnooohhhh,” she whined, “Kid please, it feels so good!”

“Does it feel good or am I too big? Make up your mind!”

“Itsss boooooth! You-you’re gonna tear me apart if you keep taking me at the same time!”

“Shut up, no we won’t. That’s what the foreplay and aftercare is for,” Killer bent his mask into her back and he started thrusting faster.

He wasn’t lying and they weren’t idiots. They knew they were well endowed and big, strong freaks. While Y/N possessed great endurance to the men’s sexual impulses, they also knew that they would probably still break her body if they didn’t prepare her for what they had to offer.

That thoughtfulness extended to aftercare. They always checked her for signs of internal injury, treating any wounds and then providing her with comfort, food, and company for a little bit after their escapades. That’s how it’d been for the last few weeks of sailing.

“I think she need’s one more big orgasm to knock all the stupid shit outta her mouth,” Kid’s face broke into a sneer.

“Copy that Captain.”

Kid brought his hand down to Y/N’s clit and began rubbing fast circles on her while Killer pressed against her back, hands cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples.

“Ahhhrckk!” she panted. “I-I-I can’t I ha-have to—”

The words died in her throat, the white-hot feeling in her lower belly shooting fire through her veins and feeling impossibly hot, causing her voice to simply cease. Killer and Kid drilled into her without mercy, their own ends drawing nearer as they slammed into her body.

Both men could feel her muscles fluttering, clamping, and pulsing. It was going to fling them over the edge.

Y/N threw her head back forcefully, slamming into Killer’s chest as she let out a voiceless scream. Her body clenched down tightly, causing the pirates to groan in unison. Killer came after her, bottoming out in her ass and rutting his hips without rhythm as he came, his hands still squeezing Y/N’s breasts.

Kid, ever the stamina beast, kept pistoning into Y/N even after Killer pulled out. Kid switched positions and threw Y/N on her back on the mattress, filling her pulsing hole once more and fucking into her.

“K-K-Kid,” Y/N let out a raspy whisper, “It’s tooooo mu-much,” she whined.

“Yeah? Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m almost there. I’ll give you one more, for being my good girl,” he kissed her lips.

Hitching her legs over his waist, flesh hand and prosthetic gripping her thighs up, he began to fuck her with long, precise strokes; hitting the spot that had her vision going spotty.

“Ohhhh fuuuuuuck,” Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“Yeah that’s right sweetheart, ooooohh fuuuuuck,” Kid grinned, sweat running down his face. The way she looked on the verge of passing out from pleasure, her walls fluttering on him more and more. His strokes became faster, rubbing his tip directly on her g-spot.

“OH FUUUUCK,” Kid groaned and bit his lip, burying himself to the hilt and bucking his hips sloppily, coaxing his release.

“Aaaaaahhhh ffuuuuccck!!” Y/N let out a final cry, her pussy gripping Kid tightly as she rode the waves of overstimulated pleasure, her body taking a static like buzz from her nth orgasm. The effect rippled to Kid and he came, shooting ropes of pleasure inside her. His hips stuttered to a stop as he finished spilling into her.

Fiery red hair plastered to his scalp and forehead, Kid’s face hovered over Y/N’s chest as he panted.

“Bath or shower?” his golden eyes finally lifted to hers.

“Mmmm bath,” she slurred.

“Want me or Killer to lifeguard?”

“Boooooth.”

“Tsk, so selfish. You’re lucky we cleared our schedule off to indulge your pretty little desires.”

Y/N cast him a disapproving glance, “I do plenty for you both.” Killer let out a dark chuckle before walking to the bathroom to run the water.

Since the day they had infiltrated her guarded secrets, they had become significantly more generous with her. Killer no longer feared that she was a Marine or enemy pirate rival spy sent to undermine them. While still puzzled over her background, he grew to appreciate the strong woman Kid picked up on that one daft island.

Making great company, he often found he could vent to her about shit that bothered him and she never judged him or invalidated his feelings. She just…listened. Didn’t try to interject anecdotes or superficial sentiments about his issues. Gave him a simple nod, offered advice if asked, and told him he was free to talk to her whenever he wanted. She knew a kickass pasta recipe and then some too. Y/N would also seek Killer out whenever he found time to play the drums, laying down in the room and tapping her foot to the beat with her eyes closed.

Kid felt like he found a rare treasure. Laid back hot chick who was a little unhinged, could handle her own shit, intimately knew all of life’s little pleasures, and who made him feel like he was…The Captain Kid. She treated him with respect to his position and didn’t try to do weird or frilly shit with him and Killer like past lovers had. It was only behind closed doors that she became vulnerable to him, with him.

He shared some of his hobbies with her and was internally thrilled that she liked spending time in his workshop. Y/N told him she came from a background in blacksmithing and was no stranger to refining and enhancing weapons. She even helped him improve and polish some of the crew’s storage of weapons too. Kid was delighted to find out she knew how to wield weapons well too and would on occasion, make her indulge him in betting pools where she fought against the crew with chosen weapons. She had only lost to Killer and himself – whether that was intentional on her part or not, he had no clue – and that excited him.

“Besides only one of you is good at washing my hair,” she pouted, stretching under Kid.

“Excuuuuuse meee, princess,” Kid rolled his eyes as he pulled out, reaching his flesh arm to scratch the top of his back, stifling a yawn.

Y/N eyed him for a minute before taking a deep breath, “The two of you have been…cooler towards me recently. What changed?”

Kid shrugged, “You came out of your shell more? Started seeking us out for our company?”

“No you know what I’m talking about,” she covered herself with the sheet.

“I’m serious. We were ready to kick you off but then you just seemed more at ease with us. Wire and Heat said you took charge during a snag in the plans and saved one of my men from a shameful death at that one island and since then you’ve been more active with the crew and shit. You spend more time with me than you do with Killer. You’re with us longer than we all expected since you haven’t found your little clues to whatever the fuck you’re looking for. Is it possible that you…want to be part of the crew? That you might even like being around us?” He smirked at her, hoping he didn’t give himself away.

“I still have my own plans,” Y/N scoffed but didn’t deny anything Kid said. “But you all aren’t bad to be around.”

“Sure ya do.”

It was late afternoon when they came upon an inhabited island. Kid and Killer did their traditional survey of the area to root out enemies while the crew did their own shit, finding bars or whatever fit their fancy. Y/N had departed with the crew so they assumed she had stayed with them. However, by the time the Supernovas had found the bar the crew had taken over, they realized she was not among them.

So they waited.

And waited.

…

The bar didn’t dare close on the Kid Pirates but after midnight Kid was seething and left anyways.

“Where the fuck did she go?!?!?!”

Killer and Kid kicked down the door to the women’s cabin, making Y/N jump from her position on the floor. She was laid out with her massive map in front of her with an open journal and her various inking tools, a half-eaten fruit bowl next to her.

“Knock much?”

Kid was flushed from exertion and anger. “You never showed up at the bar!!”

“I didn’t know I was expected there.”

Kid blinked. Then he looked at Killer who shrugged at him.

“We didn’t tell her to stay with the crew or meet us there,” the masked man sighed.

“So you’ve been here the whole night?”

“Mostly. Grabbed dinner before I came back. Hey, will we be passing by this region?” She pointed to a spot on the map.

Kid’s eyes snapped to Killer who eagerly dropped to the ground to inspect the map.

“Sort of, our heading is more North but we generally explore every island we come across. Seems like a reasonable detour, what do you think Kid?”

Kid held his stance before stomping over to where Y/N was and sat cross legged on the floor. He grunted an affirmative.

“There you go. Found a clue?”

“I did,” she smirked. “How would you rate your experience in the torture department?”

Kid blinked again, “On the receiving end or…?”

“Being the ones to dish out the torture,” Y/N popped a piece of fruit in her mouth.

The Captain exchanged a glance with his First Mate before a sinister grin grew on his face. “We can do your detour. So, who are we torturing?”

“An old coworker.”

Killer let out a chortle, “We were under the impression you worked alone.”

“Not always.”

The two men deadpanned her.

Sighing, “Once upon a time, this sweetheart princess turned to merc work.”

Kid’s eyes widened, as did Killer’s. Their brief overview of her journals had not revealed this.

“I wondered how you were so proficient in fighting and shit,” Kid mused.

“Mmmhhhhmm…Anyways, the person I’m looking for got me acquainted with the first of many who fucked me over. Figured my best shot at finding those bastards is by nailing this bastard. He’s incredibly sweet on me and won’t take me seriously so that’s where you two come in.”

Neither man liked the sound of her soon-to-be-dead coworker.

It took them a week but they found the coworker. Landing on the coordinates Y/N had given, the Kid Pirates discovered an inhabited island that seemed innocent enough. On the surface.

The whole thing was a sham. A sort of peaceful existence governed by a shadow group. Rogue mercenaries took the town hostage and ran it to their whims. None of that mattered to Y/N or the crew.

Kid and Killer were mesmerized by her. She executed an extraction and diversion team to weed out and find her target. Some of the crew were to start a commotion outside the front of the building in order to garner attention and maybe attract heavy muscle from the targeted building. Cause a big enough disturbance that would have Y/N’s target be moved to an isolated area. Kid, Killer, and Heat followed her lead as she snuck behind the back of the building and began scaling the side. Once on the fourth story, she shimmied the ledge of the building to inch close to a blacked out, sliding glass door. She waved at Kid.

The Captain stood front and center and used his power to rip all the available metal in and around the building. While the occupants were in a panic, Heat began spitting fire to disarm, burn, and send the small fries unknowingly towards Killer’s blades. Kid also used his power to repel the metal right back, battering anyone still around. After the first assault, Y/N dashed into the shattered threshold and after a minute called out to Killer.

“CATCH!”

Thrown from the fourth floor came a slender but muscular man who was knocked out cold and bleeding from the head. Then a safe was pushed off the ruined ledge. Killer caught him and the safe with ease. The Kid Pirates left the island in chaos as they set sail with their prizes.

The unconscious man woke up in the ship’s prison cell, tied to a chair with only Y/N in his direct line of sight. His head lolled as he took in his surroundings before he focused on her. Then he laughed.

“You little fucking bitch.”

“Hey Gaston. Long time, no see.”

“If I would have known you would cause me this much trouble, I would have left your ungrateful, starving ass in that prison cell.”

“ME? I’M THE PROBLEM?” she smacked him across the face. “I followed every order, every mission. All I asked for was my severance package like you promised me. 5 years and I was OUT. I THOUGHT we were GOOD. I didn’t think for a single second that you would set me up with your pal and that the two of you would scheme to RIP ME OFF!” she smacked him again.

“That’s on me for being naïve. I’ve grown up.”

The man named Gaston leered at her from his seat, “Yeah guess so. Got prettier too. Lean on that a bit? To survive this long?”

Y/N punched him in the face. His broken nose was a gory mess on his face, dripping blood all over himself and the floor.

“I did things I wouldn’t tell my parents about sure, but never that. Anyways, you’re here for one reason and one reason only. Tell me where I can find your shitty little partner.”

“Suck me off first,” Gaston spat on the floor.

“Thought you might say that. So I’ve requested help from experienced veterans. This is Captain Kid and Massacre Soldier Killer. They’ll be your torturers this evening until you give me everything.”

Gaston’s eyes widened in horror and his already pale face became white as a ghost sheet. “Th-th-the Kid Pirates?!”

“Aye, that’s right,” Kid growled, a sneer on his face. “Word on the street is, you fucked with my doll. By extension that means you fucked with me.”

“Wait a minute!” the man gasped. “My issues with that cunt have nothing to do with you! I haven’t SEEN her in 8 years!”

“8 years, 13 years, 17 years, time doesn’t matter to me,” Kid’s eyes shined in the light. “I love torturing people; I don’t need a special occasion or reason for it.”

The silence in the hull of the ship was shattered with inhuman shrieking and sobbing for hours. Sometimes gruff yelling broke the screaming, lull moments of tense silence with a ruffle of pages being flipped – then the shrieking would begin again.

In the end, Y/N had a page of her journal filled with names, islands, and coordinates. She asked the pirates for a smoke break while she checked some information out and left the prison cell while Kid and Killer took a moment to wash their hands and drink a little.

“Well, this took an unexpected turn,” Killer quipped.

“I know! I’m super fucking into it! I’ll rip apart anyone she wants limb by limb.”

“Yeah, guess she’s finally ok with letting us in. Think she’ll let us witness how she finishes off the others?”

Kid eyed Killer with a hopeful look in his golden orbs, “Fuck, I hope she asks us to join her when she does.”

They made their way back to the prison cell, stopping in the threshold as they observed the scene before them. Y/N was crouched down on the balls of her feet holding a bloody dagger in her hand. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared at Gaston who was twitching sporadically. A puddle of blood was running down the floor towards the drainage holes.

“Y/N?” Killer called out to her, getting no response.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Kid tried to get her attention, to no avail. She didn’t acknowledge either of them with a glance or word, simply lifting a finger to her lips to silence them. After another minute, Gaston’s body stopped moving. Y/N slowly rose to her feet, her eyes still transfixed on the dead man.

“Two minutes and twenty-three seconds,” she whispered to herself repeatedly, committing it to memory.

Kid walked up to her and gently cupped her chin, tilting her face to look at him.

“I know where to go next,” she said softly, reaching up to pull him into a deep kiss. “Thank you for your help.”

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[asinfullangel]

7 Costume

I believe: “A few beers is enough to make you look more like a snack,” will be fun.

What could be worse on Halloween night or during October? Some preds crashing a costume party, eating up people left and right as if they are a pack of wolves (would be more fitting if they dress as wolves), how about a pred that get into character all too well wherever they dress up as a hungry beast or invade a haunted house attraction to add more of a scare to anyone that doesn’t end up in their gut.

I’ll settle for one idea in mind and that is: inviting a pred to a costume party with an open bar. And so, a party was underway within a fancy apartment, a few friends arriving fashionably late (because they forgot where they left their costume after a few drinks). The pred of the group (that had “something” to eat already) dressed as an orc with some body paint on walked in along with his group of buds dressed up like an d&d adventure party following behind. They heard of this open door party around town and look like whoever’s running the place sure likes to spend a great time. Everyone was in costume, the place looked like the interior of a vampire cattles and the host dressed like a dark lore chatting with some guests. And the ore dressed pred was gazing around till he saw something he favored the most at a party, a bar loaded with bottles that’ll be empty sooner or later by him.

The group all dissipate around the place to enjoy themselves as it lasts. The pred at the bar ordering himself a few shots to be handed a bottle instead as he’s told, “enjoy yourself, they all have been paid for already.” The bartender left to do some catering (dressed like a blond satyr, seems to be having fun too). (You can see what’ll happen next) One bottle emptied, 3 bottles empty, a few to many emptied soon enough then the beer rack goes missing and said beers included. The bartender returned to see behind his counter that the same orc was drunk out of his mind in a daze with a slightly bigger belly now on him. “At least enjoy all that the party has to offer, but I suppose you’ll need to pick me up and luckily it is my specialty.” So with one bottle left and one quick brew of coffee he made the man a simple Irish that woke him up by the scent before he drank it all down without much thought. The bartender left without a word knowing what he did (hehe).

Skipping a few minutes the orc man was back on his feet and gazing around the room once again, drooling on his lips along with a hunger in his eyes that was the only few signs of what is going to happen next. Now begin the part of the event that was not planned by the host. Guests were disappearing left and right by this man throughout the night. He may be drunk, but somehow manage to add more fear into this party from the shadows and behind lockable doors. His buds took notice of the signs before they disappeared for the rest of the event. They knew to stay out of the way when this happened so back into the hallway and up they go to the rooftop to wait things out (at least the view of the stars will be nice to see). Once they were out of the hunting zone they took this time to themselves to recall and chat about their time at the party, getting a few laughs out from one another as the party downstairs was being silenced…

After an hour they group return downstairs to see the aftermath. A mess of costumes littered the ground along with anything else that was dropped & burped out hinted by the semi dried saliva coating it. They search around the place for their stuffed silly bud to find him filling out the master bedroom, crushing the queen sized bed underneath his gut that was squirming. The legs of the host were hanging out of his mouth while he was taking a nap because of his gluttony, so with a little push by his friends the host was sealed behind his lips and sent to join the rest. What was odd was a note left on the nightstand with one of their names signed to them saying, “do not worry about the mess even if that idea crossed your mind, I can handle such a aftermath with ease and don’t forget to take a goody bag on the way out.”

[j-graysonlibrary]

His Transgressions Built It: Chapter 8

Title: His Transgressions Built It

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 51K

Genres: psychological horror, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website and on Kobo

Synopsis: After living almost a decade estranged from his family because of his transition, Noah is called back to his hometown to take care of his young niece and nephew when their parents die suddenly. Because the children only know of their distant "aunt", Noah pretends to be his own husband in order to not explain himself or cause further issues. But, in doing so, he has to navigate the small town, filled to the brim with his childhood trauma, under the guise of a complete stranger.

Full Chapter 8 under the cut

VIII:

His sins are becoming innumerable.

Noah knows he is in the wrong for lying to Kiki—for inflicting unnecessary grief on her but he is constantly trying to find reason in it. He can’t, he tells himself every time he is faced with this terrible thing.

He’s already started the lie. 

He doesn’t know how she’ll react to the truth.

When he told his mother that he was thinking about taking testosterone, she acted as if she was losing her child. She grieved him, up until her dying day.

Maybe Kiki would grieve Mary all the same, because of his transition. How is he to know her mind? She could see the birth of Noah as the death of Mary and, with more pain on Noah’s end, they’d wind up at the same destination they were already at.

But he must assume the worst in Kiki to justify it.

And that, too, feels unfair to her.

Despite this, Noah continues to visit her at the bowling alley, stopping in for a drink almost daily. They don’t always talk about Mary or even sad things. It’s a ray of sunshine, in the storm of a town, and Noah finds himself driving there when his mind is blank or vulnerable.

He’s noticing the floor sinking less, at the house, because he’s got Kiki on his mind and his mother’s ghost isn’t roaming the halls quite so often. If he goes a day without his new fix, he’ll see her, guaranteed.

There is someone else he sees.

He’s not confined to one area, however, and he’s no ghost.

Plastic rustles and paper tears. In the dead of night, Noah crouches in the master bath, trying to make as little noise as possible. Erin and Bryce are probably asleep anyway but the fan is on the fritz, causing every sound to grow and echo and he doesn’t want to try to explain what he’s doing.

He doesn’t have to. He’s the adult. He forgets that though.

The needle pierces the top of the vial. He takes a lower dose, now that his uterus is gone, but he still needs a weekly injection.

He pinches his belly, to the point of discomfort, and leads the needle to his pale flesh.

No, he hasn’t taken his weekly shot. He’s forgotten, now for the second week in a row, and he mentally flagellates himself over the misstep. When he was in the city, he never forgot, even when work was horrendously stressful. He had a routine to it. He never even had to remind himself…

Noah pushes the cart around the grocery store where he’s more acquainted with the cashiers than his own family at the house. Those kids eat through their snacks like ravenous beasts and he always ends up returning to restock before the end of the week.

By himself, he could pace out trips to the grocery for every other week. He froze a lot of meals, too, stretching things out to their limits.

Erin hates left-overs and Bryce is a picky eater in general.

No matter what Noah tells them, they’d both sooner go without eating than just eat something slightly outside of their comfort zone. He’s irate about this and it probably shows when he leaves for the store, telling them to stay behind and entertain themselves at the house.

Going to the store alone is preferable to going with them. The last time Noah brought them along, he left with a much lighter wallet.

Money siphoning aside, they don’t walk fast enough and if Noah sees his phantom again, as he suspects he will, he needs to be able to sprint away or, at least, duck and hide.

Just about everywhere he goes, except for the bowling alley, he sees Father Christopher.

He’s got some homing device on him, with a Noah specific frequency. It’s a wild coincidence otherwise but Noah’s too sick over it to ask him, to his face.

Christopher will probably just cite the Lord being at work, anyway.

Noah’s eyes dart from one side of the aisle to the other as he pushes the cart. He’s looking out for items on the list as well as Christopher. If he’s cornered here, he’s not sure he can escape and he’s worried he’ll cave, just to go home, and agree to see a sermon.

He could lie. He’s lying about everything else.

But then, if he stands the priest up and runs into him again, later, he’ll have to explain himself.

Every step, even the mental ones, trip Noah up. His feet are tangled in rope. He’ll fall from the window and hang, wrapped up in a binding of his own making.

He hears talking from around the other aisle so he slows. To make himself look less suspicious, he inspects the products on the end-cap, pretending he’s interested.

“It’s a real shame,” a woman says with a heavy sigh.

“You’re tellin’ me. All these kids…just taken in the blink of an eye,” another woman, promptly, agrees.

Woman number-one responds, “They’re lost. Truly lost.”

“And nothin’ we say helps. I feel like we’re being ignored while this keeps happening.” Woman number-two has a flair of anger in her voice.

Noah frowns. He’s not up to date on the news—he’s stopped watching the local station because of the nightmares it gives him. Tommy Goodson showed up in one too many of his dreams so he’s kept the TV, mostly, off unless the kids want to watch something.

All that to say, if there are children going missing, he’s heard nothing of it. Kiki hasn’t mentioned it, neither has Shaun, and the random people he’s forced into conversation with have been decidedly silent on this matter as well. It doesn’t sound like a brand new phenomenon either with the way the women voice their fatigue over it.

They go quiet, all of a sudden, and Noah is propelled into motion. He doesn’t want them to round the corner and see him there, even if he does have some questions.

Is it in this town, in particular? Or is this something just in the general area? Or, could it be somewhere across the country but these women have a connection or just an unhealthy interest in it?

Noah is glad to see no sign of Christopher as he finishes his shopping but now he has this weird news story floating around in his head. He considers asking Erin and Bryce but he doesn’t want to scare them. They don’t even bother locking the door. They feel completely safe in their home and, although Noah wishes they would take more care, he doesn’t want to traumatize them senselessly either.

The cashier rings up his groceries and she gives Noah a sly smile when she scans the small, clear bottle in her hand. It’s yet another reason Noah didn’t bring his niece and nephew with him. “Big plans this weekend?” she asks.

“…Just in case.” Noah is awkward to answer as he hadn’t expected to be called out on the lubrication. It’s personal and it’s just for him. His body, in a post-menopause-like state, makes little to no moisture on it’s own. He hasn’t brought himself to venture in that vicinity, not since the move, but he’s been feeling more compelled lately. And, if he decides to try, he’ll need a dollop or two of help.

She winks, the cashier does, and continues her job. It’s not anything anyone in the city would even notice, much less comment on.

Noah takes his cart out, full of bags, and each footstep against the asphalt is consistently painful. Vibrations shoot up into his legs, knocking against his kneecaps, and making him wince. He’s parked too far away and, beside his car, stands Christopher.

There is nowhere to hide—he’s already been spotted.

“You heard about the lost children?” Christopher, strangely, opens with that.

Noah slows his cart, stopping behind his car, and he frowns. “…What?”

“Those kids that keep disappearing. You heard, right?” The priest smiles.

“I don’t know anything about it, Father…” Noah tries to ignore him and load up his car. He no longer cares about being seen as rude—this is too strange now. He needs to leave.

“Several children in the area are vanishing. Some people think they’re being led off but we don’t know for sure. One day they’re here, the next, they’re not.” Christopher watches him set all the bags down, filling the space with no wiggle room. He continues to watch as he shuts the trunk and grips the empty cart.

Before Noah can direct the cart into a return, the priest reaches for him. All of his muscles tense and his feet refuse to move in spite of all the screaming he’s doing in his mind.

The second Christopher’s hand touches Noah’s arm, the sun expands and turns white. It’s too bright for anyone to look at and he’s forced to either close his eyes or have them boil in their sockets.

Then, darkness. It’s brief, maybe only two seconds, before a different, gentler light graces Noah’s eyelids. It coaxes him, a faint whispering accompanying it and caressing his ears. He no longer feels Christopher’s hand around his forearm so he may even be safe.

It’s the side of the road and an open plot of land rests before him. The same one he passes every time he goes to the grocery. The church has it’s doors open and the light emits from within it. When the whispering grows louder, Noah floats forward.

He has no choice. His toes point down, trying to find the ground, but they simply catch gravel and drag pebbles with him. His breath hitches. He can’t look away. The light is warm now. It tingles on contact.

God’s in there.

Noah gasps like he’s just broken the surface of water and he’s as wet as if he’s been swimming too. He’s in his bed though and it’s no later than three in the morning.

His stomach clenches and churns, he’s not sure how much is from the dream and how much is from dinner. He’s not prepared to return to sleep, either way, and hopes to, at least, take care of the physical discomfort with a trip to the bathroom.

As he plods to the door on the right of the bed, a relatively short distance usually, he’s hit with sharp pains all in his abdomen. He holds his stomach as he marches forward but it’s bafflingly difficult. More sweat runs down his face and his legs threaten to give out.

Pangs of deep, throbbing pain spread out from his stomach—up his back and down to his thighs. It’s not a pain he’s felt in years but he hasn’t forgotten it for a second.

As soon as Noah is capable, he peels down his shorts, a true feat with how they cling to his wet skin. He sits down on the toilet and holds in the cry that bubbles to the top of his throat. The sensation is debilitating. He could easily pass out if it keeps up.

Splashing. Dropping. Whatever is hitting the water under him is not merely urine but it’s thicker than he expects. Much thicker than he remembers.

His face must be red with the strain he’s putting into emptying his body. Just when he thinks it’s done, another wave comes and he’s losing energy by the second. The stabbing, jolting pains are lessening which is a victory he’s barely able to celebrate. His eyelids droop and he nearly loses consciousness.

Noah grasps the counter beside the toilet, using the rounded edge to press his palm into. The new pain—the different pain—keeps him alert until, at last, the dripping between his legs stops.

He takes several big, boisterous breaths, attempting to psyche himself up for what he will see. It’s no use, certainly, as whatever is there cannot be explained. He’s missed two weeks of testosterone, sure, but he no longer has a uterus. This can’t be happening.

With a second wind, little as it is, Noah lifts himself from the toilet just so he can flip the light switch on. He falls back to the seat, exhausted. He’s got static around his head and there aren’t many thoughts that form. He’s too far gone for that.

But he lowers his head and opens his thighs. It’s still dark, in the water below, but he can see where the blood has splashed onto him. His inner thighs are painted and he pulls some toilet paper over, now knowing for sure what is waiting for him.

When he wipes, he pulls back with a trembling hand to see not just blood but clumps of flesh. They’re long, webby, and they glisten under the light. He uses the tissue to prod it, feeling the texture under the paper and finding it bouncy.

Noah gulps. His sweat is dried now but cold. He’s shivering.

Despite himself, he stands from the toilet and turns to look at the bowl, un-obscured.

It’s filled with blood—an entire day’s worth, he guesses. Larger chunks of flesh float up on the surface and one, in particular, houses a long tube. It’s sticking up from the water and Noah begins to lean closer, attempting to get a better look.

The tube twitches, sending him upright. Then, the bloody water bubbles and the tube begins to whip about, furiously. It’s alive. It’s screaming. Noah’s screaming too.

He slams the toilet lid closed and backpedals but he’s still got his shorts around his ankles so he falls. He hits his head against the door and the screaming stops.

His pain, too, vanishes.

He awakes later in the morning.

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ It's hard not to recoil at his words. It's hard not to pull his hand away. It's hard not to drop his shoulders. It's hard not to let his eyes fill up with the shame he keeps buried deep within his belly so no one will ever find the hurt.

Aqua says it hurts and that's all it is. He says it's the same every day and nothing can fix it. He says it doesn't mean it's gone away just because he's quiet about it and he understands that. He knows the nightmares never end. The voices. The touches. The pain.

It's always there. It doesn't leave, and maybe apologies will never be enough. Maybe the bond really did break without their gems ever shattering after all. Maybe he lost his best friend for real all those years ago. Maybe his begging would never save him after all. Maybe it was already too late.

His hand pulls back from the other man's knee at his words. He wants to cry but he buries every tear deep within the core of his chest. It's not the time. It's Aqua's time now and he needs to respect that but even if he wants to be a pillar for his family. His best friend. His bind.

Sielu continues to refuse to allow him to do so. He can't make him and he won't. He won't tell him how to feel. He won't tell him what to do with his emotions. He won't boss him around and tell him how he should process things or how to heal the damage that's been inflicted on his spirit. It's not his place. It's never his place.

They're bound by soul and he can feel that ache that is not his forcing it's way through his ribs like a sharp spike threatening to pierce his lungs any second now. Another's soul is such a heavy weight to carry, but he will carry them all if it only means they remain alive and with him so he doesn't have to be alone anymore.

' You're such a selfish creature Little Cloud. Possibly the most arrogant I know. How wicked can you be? You fooled this man into loving you only to withhold your affection. You're such a nasty little beast. '

And somehow he can't argue with the statement. It's true after all. He is selfish. Selfish enough to want his binds to remain at his side above all else. Selfish enough to want to cure their pain by any means necessary but is he doing it for them or is he doing it to stop the ache in his chest? It is really because he cares for them or because he can't stand the sensation of wedge pain so terrible that he fears one day it may split him in two?

Aqua's depression is intense. Depression, loneliness, jealous, rage, fear, anguish, doubt. All the things that Chaos thrives on and adores to feed on and he fears that his sweet Opettaja has been driven into such a hole of despair that he might not be able to drive deep enough to pull him out of it.

Not when he was such a large cause of the man's descent in the first place. A betrayal he never caused but yet was still perpetrated with his face so that makes him the villain all the same - does it not? He never plunged the dagger but he feels the blood on his hands nonetheless. He still feels responsible for the damage.

His own hands fold neatly in his lap as fingers twist against white sleeves that are much too long. His eyes down cast to his lap and he realizes in this moment he has two choices. Retreat inside himself out of fear or damaging anything more than he already has or take the first step forward. If the King does not move then how can he dare to expect the same of his people?

He is their example. Their guide post in the darkness and if he doesn't move then -

"Be quiet and obey."

The words practically tremble from his lips as his fingers twist into the fabric that covers them and he finds himself chewing on his bottom lip for a moment as he tries to drum up the courage to speak again.

"He said that to me for years. Years he told me I wasn't to speak unless I was spoken to and even then, never the others. I wasn't to speak to anyone in the castle His Excellency didn't deem fit. Be quiet and obey. I knew where to put my feet. I knew when to drop my head. I knew every move I had to make to avoid.... punishment. I knew and I obeyed. But I - "

His hands are digging into the fabric covering his lap as tears start to well up in his eyes.

"- don't want to anymore. I - I am not an object. I am not - his toy. I - I am the King and I - I do not drop my horns to anyone but my own people. I don't want to be quiet anymore. It - it has only caused the storm inside of me to grow more violent with every passing year. So - so - so if that means I'm not good anymore because I'm not quiet - then so be it. Rakastan sinua, vaikka et olisi hyvä."

(I love you, even if you're not good.)

He hates the way his body reacts for him, jolting at even the slightest touches as he's lifted and placed into the loft. His weight shifts on its own so that he's sitting with his knees folded under and his arms in his lap. Polite. Small. Good.

His liege says to come anytime and that space will be made for him, as if nothing has changed between them. As if there is a margin of error in how he's allowed to carry himself.

When he flinches at the touch to his knee, he finally gives in to the urge to drop his head and shoulders forward. Even if he'll be scolded for it, his muscles still prefer this. It's the only way he can even try to stay calm while the pressure builds on his back and spreads across tired, once-broad shoulders.

Pilvi asks if there's something else, in a tone that feels almost familiar. He invites the storm, but still it won't come. Still he keeps the floodwaters mostly at bay, only allowing a thin trickle.

How is he supposed to explain this agony?

How is he going to explain it to someone who he's supposed to hold himself together for? He's supposed to be a pillar and a rock for this boy, yet he's no sturdier than sand. Wet sand, on a good day, but today is not good. There's no foundation for the tower today, so it functions more like a haphazard pile of loose grains if anything.

His name keeps beckoning him. He's not supposed to name anyone back. It feels like some forbidden activity he isn't supposed to partake in, yet he can't say that either.

It's not even worth the risk, but Pilvi wants him to speak.

How does he tell that boy that he hates the sound of his own voice? That he wishes it were gone, that he wishes he could just be silent, that he wishes his screams in the forest could have ripped it out one final time to make it better for everyone?

Out of everything about himself that he hates, there's nothing he hates more than his voice.

He shifts the dragon to hold her closer to his chest as he backs up further, all the way to the foot of the bed. He can't help but to notice it's softer than his own and that there are more blankets and that there is no lack of good smells.

It must be nice to have a space that feels comfortable. It must be nice to share it with the small human.

He's starting to forget how he used to fit in his own bond's arms every night. What it's like to be able to speak without overthinking every word has long since slipped through his fingers as well, leaving only the fear of worst-case scenarios and what-ifs.

His very existence feels meaningless without the two people he had no questions about and who made him feel whole, yet somehow it seems like saying as much will warrant a lecture of how he's supposed to think of them or how he should be grateful to even have a bed or how he's a selfish, horrible failure for being lonely when everyone else doesn't have to look much farther than a few inches away for their person.

He's so sick of people telling him how to feel. It's been nearly eleven years of it, from some person or another. He really isn't in the mood but Pilvi wants him to say something.

"Telling anyone won't fix anything," he forces himself to say. The words don't come easily. He's surprised they come out at all.

"It... hurts. That's all it is. The same thing as every day. Nothing can fix it but it... it... doesn't mean it's all gone away just because I am quiet about it. I just know better than to admit anything. I just know how to be good and that means being quiet."

[universitypenguin]

Steve Rogers - Sex Headcanon

Warnings: Smut, Light bondage, NSFW, 18+

Word Count: Too long, as usual.

First of all, Steve Rogers loves sex. 

He’s a bit touch starved after waiting for the right woman, but when he finds you and things move into the physical affection stage, he’s all over you.

During sex, Steve loves that he can pick you up with little effort

He likes doing it against the wall

Standing, almost any position

Likes that he can hold your hips still even when you start to squirm when he hits the right spots

In general, holding onto your hips, your butt, and even when he gets to curl his hands around to grasp your inner thighs, Steve is thrilled. Captain America is an ass man.

He loves your legs too, though.

Likes to pin you down for prone bone.

He hates to admit how much using his strength against you turns him on.

But you love it too and when he realizes that you like the same positions he does, it gets more intense.

Like, he’ll pick you up while he’s standing and lift you to his shoulders, draping your legs over his shoulders to eat you out.

When Steve learns that you not only can orgasm multiple times, but that you enjoy it, he starts to let go a bit more.

At first he was careful in bed. He kept things slow and gentle, not being entirely sure of his strength. But once he gets comfortable…

He goes feral

It starts when you ask him to tie you up. The idea is only familiar to him from Tony and Thor’s jokes about 50 Shades of Gray.

Steve hates 50 Shades of Gray. He thinks Christian is an ass who doesn’t respect women.

But back to the topic: bondage. He’s willing to hear you out about why you want that. And eventually, he says yes.

The conversation about bondage goes like this:

You’ve never done bondage before. Despite having several past relationships and experiences, you’ve never trusted a man like that. Erotica tastes aside, reality is a beast of its own.

And without the feeling of complete safety that Steve Rogers inspires in your heart, you won’t have even brought it up.

But you trust him without reservations.

The idea of bondage for you is totally psychological. To have your hands restrained and be blind folded takes the pressure off of you. Sometimes your mind starts going during sex and it ruins your enjoyment.

It’s not like you’re thinking about the groceries or anything, just that you start planning your next move. Should you kiss him now, or do you need to moan louder? Does your moaning sound like a dying cat? Maybe you should keep it down.

So the blind fold is important.

And you don’t want to be able to move because you’d try to plan that too. Sometimes you put a lot of pressure on situations to be perfect. Perfect because you made it perfect, you mean. Your expectations are of yourself.

This is one reason you hate not being able to achieve orgasm. That matters to Steve a lot and he always but your pleasure first. The man is selfless and sweet. And when your mind decides to shut down the orgasm buttons, you hate disappointing him.

Steve is sold on the idea of bondage once he understands that it’s only an option because you feel safe with him. And he likes being the only person you’d trust to be this vulnerable with. All the 50 Shades objections vanish for him once you explain that part.

When you tell him that your struggles orgasming sometimes are from your own pressures to be good in bed, he gets it.

He loves that about you, your desire to please him and make things good. It motivates him to accept the offer of bondage.

Because it makes perfect sense that being forced to be the recipient and having control stripped away would fix that for you.

Steve says that you’ll have to let him make the plan. Which is *so* Steve Rogers it’s almost funny.

On a random Tuesday you get dinner with a friend and come home late. The lights are off which is weird because you expected Steve to be home. When you step inside you call out for him but no reply. Kicking off your shoes you wander to the kitchen and when you reach for the light switch, a hand grabs your wrist.

You give a small scream as a body presses you into the wall. Then you recognize the feel and the scent of his aftershave.

Steve has you pinned to the wall, wrists on either side of your head, feet spread apart and his big body caging you in.

It’s happening. It’s so happening. And you feel thrilled and scared and outrageously excited.

He’s excited too, you can feel it pressing into your back. The man’s been planning and fantasizing, clearly.

“Do you still want this, honey?”

His first words to you are the reason that you want this. It warms your heart at the same time your panties are growing wet.

“Yes, Steve. So much. Please.”

He rolls his hips, pressing his body against you and you can’t control the moan that passes your lips.

“Red means we stop. Yellow is slow down. If I’m going to do something that I think you need to consent to, I’ll ask ‘is this okay?’ and you’re going to say “Green” if you want it. Understand?

“Pick a safe word, doll.”

Eagle is your safe word. Your mind just liked the whole patriotic motif, you supposed.

Once the ground rules are laid out, Steve turns you around and with a tap on the curve of your ass, signals you to jump up.

With your legs around his waist and arms curled around his neck, he carried you upstairs to the bed.

Blindfold goes on first. Then cuffs that are lined with something soft that feels like shearling.

You know without asking that he picked them because he thought handcuffs would be too aggressive. Again, your heart flips.

“I’m going to push you, baby. I want you to wring every bit of enjoyment you can out of this. I’m going to make you come hard. You with me on that?”

You’re with him. You’ve waited a long time to try this.

“I have a plan for aftercare too,” he says.

And that’s your first hint that he’s about to go feral on you like he sometimes does when he’s keyed up from a mission.

Steve Rogers has freaking stamina for days. The man could kill you with sex if he wanted to.

(His sex drive is high… all that waiting for the right girl makes a man horny)

He undoes the halter tie of your dress and pull it down, slipping it over your legs.

He uses his mouth first. And it’s frustrating that he left your panties on. 

(The outfit was something he’d suggested. You’d thought he just liked the sundress and had been complimented when he’d said you’d look great in it today. Now it was clear he’d been planning all day. Probably longer.)

He’s been planning since the night you told him two weeks ago. Before the conversation was even over. You felt safe enough with him to ask for such a private and vulnerable fantasy and that turned him on in a mental way he can’t even explain.

So he starts by teasing you.

He kisses your mouth, slow and sensual. His tongue flicks against yours but never quite for as long as you’d like. And he knows how you like it by this point in the relationship. So you’re well aware he’s teasing you.

His mouth begins to wander to your neck and he laps at the sensitive spot. Your thighs clench in response. You’re soaked now, so wet it’s a little bit embarrassing.

He finally finds your breast with his mouth, taking an aching bud in his mouth and drawing on it. Softly. Gently. Lapping and teasing without the friction you needed to enjoy it.

Your breath came in pants now and you spread your legs to open yourself to encourage him to continue. Because there’s somewhere else that really needs attention.

Instead he turns to the other breast and gives it the same attention. Slower. And softer. Stroking with his tongue until your nipple was painfully tight.

His hand trailed up to cup the breast he wasn’t sucking on. The pad of his thumb made teasing circles and you moaned, arching your back into his mouth.

He chuckled and released the aching bud with a pop. Fingertips swirled the nipple he’d just abandoned, coating it with his saliva. He pinch it just right and your hips jerked.

Arousal was a living breathing thing inside your body now, clawing at your lower belly, turning breath into unsteady pants.

“How are you doing, baby?”

The bastard knew you were dying. Sweat was starting to burst from your pores. Your entire body was hot with need.

“Please, Steve…”

“Mmmhh? What do you need, doll?”

“I need your to touch me.”

“Where?”

“My pussy. I’m so wet for you, please touch me. Get inside of me.”

He purred. This was the moment you realized that you’d created a monster. Because he was getting off on the power play.

(This wasn’t actually when the monster was officially created. No, that would be later when you were done and he got to see your dazed face and tear filled eyes from the magnitude of what he’d drawn your body.)

He let go of the nipple and flattened his palm on your ribs, sliding it down inch by inch until he paused on your low belly.

He toyed with the band of your panties.

“You’re wet for me? Does this needy pussy want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both!!”

He laughed again. But he went ahead, so it was worth it.

And heaven help you, there were fireworks. The bondage was working wonders for your mental need to be out of control. But Steve took it higher when he forced your legs wide and pinned them to the mattress.

And while spin class workouts did amazing things for your thighs, nothing topped super soldier strength. You were stuck. Legs pushed flat to the bed, hands cuffed to the head board and nothing stopping the extremity turned on man with his head between your legs.

He lied about giving your his mouth and fingers. At first he only used his mouth on your clit, licking around it, touching the tip of his tongue over it in slow flicks, then finally, finally, sucking.

Your body seized at the shock of pleasure, white hot and raw jerking through nerve endings frayed from lack of fulfillment.

He knew what pitch he needed to hear you moan at before he added his fingers.

He knew it because Steve Rogers is a man who studies all the angles of a situation and knows his enemy. Or in this case, knows his lover.

He rubs at your G-spot with the pad of his finger and you scream.

Your head falls back on the pillow and tears start to flow because it’s not enough.

“More, oh, please. Steve, I need-“

He growls. “I know what you need, babydoll. And I’ll give it to you when you’re a good girl and you hold back that orgasm for me. I don’t want you to come yet. Don’t you dare come. If you do I’m going to have to take you over my knee.”

Just the idea of him spanking you almost makes you lose it.

He backs off the intensity. And you start to sob from the brutal frustration of being taken so high and left without release.

His name begins to fall from your lips like a litany, as you start to beg.

“Steve! Please, I want to come!”

“Not yet. Hold back. You be my good girl and hold back. I don’t want to spank that sweet behind until it’s red, but I’ll do it.”

Your scream is gargled by a wave of pleasure that makes your whole body roll as it rips through you from head to toe.

“Let me come, damn it!”

Smack. He’s light and there’s a sting on your right inner thigh.

“Hold. It. Back!”

Screams become sobs. You can’t hold still. You’re fighting the restraints and trying to move but he’s not allowing it. All you can do is clench around his fingers and cry.

“Come for me, baby.”

Release floods you in a second when he gives permission.

The cord of tension snaps. Your muscles lock. The scream you felt building is nowhere to be found. Your voice disappears in the violence of the orgasm. It’s totally silent as your body takes control.

Your channel clamps down around his fingers. The orgasm pulses through your body like being set on fire.

Then you scream. And the muscles that had gone stiff suddenly quiver with release.

If Steve hadn’t held you down through it you’d have been snapping your hips and arching into the sensations, away from them.

He keeps going, pushing you through it until the orgasm is finished.

Then you cry.

Honestly crying, because of the intensity of the release.

You’d expected to get off. You hadn’t guessed that you would get obliterated by the world’s most intense orgasm.

Steve immediately crawls up and takes off the blind fold.

“It’s okay, doll. I’m here. You’re okay, you’re safe. Hold on to me.”

You move, trying to reciprocate when his arms go around you, but they’re still cuffed.

This makes you cry harder.

Steve rips them open, letting you free.

And then you’re in his arms and you can cry properly.

He rolls over with you in his arms, one arm tight around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

What shocks you is that he’s not nervous, apologizing, or asking if you’re hurt. He’s petting you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“It’s okay, baby. Let it out. I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere. Hold on to me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The warm hand moving over your back is a delicious comfort. Almost as good as being held to the strong chest by arms thicker than most people’s legs.

When the storm of emotions passes, you blink up as Steve, a bit confused.

His smile is gentle and his eyes are filled with warmth.

“I did my research. You came down from that hard, didn’t you?”

Your answering “yeah,” is slurred.

He kisses your forehead. If you weren’t already boneless from your release, that would have finished you off.

“You were such a good girl for me. I can’t wait to do this again.”

With a tired smile you arch an eyebrow.

“But we can’t be done. I haven’t had you inside of me yet, soldier.”

Steve’s eyes go wide at the remark and you smirk.

“I still need you to fuck me, baby. I need to feel you finish on top of me and collapse into my arms. Please.”

You said please. And if he didn’t get assist a lady who needed his help, what kind of a hero was he?

[spookyjuicefiction]

Prisoner - Legolas x Reader

Hey! Somebody sent me a request to write a Legolas fic where the reader is part of the dwarven party in the Hobbit when they get kidnapped by the elves. (I accidentally deleted the ask because I hate this new beta so much and there is no way to go back in and add read mores after you save a post so I had to delete it and start over because ya'll deserve a cut, god dammit). I had actually been planning to write something basically exactly like this so I'll go ahead and give it a shot. In my version, Y/N is actually going to be Dúnedain so they have a slightly prolonged life span. It might have a couple of chapters, idk, depends where it goes. Thanks for sending a request!

Pairing: Dúnedain!Reader x Legolas (female reader) Setting: During the Hobbit films Warnings: swearing Masterlist

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Y/N's vision was filling with black: black, furry limbs; black, sharp pincers; black beady eyes lunging at her from every direction. She swung her sword around over and over again, her arms growing tired from the losing battle but knowing that if she paused for even a moment, she would be dead. Around her, Thorin Oakenshield's party of dwarves snarled and screamed as they, too, barely managed to repel the onslaught of giant spiders that seemed never ending. There are too many of them. We will never win. She felt more legs wrapping around her from the floor, from the sides, even from overhead, and she knew this was the journey's end.

Just then, an arrow came whizzing past her ear and a spider on her back screeched in pain as it fell backwards. She did not dare stop her fight to look where it came from, only took the moment to catch the other beasts around her off guard. Once she could catch a breath, she looked around her and saw arrows flying through the air on all sides. Her eyes darted around the trees, trying to find the source, but she was again attacked by another spider. When she rounded on it, sword at the ready, she found that a tall, blonde elf had beaten her to it, already pulling his dagger from the creature's belly.

"I had it!" she snapped crossly. The wood elf shot her a loathing glance before taking off toward a thick throng of spiders that still attempted to attack the group. Not wanting to be outdone, Y/N scrambled after him with far less grace and speed but no less determination to finish what they had started. This time, it was she who embedded her blade into the torso of a beast that scurried up to the elf from behind. He whipped his head towards her and she shot him a mischievous smirk.

"Guess we're even."

When the last of the spiders finally retreated, the woodland elves turned on the dwarven party with weapons drawn, demanding they surrendered their weapons and and have their wrists bound. Y/N and the dwarves alike protested this crass treatment, not in the least bit due to wounded pride from needing the elves to rescue them from the spiders. Thorin in particular looked murderous, but led the party in a peaceful surrender.

As the elves herded them along the mysterious Mirkwood path toward their city, Y/N watched them with keen interest. Trained as a ranger, Y/N was quick to notice small details. She saw the elf that she had the tense interaction with during the battle near the front of the throng along with a beautiful red-headed she-elf. It was evident by the other elves' behavior that these two must be in charge. As if he could feel her eyes on him, the blonde whipped his head around and looked her in the eye, his gaze so intense it was almost difficult for Y/N to snap her eyes to the ground in front of her. Fucking elves and their fucking supernatural senses, she thought irritably.

Upon their arrival to the city, the guards took the party downstairs and locked them each in individual cells dotted haphazardly around the strange, woodland landscape. Perhaps because she was a woman or perhaps because she was human, her cell was far separated from the rest of the group, although she could see a few doors from the vantage point wherein she was trapped.

"Are we going to get any sustenance, or are we just meant to starve down here?" she asked the guard handling her hotly as he shoved her inside and locked the gate. His only response was a bored, emotionless stare before turning on his heel and heading up the stairs. With a groan, Y/N slumped to the ground, her body exhausted from the fight of the day. Before she knew it she had fallen asleep on the earthy ground.

A few hours later, she awoke to the sound of rattling. An elf shoved a bowl of stew and a skein of water through a flap in the cage door. Y/N's swallowed, her mouth dry and her belly rumbling, but for pride's sake, waited to snatch up the ration until after the guard had long retreated. As she slurped up the stew, she looked down toward the cell doors of Kili and Fili which were the only ones she could make out for certain.

After a moment, she saw the she-elf which she presumed to be the guard captain approach Kili's cell. Y/N drew a sharp breath, casting around for a weapon she might use to protect him, but he did not look afraid as he looked up at her and the two conversed. Y/N was unable to make out their low conversation, but it did not seem to be a tense one. In fact, after a few minutes, the elf sat down on a rock near his door in a relaxed and open posture, suggesting the two were speaking as if they were friends, not enemies. Puzzled, Y/N drew her gaze away from the pair, suddenly feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment.

Some time later, as Y/N was reflecting on Kili's strangeness and absently carving runes into the dirt, a pair of soft footsteps outside her cell door made her look up. Perhaps she should have been more surprised to see the blonde elf peering at her from the other side of the gate.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him irritably, not in the mood to be pestered by this haughty creature.

"I might ask you the same question. A human in a party of dwarves. And a woman at that. Very unusual." his voice was honey-smooth and reeked of high rank, even, perhaps, aristocracy.

"Gandalf the Gray requested that I accompany them on their journey. Perhaps you know the name?"

"Indeed. To us he is known as Mithrandir. It is strange for a wizard to meddle with the affairs of those inferior to him."

"If you knew Gandalf at all," she responded icily, "you would know that he does not consider anyone to be inferior to him. He values a great deal more than power."

"I suppose that explains why he brought you, then," the haughty elf quipped, obviously amused at his own joke. "Still, it is a shame that Mithrandir is not here to help smooth over the negotiations between Thorin Oakenshield and my father."

"Your father?" she questioned, guessing her suspicions about his heritage were about to be confirmed.

"Thranduil, the Elvenking, Lord of the Woodland Realm." There was a definite hint of pride as he spoke his father's name and title. "And--forgive me--my name is Legolas."

"My prince," Y/N said the honorific through gritted teeth, "perhaps you might tell me how the negotiations are going between Thorin and your father? By your tone it seems I should be worried."

A corner of Legolas's mouth turned up in a rueful smile as he explained, "my father has offered your party's release in exchange for the return of his own treasures that lie within the Lonely Mountain. A trade many would consider fair, do you not agree?"

Y/N sighed.

"And Thorin declined?"

"Indeed, he declined in a way so unbecoming that it is unlikely my father should make another offer."

Curse you and your pride, Thorin Oakenshield.

"So why have you come to me, then?" Y/N snapped at the prince, exhaustion and irritation blooming into a headache.

For the first time since she had first seen Legolas, his elven composure faltered slightly, as though he were unsure of his next words.

"I... hoped to ensure that you were being treated well. I do not relish having a woman locked up in these filthy cells."

Y/N snorted a bitter laugh. "My prince, I have survived many worse things in my lifetime than your cells. In fact, the ground is comfortable compared to how I have been sleeping in the last few weeks alone."

He frowned, seemingly unsure of what to say next. In the end, he decided to switch topics.

"Why did Mithrandir want you to join the dwarves?"

Y/N scowled at the question, having pondered it herself many times and being unable to come up with a satisfactory answer. "I suppose he thought they might have need of another sword. Or perhaps he thought they might benefit from having a woman in the party. The answer is still unclear to me. All that he said was..." she took in a breath, "that to take this journey was my destiny."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow. "Quite a proclamation from a powerful wizard. It is lucky for him--and for you--that I arrived to save you from being a spider's dinner."

Y/N scowled and bit back a useless retort. She hated to admit it, but if it weren't for the elves, the party most certainly would have fallen this afternoon.

"Is that what you came here for, then? To gloat?" she spat, making him draw back from the cell a step. "Very well. Thank you, my prince, for saving my life, only to lock me in a cage and torture me with petulant questions until I die of boredom. Now leave me to rest, if you please."

Legolas, to her surprise, seemed slightly hurt by her bitter words.

"No, I..." he trailed off, avoiding her eye as he tried to proceed, "I apologize, it seems that I have, in my embarrassment, upset you. I... I came down here to thank you for having my back earlier today. The spider you slayed, I did not see it coming. I came to tell you that I would beg your freedom from my father for this favor. But," he at last met her eyes, "it would be your freedom alone. I cannot bargain for the others, thanks to Thorin Oakenshield's pigheadedness."

Y/N gaped at him for a long moment before responding, "I will not abandon my companions here to be your fathers' playthings. I have more honor than that."

Legolas tilted his head and the corner of his mouth lifted. "I suspected you might say that. Very well. I shall leave you." He made to turn as if he were leaving, but he paused a moment and turned back towards her.

"If... if you should need anything at all, please tell the guard to send for me, lirimaer." With that, the prince turned on his heel and gracefully but quickly ascended the steps.

Y/N laid back on the soft ground and pressed her fingers to her cheeks, which she was mortified to find were warm and likely pink. She thought the last thing she had expected was for the elf-prince to call her lirimaer, which she knew to mean "lovely one".

As it turned out, the very last thing she had expected was to like it, very, very much.

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Part 2

[midoriyas-wifey]

ALPHA!WOLF HYBRID! BAKUGOU X OMEGA!BUNNY! READER SFW AND NSFW HEADCANONS

Okay, so this might’ve ended up more as a short story with some nasty thots ™ , but c’est la vie 😌

* Ok my size kink is about to jump out but I imagine the size difference between him and his lil bunny is that they only come up to his elbow. When I say lil bunny I mean LIL bunny 😈

* Also Y/N is a lop earred bunny bc I said so.

* Bakugou ADORES his bunny’s size; couldn’t be more happy (and smug 🙄) about it.

* Despite his typically rough and dominating nature, he will admit to being SLIGHTLY softer with his omega (don’t be fooled he follows them like a lost puppy, simping all the way)

* If someone even LOOKS at his bunny funny, he’s on them like white on rice. Ground shaking growls and snarls fills the air, ruff bristling with the intent to throw hands. And bite. Tbh he probably carries rabies.

* Only Y/N can truly calm him. His friends take full advantage, both metaphorically and literally tugging on the beast’s tail. Sometimes Y/N doesn’t soothe him just for laughs. His friends don’t find that funny thank you very much.

* With Deku it’s on sight. This wolf has less chill than canon Bakugou.

* It was almost cliche, how they met. Y/N was going on a jog in their local park, enjoying the short but lovely Sakura blossoming season.

* It just so happened that Bakugou was taking a MUCH needed lunch break, his tail wagging at the mere thought of digging into his ungodly spicy curry.

* He decided to enjoy the serenity of the park, plopping himself heavily on the bench that groaned under his massive form. However, it was no match for the deep growling groan bubbling deep in his chest.

* That’s when his (future) omega came around the bend, paying him no mind as they passed.

* He was struck, a primal urge within him roaring to life. His mind narrowed down to that of a predator.

* Chase

* CHASE

* His body sprung into action, intent on hunting his prey- his mate his mate hismate hismate HISMATE-

* Before either one of them knew what was going on, Y/N was scooped into his arms, tiny frame near squished from the possessive hold of the huge alpha.

* He stopped, taking a moment to bend down to sniff and whuff all over his bunny’s hair, burying his sensitive nose as deep as possible.

* Suddenly, as if snapped from a trance, Bakugou reared his head back in confusion at his own actions, before looking down with clear eyes at the little bunny cradled against him.

* Y/N’s nose was twitching a mile a minute in confusion and surprise, frozen in his hold.

* Y/N oddly didn’t feel much fear, instead mostly an apprehensive curiosity; waiting to see what this wolf would do.

* He couldn’t deny that the Omega’s twitching nose and heated face were more than adorable. He took another inhale and grinned, baring his large, sharp fangs in excitement.

* Ok now Y/N was a little spooked they can’t lie.

* He decided in that moment that this cute little bunny would be his, come hell or high water.

NSFW AHEAD CHOO CHOO 🚂

* So,, size difference.

* He lives and DIES for belly bulges and cumflation. It also goes without saying that he has a breeding and impregnation kink I mean cmon he’s a wolf hybrid alpha hellooooo

* Ass man til he dies. He’s fiending for those cakes, he wanna see them wobble and jiggle on his dick. And also loves to watch that cute tail bob and wiggle along with it.

* He dreams of nothing more than clappin and slappin cheeks. If he wasn’t a pro hero then he’d be a pro spanker and groper every time he can get away with it.

* Likes when you squeak out in surprise when he takes a swat at your ass

* I hc his dick to be about 4 inches flacid and grows to about 9 inches including his knot. He’s a grower not a shower for sure, but he’s smug about it all the same.

* It’s obviously a wolf shaped dick bc I don’t hold back. And neither does his hunny bunny 😏

* Speaking of, the first time they fucked he insisted on treating them like a porcelain doll, barely touching where they needed him. Finally they rolled over into doggy position, head resting on the pillow before wiggling their ass in a blatant invitation.

* He took hold of their velvety ears and tilted their head back in a show of total dominance, a fierce growl demanding their submission.

* He bred them until they passed out, drool, cum, and slick soaking the sheets. No matter how much he tried, no matter how big his knot inflated in his omega, there was just too much of his virile cum stuffing Y/N for it all to stay in.

* He could feast on their sex for hours, lapping it up like ambrosia, leaving his omega a shaking and crying mess

* Makes them ride his face he don’t care what size they are. If they’re bigger he lives for almost being smothered to death by their thick thighs. His tongue will fuck Y/N to infinity and beyond, greedy the whole way through.

* He just can’t get enough of his sweet lil bunny, and Y/N’ll take all the affection and pleasure he gives them. They have no choice in the matter. He’s the alpha and what he says goes, and if his omega forgets that? He’s more than happy to remind them.

[alphastoworship]

Deadman's Moor. Every place had a 'forbidden' area linked with tales and mythology. But Deadman's Moor, unlike many others, was were myth was, in fact, truth. The misty moors had belonged to a group of savages for longer than anyone could remember and, in Deadman's Moor, there was always fresh stock. No matter how much the police and locals warned one another, especially their young, to never be there after sundown, that only seemed to make people want to go even more. This had been going on for decades, if not centuries, for as long as the city had been there, back when it was just a town and back when it was just a settlement. It was to the point where if someone went missing and the Moors were the last place they went, the case was closed on the spot. There would be nothing left of them, there never was, and no police officer was willing to leave behind their family to go looking for whatever lurked deep in those trees.

Kill. Kill. Kill. That's all the man with no name heard in his head. He was in that special blood lust frenzy that happened every so often. His supply of meat was dangerously low, and so the animalistic need within him to head out and hunt for fresh stock. He was large, larger than any man around for miles and miles, but he was unnaturally fast and stealthy despite his size and unparalleled strength. He didn't know how to read or write but he knew how to kill. More deadly than any made made weapon and the most apex of predators.

It wasn't long before he heard them in the distance. They were young- only young folk were as roudy as these ones were being, that made the man's heart race double and his adrenaline really started to pump. He liked hunting the young, they always put up a fun fight and their meat was the freshest, undamaged by years of vices and bad habits. He couldn't help the growl of excitement that erupted from him when he spotted them- all young men; even better. Lots of lean, red blooded meat. It was easy to tell who was the leader of the pack- he would have to go first and once he was down, the other's would fall like dominoes. After years of hunting, everything that happened next was like second nature and the blood thirsty beast relished in his hunt.

The axe landed and he stepped out into their line of sight; either they would fight or they would fly- his bets were on the second. Only fools stood their ground and tried to fight when they laid eyes on the killer. What followed seemed like a twisted game of cat and mouse; one with lethal prizes. Bones cracked, flesh and cloth were ripped as if they were one and the same and the monster of the moors collected his bounty. He seemed to effortlessly bounce from one to the next- never letting them get far before bringing an end to their life in swift, brutal ways. When the last one fell, he celebrated his victory by tearing him open and feasting on his still warm organs then and there, letting out growls and howls of delight as he had his fill. His face and hands were completely covered in blood now, his shirt soaked and stained as his belly was filled and his energy replenished. He fragged their bodies all back to where the first one had fell, he'd be taking all their remnants back home to harvest everything he could eat or use from them before destroying the rest of their remains.

When he returned with all of the bodies in toe, slumping them together; he was surprised to find another- there was still one alive. This one was smaller than the others and completely naked for some reason; it was shivering and scared - nothing new for those who laid eyes on the man. He instinctively braced himself to pounce on the other and add him to the pile, but then his eyes beheld the boys and, for the very first time in his life, the killer ... paused. He took in the other's face - it looked ... it looked like his wife's. The apex predator stalked closer to him, taking in more details. He reached out and brushed the boy's hair out of his face, inadvertently smudging some blood across it and he also easily moved the other's hands to reveal while he looked like a boy, he possessed no male genitalia. The other was beautiful and fragile like a doll; he had a pretty face- almost as pretty as his wife's. The beast's features lit up as he seemed to have an idea and, once again, for the first time in history, the monster of the moors did not kill one of his victims, instead, he swooped the boy into his arms, slinging him over his shoulder to carry while that freed his arms to carry and drag the other corpses along with them, all their bodies fading into the darkness of the thick trees that outlined the most forbidden and forgotten part of the land.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a small farm-type land. A decrepit, old farm house and old farm fittings decorated the clearing as the man who possessed a seemingly unnatural sense of strength carried all the bodies, alive and dead, into the house, kicking the front door open. The house was dark, save for some dim lighting and he kicked another door open, one that revealed stairs leading down into a basement. The killer then unceremoniously tossed the bodies of Sigma Phi Alpha down those stairs before closing the door behind them, clearly intending to continue his business with them later. He then shifted the only survivor from his shoulder to his arms, carrying him like a baby up the stairs of the old home, taking him to an old bedroom that at first seemed empty until you beheld the monstrosity sitting in the chair beside the bed.

It was Wife. A corpse. But not just any corpse, the misshapen figure of a woman made from several different corpses stitched together. Each time part of her began to rot a little too much, the killer would 'pretty her up' by replacing that part of her with a new, shiny part collected from his hunts. The killer was the only person who lived in the house, despite the countless photographs of family members that decorated the walls and surfaces; and it was clear that whatever his family had done to him before no longer being around and all those years of being alone had driven him to be so insanely wracked with loneliness that he had literally constructed himself a partner who his psychosis told him was very much alive and very much cared for him. He wanted a family; he wanted to rebuilt the one that was once here. The one that had raised him to be a killer but then had pushed him too far and suffered the consequence of creating the greatest killer their monstrous bloodline had ever seen. And this boy looked so beautiful - almost more beautiful than Wife - and he realized that maybe this could be their long lost son! His psychosis welcomed Caleb into his made-up fairytale as his little boy for some unbeknownst reason driven solely by painful loneliness and animal instinct.

He set Caleb down on the large bed at the center of the room, shushing him as if he were a little baby and patting him on the head, stroking his face sweetly and smiling warmly at him; naturally this would've been a very charming scene if his entire body weren't covered in the splatter of blood and gore. He gently covered Caleb's eyes, clearly motioning as if it were time for the other to sleep now, like a good little boy being put to bed before he moved over to Wife.

He let out a few excited grunts and noises, pointing over at Caleb as, in his mind, he told Wife how he'd found their boy who had gotten lost out in the woods. She was so happy to hear the news and he was clearly happy and proud to share it. A part of him deeply warmed and comforted having his 'son' home and having someone to care for and share the land with. Naturally, as always, he was extremely horny after the hunt and Wife also said he deserved a reward for finding their son and so they made passionate love to celebrate.

All of that was in his head, however. In reality, the monster had tied Caleb up when he had placed him on the bed, before tenderly stroking his face and 'putting him to sleep'. After that, when in his head, he'd had a full conversation and interaction with his imaginary companion, he'd actually approached the corpse bride set on the chair and had began to sob softly; from what exact emotion was hard to tell and those tears continued as he took his pants off and with the help of a nearby tub of Vaseline, began to vigorously, but sadly, fuck the lifeless mannequin until he reached his climax with a low growl. It was clearly animalistic and brought him no real pleasure or joy- just something his psychosis made him do to help stave off the pain of his loneliness.

The killer tucked himself into his pants before resetting the corpse on the chair and moving out of the room slowly. He closed the door behind himself as he descended two flights of stairs down to the basement where he began to butcher the remains he had brought- the concreate floor soon decorated with pools of blood as he did so- harvesting organs for cooking and neatly setting them into various tupperwares or ziploc bags, setting aside flesh for leather and bones for weapons or structural repairs, the few unusable parts discarded into a large steel drum that would be taken outside later and lit on fire. This was why no trace of any victim had ever been found. Much like how many tribes believed in using every part of an animal they hunted, this killer had been raised and taught to do the same with his own kills. He'd taken his clothes off and tossed them in the bin as well, wearing only a heavy duty black leather apron and gloves as he worked through the carnage- his cock was just as massive as the rest of him, almost mistakable for a third leg, adorned with two large, full balls that hung low and freely now behind the protective front.

The lonely monster worked so methodically, grunting and humming softly to himself, that he wouldn't have immediately noticed if somebody had joined him in the basement. Especially since, he had been the only living person on this property in a very, very long time.

Bloodbath: Caleb/Killer

@alphastoworship

Caleb Anderson was an eighteen-year-old fraternity pledge at Haddonfield University. Sweet, lovable, and eager to belong, Caleb was just like any other freshman. But now, he was missing. Not just him—his entire fraternity, Sigma Phi Alpha, had vanished. The entire university was looking for them. They were last seen heading into the Ebon Woods, a forest that was infamous in this small college town. They were on their way to initiate Caleb into their brotherhood at the Deadman’s Moor, a notorious grove hidden deep within the woods. No one expected it to be the last time the's school's most famous fraternity would be seen.......alive

Sigma Phi Alpha was more than just a fraternity; it was a legacy. Doctors, lawyers, politicians—they all came from SPA. It was the most prestigious fraternity house in the country, renowned for being incredibly selective. Freshmen dreamt of being chosen, but very few ever made it. This year, only one pledge was selected. His name was Caleb Anderson.

Caleb couldn’t believe it. He was an absolute nobody, far from what anyone would expect from SPA. Coming from a violent and abusive home, the little redhead fled from home the first chance he got. Through sheer determination, he earned his place at this renowned university, and he made history as the sole pledge of Sigma Phi Alpha. Caleb was small, pretty, and effeminate—not the typical fraternity material at all. In fact, what he really wanted was to pledge to a sorority. But desperate for companionship and a place to belong, he took the first chance he got. Little did he know, this decision would change his life forever.

The Deadman’s Moor had a dark history; an old legend everyone in Haddonfield knew of but rarely spoke of. It was said that for generations, a family of cannibal hill billies lived deep within the woods, dragging their victims into the moor, where they were never seen again. For years, the people of Haddonfield believed the spirits of those lost souls still haunted the moors. Though the rumors were never proven, the local police had long since declared the moors off-limits. The townspeople said the moor was cursed, and no one would go near it. No one, that is, except Sigma Phi Alpha.

That night, the brothers of SPA, drunk and high off their asses, wanted to see if Caleb could handle a night in the infamous woods. They wanted to see if he had what it took to survive a night in the moors like a true Sigma. But as they ventured deeper into the woods, their true motives were revealed. The President of SPA—the very one who had chosen Caleb for this so-called honor—revealed the truth. They had no intention of making Caleb a brother. Their real plan was to take turns defiling Caleb and abandon him in the moors, leaving him to fend for himself. What was meant to be a dream come true had turned into a nightmare—and for Caleb, it was only the beginning.

The President of Sigma Phi Alpha had an eye on Caleb ever since the beginning of term. There was something about the red head's soft features and pretty face that made the President think the boy was perfect for their twisted initiation. This wasn’t just about scaring Caleb; they wanted to strip him of his sense of self and humiliate him. As the brothers circled Caleb, their intentions grew darker. Stripping the boy of most of his clothes, the frat house was ready to push Caleb to his limit. Caleb fought as hard as he could, but he was out numbered and he was terrified. The president and his brothers reveled in their power, fueled by the thrill of dominating someone smaller and weaker than themselves.

But just as they closed in, ready to do the most horrible of things, there was a shift in the air and an unsettling stillness enveloped over the moors. A dark and menacing presence lurked just beyond the trees, and it was watching those that had intruded on his land. The brothers, who moments before were full with confidence, began to feel a chill run down their spine as the most horrible growl filled the air. The President tried to brush it off, but there was no denying it—something else was out there in the moors with them.

One by one, they started glancing around, each of them loosing their courage. That’s when they knew that something was not right. Whatever was in those woods was far worse than anything they had planned for Caleb, and it was coming for them.

That ominous growl reverberated through the trees, slicing through the currents of cold nightair. Then, suddenly, there was a silence. An unnerving stillness settled over the fraternity house, thickening the tension. That’s when it happened. A swift swoosh sliced through the air, when suddenly, the President crumbled to the ground, a giant axe having crackled his skull wide open. He was dead

From the shadows emerged a towering figure, a man well over six and a half feet tall. He was built like a brick wall, his body draped in tattered clothes that were drenched in blood. His face was obscured by a wild bush of unkept black hair, but it was his piercing blue eyes that stood out the most. Those eyes held an intensity that could make a grown man piss his pants. This terrifying behemoth didn't say a word, he didn't have to, he proved that all the town legends were true, and he was hungry.

The giant of a man was a horrifying sight. The remaining fraternity members revealed themselves as cowards when they abandoned Caleb and bolted for their lives. But they didn’t get far. Outnumbered or not, the giant was a relentless killing machine. One by one, he overpowered and mercilessly slaughtered the rest of the fraternity, their strength proven useless against his ferocity. He killed with cold efficiency, leaving no chance for escape. In mere minutes, Sigma Phi Alpha was no more, and the man responsible stood covered in their blood and entrails. Only one person remained: Caleb.

Caleb stood frozen in fear, his heart racing in terror as he was surrounded by corpses. He instinctively covered himself, begging for his life with trembling words. " Pl....ease. Pl....ease don't hurt me." He said in a voice riddled with fear. " I'll leave. I.....iii..I'll never come back. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Please.....please let me go." Trembling, the boy's words and face were laced with terror.

[draconic-ichor]

NSFW dabble

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, oral sex, hand jobs, penetrative sex, fingering, cream pie

Heisenberg x Reader

This is part two of a previous Touch Starved Karl fic. I wrote this very late last night and did very little editing

Part 1

It had been a while since that first steamy encounter. Afterwards he was all bravado and toothy smiles, obviously knowing your attraction to him bolstering his ego to the moon. You were still shy, easy to get embarrassed by his heckling.

But now if he caught you, it was messy kisses and groping hands.

You were yet to have actual sex, nervousness coupled with his busy schedule. Heisenberg had taken the time to eat you out on several occasions, even lifting you up on one of his operating tables to do so once. He loved the sounds you made, loved that he was the one making you produce them.

Your own hands finding his cock and trying to learn what he liked. He enjoyed your back and forth, definitely not complaining about getting off. But his mind was ate up with the need to stuff you, it started impeding his work, even.

That day you were in his workshop, organizing papers over a desk while he worked. Or while he was supposed to be working. Instead he was starting at your ass, his pants tightening as you bent over the desk to get more papers.

You didn’t hear him stand, or as he closed the distance between you.

“Y/n…” his voice was low causing you to jump.

You dropped the stack of papers, hissing, “Heisenberg don’t do tha-“

The words were cut short in your throat as he pressed against your back, trapping you between the desk and himself. You suddenly felt his erection press hard against your ass.

“Heis…” you breathed out as his hands snaked around your body to cup your breasts.

“I told you to call me Karl.” He growled softly into your ear before nipping at your neck.

A moan escaped your lips as his teeth found your sweet spot, “Ah-ah, Karl!”

He hummed into your skin at the sound of his name from your pretty mouth, bathing the mark he left with his tongue.

Your face felt hot, your core moistening from his attention. He felt how you started to tremble, drifting a hand down your front.

He pushed you more forward, grinding himself on your ass with a groan.

“Goddamnit y/n…” Heisenberg started, “You’re such a distraction.”

“I w-was trying to help.” You mewled.

“I know.” His voice was almost a purr as he ran his hands down your sides, “You’re always such a good little kitten for me.”

The praise made your thighs clench, forcing you to swallow the sound that threatened. Heisenberg thought for a moment, pulling you up to be flush against him, one of his large gloved hands engulfing your throat.

You looked at him over the top of your head, gasping a bit from his hold on you.

“I need to get this shit done.” His voice was low, “So be a good girl and go wait in my room for me?”

You tried to nod the best this position would allow, causing a smile to spread across the man’s lips. Your obedience was definitely doing terribly wonderful things to his mind. He released you, stepping back to allow your escape. You took a breath to steady yourself before dashing out of the workshop. He watched you with ever sharp eyes.

~

It felt like hours since you were instructed to wait for him. His room was much more cluttered then your own, the bed smelling heavily of smoke and musk. You had removed your pants and bra, only in your shirt and panties now as you lay on your belly across his bed. You buried your face into one of his pillows, his scent driving your already sensitive body wild.

You cursed him for getting you all worked up earlier, just to send you away.

The sound of the door startled you, lifting your head to see Heisenberg striding in. He looked hungry and determined as he took large steps towards the bed, with every step he shucked a layer of clothing from his body, pausing to kick away his boots. By the time he was at the bed he was only in his gloves, tank top and boxers.

You rolled over to watch him. His eyes were almost glowing as he pulled his gloves free, tossing them aside before diving into the bed.

You made a little sound when he pounced on you, his mouth swallowing them up as he locked you into a heavy kiss. Your hands found his hair as it deepened further.

You both were a jumble or hands and legs, your mind swimming from the contact. Your core almost ached from the lack of stimulation, your nerves wearing thin.

“Please just fuck me!” You whimpered out. Your previous fears forgotten, mind too ate up with lust.

“The mouse is making demands?” Heisenberg chuckled huskily.

You tried to speak, say something smart, but he nipped at your throat, huffing as he rutted your clothed sexes together. He was like a Lycan, messy and hot. He pulled his mouth away, leaving a string of saliva.

Your mind was a mess, tangle wires fried by his heavy teasing. He felt you trembling under him, plush thighs tightening around his hips and driving him mad.

Fuck he wasn’t going to be able to be gentle, not at this rate.

Every nerve screamed for him to breed you into the mattress. And with you begging under him…

You gasped as he tore through the rest of your clothes, the cool air not getting a chance to find your skin. He was a wildfire over you, hungry hands finding your dripping core. Two fingers dipped into your honeypot, setting a fast pace.

Your mewls spurred him, his movements giving some relief to your aching core.

He licked his lips, cock jumping at the squelching sounds his fingers made in your cunt.

You met his eyes, his dark and blown out. You panted out, clenching around his fingers as you felt your release coming. Your cry turned into a whine as he pulled free of you, licking his finger clean of your slick.

“Mmm, fuck!” He smiled roguishly, “You taste so fucking good y/n.”

You could feel the blush burning your cheeks.

It caused him to chuckle again as he pulled away enough to strip the rest of his clothing off, “Aw, don’t get all shy on me now buttercup. We’re just getting started!”

With that he lifted your legs to hook around his hips. You fell into place almost instinctively, the want to come driving the anxiety from your body.

Heisenberg rolled his hips shallowly, his weeping cock head rubbing your clit. A moan slid past your lips, causing your own hips to buck a bit. He grabbed your thighs, keeping you still as he pushed forward. His cock slid into you, causing your walls to burn as they tried to accommodate.

It took all his willpower to halt, giving you time to adjust. His hands moved to prop himself over you, breathes ragged as his eyes flicked over you intently.

Tears threatened your eyes at the intrusion, the thickness of him teetering on pain.

“Relax.” He whispered, cupping your cheek with one hand. You felt his calloused thumb wipe away a tear. You nuzzled into his touch, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

Feeling your walls ease slightly he gave a testing thrust. Hearing you mewl he paused, worriedly.

“N-no keep going.” You managed.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back until just the head was left in your fold before rocking back into the hilt, fucking you completely open.

The burning sensation gave way to pleasure, the veins of his cock rubbed deliciously against your soaked walls. You panted in-between cries, it spurring him to thrust into you faster.

He’d been waiting for this, fantasizing how’d you feel around him as he used his fist on himself for weeks.

Now he had you, begging and crying under him. Fuck it was amazing. Everything he’d hoped for and more. Your cute sounds filling his ears as he stuffed you.

“Fuck, y/n!” He hissed, moving your legs to his shoulders, “You’re so tight.”

The new position allowed him to hit deeper, bottoming out with each thrust. Your body shuttered, the tight band in your core snapping.

You screamed out your release, cunt gushing onto Heisenberg as his name tumble off your tongue.

He watched you fall apart, keeping up his onslaught. It wouldn’t be long now until he also succumbed to the pleasure, he knew it.

He bent down, nipping and licking your neck as you trembled and mewled under him. You felt his body rutting against yours, chasing his high, fingers holding you hard enough to bruise.

The sound of the factory was drowned out by the wet slapping of your hips.

“You’re mine.” He growled, voice hot against your ear, “You’re all mine, y/n.”

He licked the shell of your ear, thrusts meeting your hips roughly, each one gaining strength as he neared his end.

“Say it.” He demanded, not letting up.

You tried to formulate the words but your mind was garbled. He didn’t take the silence well.

“Tell me your mine!” He growled savagely, bucking into you now like a beast.

“I’m y-yours!” You cried out, digging your nails into his back as your walls clenched down on him. Your body was a fever of pleasure, vision whiting out as your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

He was done for, feeling your body tighten around him was too much. He pushed forward, wanting to plant as much as he could fit inside you.

You whimpered as you felt a rush of liquid heat, his cock painting your swollen walls. He gave a few shallow thrusts, riding out his own orgasm.

Feeling your core milk him made him shutter, the overwhelming sensation of spilling inside you blanking his mind for a moment.

Come oozed around his still inserted cock as you both tried to calm your breathing.

“…Fuck.” He cursed, pulling away enough to catch your lips in a messy kiss. You hummed into the contact, body tingling all over.

You held onto him, not wanting this feeling to end.

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec