#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."

[secretlysimpash]

a quick omegaverse Ghost x Fem Reader thing

!!! MDNI !!!

warning(s): reader uses she/her, typical A/B/O shit (knotting, scents, marking, slick, mention of pups), mates at first sight (or at first scent, ig), slight breeding kink if you squint, slight poly or shared mate at the end of you really squint

pt. 2

pt. 3

Imagine being the pretty little omega who follows Laswell around whenever she visits 141's base, or pack house, or whatever it is they have. You're the assistant to the beta, usually wearing a scent blocking patch over your glands for these visits. Its advised by Laswell, even if the patches are itchy.

Laswell's on base for a meeting today, one with the General, a Commander, and her long-time friend Captain Price (or "John", as she always refers to him). You were advised, or warned, to stay in the car or the surrounding area by the base. Do not enter. You...Make the executive decision to ignore that order and begin wandering the halls of the base, staying far from the meeting room...Patch-less.

The base is empty anyway...Why would she tell you to wait outside? But you quickly realize why when a rutting Ghost picks up on your scent, blood in the water. Suddenly, you're being herded into his quarters and he's shoving his face against your scent gland, inhaling like he needs your scent to survive. This man is all animalistic growls and rough touches as he moves you to his bed.

Your inner omega stirs awake, responding to this absolute beast of an alpha. The scent that's usually hidden behind the patch fills the room, mixing with his own woodsy, leathery scent. You whine when his tongue darts out to taste you, and he responds with a raspy voice.

"Omega...Mine..."

Slick forms between your legs from those words alone.

He sinks his teeth into your scent gland, binding you two as mates.

. . .

Hours pass during that meeting. When Laswell can't find you in the car or the town after its over, she blows your phone up with texts and calls. About a half hour of looking, and you still don't turn up. Before she can call in a missing persons report or something, John texts her, tells her he found you. He warns that she should give you a moment.

Laswell, just wanting to know what happened to her assistant, is having none of this "oh just wait for a little bit longer" nonsense. She barrels into the base, seeing John standing outside of a door. She can't pick up on scents, but it might be the reason for the troubled look on his face. His hat is off, and his hair looks like he's been tugging on it.

Before he can stop her from entering the room, she throws the door open and is met with...One hell of a sight.

You, being held close to Ghost's chest. He's completely bare, and your clothes are in shreds on the floor. There's marks all along your neck...But you don't seem to be in any pain. You're actually asleep, peaceful. When Laswell takes a step into the room, Ghost growls a warning to her.

"Ghost...That's my assistant, and we're leaving."

"She can't." He rasps out, resting a hand on your belly. "Still stuck."

"Stuck?"

"On my knot."

A look of shock and horror from Laswell.

"She's my mate now. My omega."

An attempt at words which fails, each sentence from the Lieutenant throws her for a loop.

"And she will have my pups. I'll knot her again and again until it takes." He drawls, his hips shifting slightly beneath the thin sheet that Laswell can only assume John hastily draped over you two for privacy sake.

Even in your sleeping state, Laswell swears she sees you smile...Hears a purr raise from your throat.

John promptly pulls Laswell out of the room, closes the door, and tries to explain that it...Might be best if you stay with Ghost for now, apologizing all the while, sounding guilty for his Lieutenant's actions. But don't worry, he'll make sure the sergeants stay away from you!

The sergeants that Ghost shares everything with...The same ones who are also going into a rut soon.

It'll be fine.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Maybehaps a story about a society of dragons where they all walk around with humans cockwarming them 24/7

Extra cookies and bonus points if they're still cockwarming when the dragons fly ;)

Kabr0z Writes episode 70: Land of the Dragons

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: size difference; cockwarming; excessive cum; power imbalance; enthusiastic consent

A/N: I had some real trouble getting a narrative I was happy with for this one, hopefully you all still enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it, and we've got a more straightforward smut scene tomorrow.

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His claws closed around your waist. He lifted you in a single motion, moving as though you weighed nothing at all. This was Tequatl, the Sunless. Your owner. A month ago, the dragon swooped down to your village and offered a choice: pay tribute, or face devastation. Your village was poor, barely able to produce enough grain to feed everyone through the winter, let alone have any gold or gems to buy their continued existence. You offered yourself. The mighty dragon stirred something in you, something you hadn't felt before from any of the men you knew. You wanted to belong to this creature, to live in the shadow of his magnificent wings, to worship the green-black scales of his hide.

He turned you in his hands. Your legs dangled below you, the twenty-four foot long dragon turned you over in his hands, head craning down to you on his long, serpentine neck. The smell of sulphur clung to his breath. You felt yourself heat up in his hands, tossing your hair this way and that. He snorted, a satisfied grunt "You'll do. Looks like you won't even need much training will you?"

"No sir" you looked up at him, trying to toe the line between seeing as much of the beast as you could whilst still not making eye contact with him

"Good pet."

You flushed harder at his praise, wetness starting to leak between your thighs

"I have business with others of my kind. You will come with me."

"I'm going to ride you?" You barely whispered, trying to keep the arousal from being too evident in your voice

He smiled, his face twisting into a cruelly mirthful grin "After a fashion. I can smell your body. You want this."

He reared up, standing tall as he lowered you down. His body was as long as you are tall, your head not reaching the ridge of his wishbone as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your hands flew to your crotch, holding yourself open for him as he pushed you down, the cock slipping slowly in as it forced you open. The tapered end was already thick, and it only got thicker as you moved to the base. You wriggled your hips, trying to make your tensing muscles relax around the gargantuan length filling you.

Tequatl dropped back on all fours. The jostling impact shook you, hanging desperately on with your arms and legs, though his cock was lodged firmly in you, a slight upward angle pushing towards his belly. He wasn't lumbering, he was much too glorious to lumber, but he wasn't moving gracefully out of his cave. The twists and turns of the cavern forcing you to move around, every change in direction, every dip or crest forcing it in different directions. You were a drooling, gasping mess before you were halfway through the maze of tunnels, clinging on with all your might. Your hips moved on their own, rubbing your aching, swollen bud against the scales of his belly, each move eliciting a whine as you got closer and closer.

Tequatl grabbed you. "You'd better not be like this the whole journey. Fucking slut" He shook you up and down his cock, using you like a toy for him to fuck himself with. The rough treatment, the huge cock ramming against your cervix, stretching you out, you whined, you moaned, you screamed as you peaked over the edge. Your body clenched and squeezed, your grip on Tequatl's torso tightening as the waves broke over you.

The tide receded. He hadn't cum in you yet. The fresh air was getting stronger, cool on your exposed skin. You felt him flap his wings, the gusts chilling you as the jolt of takeoff drove him deeper. You yelped as he slammed into your already bruised back walls, feeling the cock warming your insides, pressing against your guts.

The wind whipped past you, wingbeats drawing him in and out, slowly fucking you with the rhythmic motion of flying. His cock got thicker inside you. He was leaking in you. You imagined that face, angular and cruel, contorted in the throes of coitus. You pictured his eyes narrowing, his tongue tasting the air between you.

He was descending. Landing in the badlands below. The dragon grasped you again. No sarcasm this time. Not even an admonishment for your lusting over him. Just his claws cutting into you as he used you for his pleasure. Your head ached from him shaking you like a ragdoll. Your cunt ached and protested at the abuse the oversized member was subjecting it to, a numb pain mixing with the release that's been building since you took flight.

A gout of flame spewed fort from the dragon, heat fusing the sand in front of him into glass. Molten hot semen flooded into you. You gasped and yelled as you felt it, almost scalding as it flowed into you. He filled you in a heartbeat, but he wasn't done. Pulse after pulse of heat drove into you as he held you down onto him. Your eyes rolled back as you gave yourself up to the feeling of fullness, the sensations of the hot sticky cum flowing into you and streaming out of your over-full cunt. You held onto the arm keeping you stuck to him, rocking your hips as the spurts became less powerful.

He rolled onto his side, releasing you as you slid off the dripping rod. Your cunt felt open, still trying to clench and milk the dragon who was inside you until so recently. The heat of his cum had died down, warming you gently from the inside as it slowly dripped out of you. You crawled up towards Tequatl's shoulders, snuggling in between his arms as the huge reptile dozed. His head shifted, the long neck snaking behind you

"I'm going to enjoy travelling together"

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Tomorrow will hopefully be published on time, but I'm not ruling out another Sunday morning publication to catch up.

Either way, if you're sitting on a request, hoping you'll wait and get it published when there's less of a lead time, don't do that! The queue hasn't gone below 40 for weeks so if you want something, drop me an ask and say something!

[syndrossi]

I've been reading lots of platonic family and accidental adoption/acquisition stuff lately, so I really have to know, what WOULD Daemon do if Jon and/or Rhaegar brought home a random stray? Be it a stray cat, dog, direwolf, or human? (Or for additional hilarity, an extra baby dragon that is not bonded to either of them but randomly hatched in front of them anyway. Rhaegar obviously couldn't leave it to fend for itself. It's a tiny baby. Even smaller than Qelebrys was when she hatched!)

Daemon lives under the specter of Allard Royce's miserly authoritative figure in the boys' lives, so he's very bad at not giving them their every heart's desire. In the case of a direwolf, however, he would try his best to hold strong (before ultimately failing).

x~x~x

Oh no.

Daemon was no stranger to dread when it came to his sons. Some of it, the unbearable kind, was rooted in the fear of losing them. Other times, it was his children being far too clever by half and knowing that he would pay for it somehow.

This was a new dread entirely, one that seized him by the chest as he stared into their pleading, hopeful faces. You will have to break their hearts.

“That is—” he broke off, studying the furry pup that was so large his sons both had to hold it up—Jon’s arms beneath its chest, and Rhaegar’s beneath its belly, just before the hindquarters. That is no wolf.

“He is a direwolf,” Jon said, his smile turning tearful as the pup licked at his cheek. “And he has lost his pack. He needs a new one.”

How did it even reach Runestone? It was a journey of well over a thousand miles on foot to reach the castle from the North, and from what Daemon had heard, direwolf sightings were already rare, even at the heart of the North, in Winterfell.

Moreover, it was an unusual pup, with pale fur and red eyes that gazed at Daemon with a strange intelligence.

“How will you care for him when we are at King’s Landing?” Daemon asked, only to realize by the sudden brightening of his sons’ faces that he had already lost.

“We can make a sling for Caraxes’s saddlebags and strap him to it,” Rhaegar said with a confidence that told him his son had already thought of it. “He can ride below or alongside, depending on which is more comfortable.”

“The king will never allow a direwolf in the holdfast,” Daemon said weakly, but although that would have been true of his grandfather, Viserys was another story entirely.

Jon dismissed his bluff with a shake of his head. “We shall convince him.”

“What do you intend with a direwolf?” he demanded. “Such beasts are not meant to be mere pets, no more than a dragon is.”

“He would not be a pet,” Jon said, looking almost offended. “He would be—a protector. One who can follow us where a Princesguard wouldn’t. Like our dragons did, when they were little.”

His sons’ hatchlings still believed themselves to be little, of course, and had been heartbroken when they had finally been barred from following their riders into the holdfast. The last time Qelebrys had tried to sit on Daemon’s shoulder, she had ended up sitting on him, heavy as a grown man.

Perhaps his sons merely missed those early days, when they had been able to enjoy that closeness with their dragons. Perhaps he should have considered the possibility and tried to find them a kitten to fill that longing.

This is certainly no kitten.

But as the silence dragged out, Jon’s face grew more despondent. “Please?” his son begged, the vulnerability in his voice nearly rending Daemon asunder.

His sons so rarely asked him for anything, usually content with whatever they were provided—a lingering reminder of their time in the Vale, where they had been taught to treasure what scraps of affection they had been thrown. Daemon could too easily imagine Allard Royce staring coldly in the face of their pleas, denying them again and again.

As he gazed into his son’s eyes, he could see a glimmer of that younger child, hopeful but guarded, daring to believe that Daemon might grant his dearest wish.

It is a direwolf, Daemon thought despairingly. A wild thing. As like to harm them as help.

“What if we were not alone with him?” Rhaegar asked. “He sleeps in a common area at night, and during the day, we are with you—or Ser Willam. Or a Princesguard, when we are back home. Until you trust him.”

He met the wolf’s eyes again, unnerved by its calm. He could not help but feel as though it was an act for his benefit, even though that was absurd.

“I make no promises,” Daemon said, trying hard to maintain his stern demeanor in the face of their shared elation. “Should the beast harm anyone who is not directly threatening you, it will be taken back out into the wilds.”

“He won’t,” Jon breathlessly assured him, and the pup nosed him in the ear, drawing a wide smile. “Thank you.”

“And when you are outside with it, you will have your dragons present.” He caught a ripple of something in Rhaegar’s expression and he narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“It is nothing,” Rhaegar said, holding out for several seconds before admitting, “Qelebrys tried to attack him.”

Daemon resolved to find a nice plump pig for his son’s drake later. “And Shadow?”

Rhaegar smiled wryly. “Shadow will try to play with anything.”

[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.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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.”

[shaotie]

Where You Belong - Sneek Peek #2

Leo followed Kaiman’s finger when he pointed to the dark, ominous-looking cave on the other side of the lake.

“Oh sure, I get the dark, scary, probably-filled-with-blood-thirsty predators cave!" he complained.

“Stay quiet and you have nothing to worry about.”

Leo snapped his head around to glare up at Kaiman and objected: “You said they go off smell too!”

“The glowing algae in the water masks our scent for some time, that’s why I teleported us in on the other side of the pool. Go, and remember, the glowing plants are fine, but don’t touch any glowing creatures.”

“You mean like the wall of glowing butterflies I have to walk through!?”

“They’re only sightly toxic, now, are you going or do you need a little encouragement?”

“I’m going!” 

🔹🔹🔹

~A Few Hours Later~

Everything went smoothly for the first five hours, but then Kaiman's voice scared Leo out of his wits when it broke the silence. He was standing on his tippee-toes on a smooth rock, reaching up for more red moss, when a loud voice sounded in his ear: “Meet me back in the jungle cave,” and he got such a fright he fell forward and frantically spun his arms around so he didn’t lose his balance and make a sound by falling to the rocks below his feet; but he still fell, barely catching himself by sticking both hands out to hold himself up against the soft lichen covering the cave wall. 

Leo breathed a sigh of relief when he caught himself, but then he felt something tickle his hand, and looked at it to see one of the glowing purple bugs crawling up his arm. If he let go of the wall, he would fall off the edge of the rock, so he tried blowing the bug away, but that only agitated it, causing it to stick its bum in the air and shoot a blast of some sort of bright green glowing liquid at his face, that he inadvertently breathed in.

The bug’s blast felt like the time he breathed in a noseful of cayenne pepper by mistake once while helping Mikey cook, and the burning, tickling sensation made him involuntarily sneeze. 

Leo hastily slapped his hands over his nose so he didn’t sneeze a second time, but removing them from the cave wall made him lose his balance, so that he loudly crashed to the rocky cave floor. Then he quickly jumped up onto his feet and stared up at the bats with wide eyes when they all let out high-pitched chirrup sounds.

'Nonono! This is bad!’

He next saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see what it was.

'Ohhh mama! This is bad bad bad, very, very bad!’ 

As he watched silently, three large, dark gray creatures walked in through an opening on the other side of the cavern. They looked somewhat like hippos and were about the same size as those massive earth beasts, only the plump, round hippo belly was replaced with a lean, jaguar-like torso with huge, muscular front shoulders and legs, big cat-like paws with three toes and long curved claws on the end of each toe. Their faces had oversized nostrils on the end, hippo-like ears, and were completely devoid of eyes. But the thing that caught Leo’s attention most of all were the long, thick, fang-like incisors that extended past their chins like saber-tooth tigers. 

Leo stood perfectly still and watched with fear as the creatures picked up their noses and began sniffing the air.

“How long does the algae mask my scent?” he asked through the com.

“Four hours.”

“How long have we been here?”

“Five. Did you make a noise?”

Leo froze when one of the creatures snapped its head in his direction.

“Yes.”

“Did the siren chiroptera hear you?”

"If you mean those screeching bats, then yes!"

"What predator did they attract?"

Then the next two did the same.

"I don't know! Some kind of hippos on steroids!"

“You better get out of there!"

“I can’t find the exit!”

“Just pick one and don’t die!”

Leo held his odachis up to block when one of the creature came after him, and it brought up in the tech shield, growling, biting, and slashing at the forcefield, and Leo replied to Kaiman: “I’m trying but they're making it hard! I could use a little help!” 

"They! How many are there!?"

"Three!"

"You're not getting out of this alive."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!"

🔹🔹🔹

🔹Where You Belong Masterpost

🔹My Main Masterpost

[springfallendeer]

False Flyer: 001 - Failed Hunt

First (and maybe only segment, undecided) of a new-ish AU in which humans live alongside all manner of prehistoric creature. Borrowing from the concepts of "Selkies" and throwing in aspects comparable to Primal (in the sense that its humans with dinosaurs but nothing in the timeline is accurate to the Earth as we know it).

Humans dawn costumes of an "Idol" (A dinosaur or other creature) to transform into it. Sometimes being a giant version of something small, or a small version of something giant. Lots of variation. I won't go into a WHOLE lot of detail now, but hey. If for some reason this takes off, I'll have to continue with it.

CW for descriptions of gore, assault, attempted murder, attempted cannibalism, cannibalism mentions, and overall just "Things get hunted and die" themes.

Midday.

An abnormally large female velociraptor lurks among the underbrush. Her amber eyes fixated upon her completely oblivious prey; a large, heavily muscular swine.

The hefty creature idly grazes out in a small patch of grass. Its wide nose and cloven hooves make short work of soil as it searches for tasty morsels beneath the ground.

Roots. Grubs. Fungus. Anything remotely edible is readily gobbled up by the beast goes about its business. All the while it absently moves closer to the invisible line that will spell the difference between its continued survival, or a quick and brutal end at the talons of the nearby predator.

About a dozen more accurately sized velociraptors hover just behind their giant leader. Each of them equally fixated upon the lumbering frame of their designated prey.

Surely, such a large swine would make for a feast. The organs alone would be more than enough to fill their little bellies. And they have been promised their fair share for their cooperation with this greatly important task.

The giant female carefully moves beneath the cover of the bushes.

If she wants this hunt to be successful, then she must remain downwind. If the swine catches even the faintest sniff of her or her companions, then it will waste no time in making a quick getaway. And if it crosses over the border that divides the territory of the raptors from the territory of the tyrants, then the hunt will be as good as lost. For she cannot dare to cross over the threshold herself, for fear of the retribution that could come her way should she be caught trespassing.

Brown and white feathers ruffle somewhat in concentration. The iridescent sheen covering the darker portions of her plumage absorbs what little light manages to find her beneath the cover of the foliage.

Long, hooked claws anxiously tap against the soil as the female moves into a more optimal position.

She has managed to draw remarkably close to her target.

The blistering brand of the hook-claws can be easily spotted on its haunch. Still fresh and tender from its very recent application to the swine’s flesh.

She is in the near prime position to deliver her first and most important strike. But she is acutely aware of the fact that the creature will try to run the instant that she has pounced upon it. So she must try and find a way to encourage it to turn about so that it faces a more desirable position.

Suddenly, she breaks her silence.

“Re-ree-re-reeee”

Quick, short bouts of squealing rumble from the depths of her throat. Broken only by quiet gruffs and the odd snort where needed.

She mimics the friendly call of a swine, hoping to pique the curiosity of her prey.

If she can only get it to lift his head and turn sideways, she will coax it into the optimal position for a pounce. So long as she can keep it facing away from the border, then there will be few issues in landing this kill even if the beast manages to sprint for a while with her clinging to it.

The oversized hog lifts its face up out of the soil and grunts, naturally curious of the sound.

It then offers a series of quick snorts in an attempt to communicate its location to what it believes to be a nearby companion. Namely to communicate that it has found food and thus its visitor should come to it, as opposed to the other way around.

“Re-ree-re-reeee”

The giant velociraptor responds in kind by repeating her earlier friendly call. Though this time she does so louder in order to create the illusion that the imaginary hog has moved closer.

The swine reacts in turn by turning ever so slightly to peer in her direction. As now it can verify the direction that the sound has come from.

The happy snorting that follows the change in position can be seen as proof enough that the hulking swine has not yet caught on to the ruse. More-so when the beast proceeds to shove its snout back into the soil in order to resume digging for food. Though now it is doing so under the assumption that there will soon be a hungry companion joining it for lunch.

Alright.

This is the best possible setup for a successful hunt, given the circumstances.

The hog is now standing in a desirable position. And though it is alert, it is completely relaxed due to the belief that an ally is within the vicinity.

It may even try to run in the direction of its fictional friend once the attack is sprung, on the assumption that there will be someone nearby who can possibly help it escape predation.

The giant female tenses her body as she hunkers down in preparation for a pounce. She must calculate the distance between herself and her intended target. There is no room for error.

The smaller raptors crouch and tense as well. Each of them is patiently waiting for their leader to make the final move and initiate the hunt.

But a sudden disturbance sends the swine charging in the opposite direction.

That being the unexpected arrival of another abnormally sized velociraptor. This one even larger than the female, and equally interested in hunting. Though he is completely disinterested in going after the freshly escaped swine.

No.

This dark feathered male has his sights set on something else.

That being the speckled female that stands completely flabbergasted in the bushes.

A guttural chuckle escapes the male as he casually approaches the bushes.

His is a deep and broken voice. One reminiscent of stones being violently rubbed together under intense pressure. Interrupted only by an airy wheeze as the abomination of a hook-claw struggles to use its voice.

The terrified female stands completely still and silent, as if hoping that her lack of a response will somehow trick the male into believing that she is not there.

“I see you~” He maliciously chortles, lowering his head ever so slightly so that he can peer directly into the eyes of his petrified prey.

Constricted amber irises clash with the dilated icy eyes of the crazed cannibal.

“I see you~!” The male repeats, this time with more enthusiasm as he steps closer to his still immobile prey.

A dribble of saliva glints in the sunlight as the cannibal suddenly lunges forward, confident in his ability to overpower and capture the less experienced female.

He charges into the bushes, jaws snapping as a feral snarl emanates from his chest.

His teeth catch something covered in feathers. But as his eyes catch the sudden movement on all sides as the inhabitants of the bush break off in every direction in order to escape, he swiftly realizes that he’s missed his mark.

The female darts past him at a full sprint.

He is left behind, momentarily stunned with his jaws clamped on the body of the small velociraptor that he has unintentionally killed.

Not that he minds the quick snack.

A few quick motions of his jaw and he’s able to arch his head back so that he can swallow the body in one go.

He need only bite down with a sickening crunch to sever the wings and legs from the remainder of his meal so that he can hastily devour what remains.

Blood dribbles from his muzzle as the power of his jaws forces the small body to burst within his mouth.

He cannot help but purr in delight at the fresh taste of gore upon his waiting tongue.

The sudden gush of fluid makes it easier for him to swallow the unfortunate little raptor. Feathers and all.

Then he darts off in the direction of the female, all the more intent on hunting her down now that he’s been able to wet his appetite on one of her little pets.

Try as she will and try as she might, she cannot escape him. He is a master in the art of turning the predator into prey.

But to her credit, she at least makes him work more for his meal than most of his previous victims.

She bobs and weaves through the underbrush, sticking to tight quarters in hopes of cutting off his ability for an ambush. She confines herself to obstructed paths and takes every opportunity to turn back in the opposite direction so that she can throw him off of her trail. She intentionally moves onto difficult terrain. Anything and everything that she can think of to hopefully create distance so that she can eventually escape.

Unfortunately for her, though, her tricks would only really work against a normal predator. Not a fellow Idol with enough cognitive function to be able to effectively plan ahead.

He recognizes her attempts to restrict his movements using tight paths. So he elects to maintain the chase safely from the sidelines, where he has more room to react to any sudden changes in her trajectory.

He realizes that she is trying to evade his gaze by relying upon the cover of the undergrowth. Therefore he is able to make an educated guess of which way she will go during her desperate rush to escape him.

He notices her mistake when she rushes onto uneven terrain that is difficult to traverse. Ergo he makes sure to properly pace himself so that he can maintain his energy while she foolishly runs herself to exhaustion.

Once she begins to slow, he picks up the speed. Because now he knows for certain that she has worn herself out enough that even if she turns around to face him in a fight, she will not be much of a challenge.

He confirms as much upon breaking the distance, when he lunges forward with a pounce to easily pin her on the ground.

Not without a scuffle. She still has some fight left. Which he takes notice of the instant that she turns to snap her jaws in his face in response to the weight of him on her flank.

Unfortunately for her, his reaction time is quicker. He only has to crane his neck back to avoid what would have been a painful reminder of this hunt. One that likely would have doubled as a permanent reminder, seeing as she had elected to aim right at his eye.

He reflexively blinks in response to the heat of her breath as it wafts over his eye. But because he ducked so efficiently, her little hooked teeth never actually came close to grazing his beautiful face.

He, however, is more than close enough to wound her in retaliation. Which he does by first digging his elongated toe claw into her upper thigh. Thus he assures that even if she did manage to throw him off, she would not be able to make it far due to the placement of the wound.

He then worsens the damage by quickly ducking down so that he can tear into the freshly created opening, effectively crippling his prey.

“Augh!”

The female releases a pained shout as her assailant rips into her leg.

She reflexively tries to bite him again in response. Only to have her face shoved into the ground by a well placed kick.

Well and truly pinned, she can do nothing but groan in pain as the male continues with his attack.

He applies pressure with one leg to keep her head pressed into the dirt. Whereas the other is only used to help him with his balance while he violently tears apart her thigh, quickly working the small puncture wound open to encourage excessive blood flow.

With each bite, he yanks feathers from her flank. The sound is not unlike that of fabric being abruptly ripped at the seams. Quick and violent, while leaving the victim acutely aware of the damage being done to her exhausted body.

By the time that the violent attack finally comes to a pause, the female is left as a whimpering, bleeding mess. While the male is free to loom dominantly over her, confident in the fact that he has well and truly succeeded in this hunt.

Clumps of feathers stick to his bloodied muzzle.

He elects to humiliate his prey further by pausing for a moment so that he can clean his face. Which he does by idly wiping his mouth on the side of her body.

He uses her feathers as a napkin, leaving her further covered in her own blood as she lays pathetically beneath his feet.

Satisfied with his work, he takes his weight halfway off of her.

As in he steps off of her side. One foot settles in the soil while the other remains firmly planted upon her head.

“Caught you~” He gleefully chortles, leaning down to fully look the pathetic creature in the eye as he ponders his next course of action.

He elects to lean down towards her neck. Where the thread that holds her Idol together can be easily seen.

An excited purr echoes in his chest as he carefully clasps an end of string between his jaws.

One swift pull is all that it will take to reveal the true form of his victim. And it will fully seal her fate, as she will be left laying beneath him as the pathetic woman that she is.

No claws. No feathers. No pointed teeth that could be used to tear into his flesh.

Just frail skin and useless limbs that will not be able to provide her any protection when he goes in for the final blow.

“Don’t!...” The female pathetically whimpers, her voice escaping her as a pained and pleading gasp.

The plea gives him pause.

Not because it has moved him in some way. No. He has absolutely no intention of giving up this meal.

He pauses because of the laugh that abruptly rolls through his body.

How amusing it is that she thinks that she can make him stop. As if she specifically could achieve what no one else could do.

Not her friends. Who he also tracked down and devoured while they were out on these asinine hunts.

Not her siblings. Who proved to somehow be even less competent than her, despite being more experienced with combat.

Certainly not her mother. Who once stared up at him with those same beautiful, amber eyes.

He hopes that hers will taste just as sweet when he pops them on his tongue.

Another laugh overtakes him.

No. She will not be the voice that somehow manages to break through the madness to warm his icy heart.

She will be the same as anyone else that he has hunted. Just another pitiful cry to soothe him into a comfortable sleep so that he can recover from the hunt. Another warm meal to fill the ravenous void in his stomach until he can track down someone else.

Another beautiful trophy to be added to his memories. Equally prized, and therefore, completely fucking meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

“Any last words~?” He mockingly asks, anticipating yet another pitiful plea for mercy. One which he would immediately ignore for the sake of satiating his own sadistic desires.

He stares down into those pretty eyes of hers as he waits for her response. Only to be confused by what comes next.

In a flash, her terrified expression warps into something defiant. It would seem that despite being brutally torn open and exhausted, she is not completely without the warrior's spirit.

Her jaws fly open.

Not to cry out for mercy. Not to beg for her life.

Not even to speak.

Instead, she releases a shriek. A loud, unsettling shriek that even manages to make the feathers on the back of his neck bristle in fear.

Not in fear of her, mind you.

But fear of the sound that he hears in response.

The shriek that echoes through the air in response to her unexpected cry of defiance.

Reflexively, he looks towards the sky. Towards the source of the sound.

She shrieks again. And her call is once again answered by the beast that has taken notice of her voice.

His pupils constrict in terror as he finally realizes the dangerous situation that he has found himself in.

The dangerous situation that she has put him in.

Without meaning too, he reduces the weight that he has on her face.

He lifts his foot.

Not a lot. Not even enough to properly take his foot off of her face. And yet he still somehow gives her all of the room that she needs to deliver additional retaliation.

With a sudden burst of strength, she pushes her head out from under his foot so that she can clamp her jaws down on his leg.

Hooked teeth pierce the thick scutes that would otherwise protect his flesh from damage. And though she lacks the physical strength to properly crack the bone beneath, she is at least strong enough to hold him in place.

Reflexively, he tries to kick.

He tries to free himself so that he can turn tail and flee. Because now, he is the one being hunted by the thing that is coming down through the trees.

He stomps on her wrist with his free leg while yanking the other backwards.

She calls out in pain as her wrist breaks beneath the force of his body.

Multiple teeth are ripped out of her body and blood splatters on the ground beneath her face.

And yet somehow, she remains defiant.

She remains determined to assure that he cannot evade his hunter.

Now missing a fraction of her teeth, she lunges at him again; this time clamping down on the uninjured leg.

Just as with the previous, her teeth effortlessly pierce his natural armor. And this time he cannot properly kick her away because of the damage that she has done to his lower extremities.

Still, this does not prevent him from trying.

“Let go!”

He tries to kick her off as he hears branches snapping in the distance.

“Let go!”

He tries to kick her in the face to free himself. All the while he can see from the corner of his eye how the leaves bristle in the wind created by the other hunter as it descends from the sky.

“Leg go you idiot!”

He rakes his claws along her side, desperate to find some means of forcing her to release him before the predator can reach him.

But she holds firm in sheer defiance of his demands, unwilling to let him escape with his life when he has so mercilessly assured that she will not leave with hers.

Before his next plea can escape him, the wings descend.

One moment, he is standing over the wounded female. And in the next, he is yanked off of her; his body clasped firmly by a long beak lined with dozens of pointed teeth.

A pained rasp escapes him as the air is forcibly squeezed out of his lungs by the strength of the bite.

After that, the only sound that escapes him is that of his body being violently thrashed against the ground.

Side to side. Up and down. With the mercilessness of a bird bashing a fish against the side of a tree to kill it and break up its bones. Until blood suddenly explodes from his mouth as the violent mauling results in his insides haemorrhaging.

Then all the more violently until his absolutely mangled body goes completely and utterly limp.

Only then does the oversized tropeognathus drop his lifeless corpse on the ground.

Only then does she pause and take in the brutality of the scene that she has not only stumbled upon, but played a part in creating.

As her chest heaves in desperate need of air, she stares down at the mutilated body of her prey. Well and truly dead, with absolutely no chance of it being an act.

Stomach ripped open and limbs crumpled. Mouth open with organs spilling out. Half stripped of feathers and absolutely covered in blood.

Just like the poor female, who had been unable to crawl away before his body could burst.

Now, only half of the blood on her body has come out of her. The rest has been splattered upon her as she laid there and helplessly watched while the cannibalistic male was exterminated.

Tears pour out of her eyes and seep into her feathers as the trauma of her experience fully sets in.

She trembles and she whimpers, curling into herself as she lays pitifully on the ground in front of the trope.

“You’re alive.” The tropeognathus states. Just to try and reassure the velociraptor that she has well and truly survived her harrowing experience.

But her words are only responded to with a barely repressed sob as the wounded female further curls into herself.

“Hey! Relax! You’re alive. He’s gone.” She states, repeating her earlier sentiments. Somehow failing to understand the larger scope of the consequences that this incident will have.

“It hurts!...” The velociraptor whimpers, her voice a broken slur due to the damage done to her mouth.

She’s lost half of her teeth. And so blood and drool bubbles from her mouth with each noise that she attempts to make.

“You’ll heal.” The trope replies. Only to gaze upon the smaller creature in confusion as they pathetically shake their head.

“No!... No.” The raptor murmurs.

“It won’t… I failed my hunt.” She sobs, completely and utterly distraught.

Distraught because this victory has only assured a longer, more drawn out death compared to what the cannibal would have done to her.

Even the tropeognathus, ignorant to the rules and customs of the hook-claws, understands the severity of that statement.

“You were hunted by the cannibal!” The flier exclaims in response, completely bewildered by the asinine idea that the youngster was going to be punished for a failure that she could not avoid.

She then glances down at the mangled corpse of the cannibal.

The thread of his Idol is visible. Still somehow intact despite the horrific mauling that he was put through.

She calmly dips her head down to clasp that thread with her beak, so that she may tug it loose.

When she does, the Idol falls away. And suddenly the giant velociraptor is left as what he well and truly is.

A very dead man.

One marked with the hellish consequences of his cannibalistic nature. Boils and rashes and septic skin. Now made all the more horrific by the bloodbath that was his cause of death.

After taking in the truly horrific sight of the monster, she proceeds to rip off one of his legs.

Specifically, the leg that has been marked with the brand of the exiled. A marking which will prove that the leg belonged to the now dead cannibal.

She then tosses that mangled limb towards the trembling velociraptor.

“Take that to your elders. Tell them that you’ve failed your hunt, but the cannibal is dead because of you. If they cannot consider that an equivalent, then I pity you for their foolishness.” She states.

She then stands idle and watches as the wounded female tries her hardest to stand. And though her wounded leg nearly buckles under her own weight, she does eventually succeed.

Once she’s standing, her Idol falls away. The image of the brutally mauled speckled raptor fades, revealing the battered body of the woman that lay hidden beneath. With her thigh torn open and nearly stripped of skin, and half of her face horribly swollen from the number of teeth that have been violently yanked out of her jaw.

Even one of her arms lays useless at her side. Swollen from thumb to forearm and completely without use due to her wrist having been broken.

If given time and care, her wounds would heal. Her teeth would grow back. She would eventually regain the ability to hunt.

But that was all reliant on whether or not her clan decided to give her the respect that she had rightly earned by playing such a valiant part in bringing the cannibal down.

With her working arm, she reaches to pick up the mangled leg that has been tossed her way.

She glances up to lock eyes with the flier. All the while tears of pain and fear roll down her bruised and swollen cheeks.

Then she turns to leave. And the tropeognathus silently watches as the battered woman haphazardly limps off into the wilderness, one slow and agonizing step at a time.

She remains there until the raptor disappears into the distance. At which point she drops her head once more to collect what remains of the cannibal’s body.

She picks it up to take it with her as she leaves for her home. Intent on bringing it along as proof of the victory that has been had today, so that she and the many other victims of this horrible monster can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

[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

[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.

[symphonicsoul]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ 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."

[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.”

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[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