#see CWs

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Part 9: Atticus' Birthday

I had intended to write this around my own birthday, but that idea got drowned out by an unfortunate Real Life Event. As a result, I ended up writing the previous roleplay story as it seemed less demanding mentally.

I plan to write two other stories following this taking place on the same day.

This one in particular is very saucy. It's probably the smuttiest I've ever written on here. As such, play close attention to the CW list for things that might not be what you want to read. I have, once again, attempted to separate sections so that the smuttiest bits can be avoided, but an arousal theme does run through most of the story and so might occur outside of the smutty heading.

CW

Very very fast and consistently fast hiccups.

Hiccups induced and made worse intentionally.

Mentions of arousal.

Nudity.

Mentions of genitalia in various detail.

Mentions of trans masc (or trans societal male traits presenting) anatomy post-top surgery and post HRT

Scar musing by character.

Scar touching by character.

Mention of an uncircumcised genitalia.

Fingering.

Masturbation.

Mentions of past alcohol abuse (inferred).

Lobbing someone in the head with a pasta noodle.

The consequences of not looking where you're hiccuping.

This is a story that includes trans-focused contemplation from the inner thoughts of a cis male presenting partner.

I am trans and this is very reflective of my body. (way to be vulnerable, huh?)

Hiccups that are mildly painful.

If there is anything else that I haven't covered that you believe needs a CW, please tell me.

The Plan

“No,” Atticus replied to Otto’s request for what seemed to have been a hundred times this month. They knew they were exaggerating on the number of times he asked, but any time Otto brought the subject up they bristled with anxiety and inner turmoil.

“Hear me out,” Otto implored.

“Otto,” they said, his name nearly whined in desperation.

They were at the kitchen table having lunch. Otto had fixed pesto tortellini with chicken. Atticus’ birthday was tomorrow and for some reason Otto had gotten fixated on a topic that made Atty uncomfortable.

“No, no, I know! I know. I know why you don’t want me to do it. I know you don’t need me to hiccup to love me. I know you don’t want me to hurt my body by making it happen instead of letting it happen naturally. I hope, with how long we’ve been married, that the fears of me taking advantage or teasing you would have gone away. And because we communicate so well, those fears of resentment from you wanting me to induce that you think I will somehow develop are a non-issue. Mainly because you never let me induce...but-but Atty, hey,” Otto stopped talking and encouraged his partner to look at him. “I want to do this. I am acting completely of my own free will. Additionally, I know my body pretty damn well. I know my limits and I’m not going to hurt myself. Trust me, I am way past the hurting myself stage in my life.” Not for lack of a lot more lessons than it took the normal person, Otto added silently.

“Also,” Otto continued enthusiastically, “and this is perhaps my most damning evidence that you would enjoy this more than you’re letting on, I know for a fact that the videos and audio files you play of people inducing hiccups are some of your favorites.” He said this with a pointed mischievous glare.

Atty glared back with less folly but not as much malice as they’d wanted to express.

“I, mm, I-I just,” Atticus started, stuttering and huffing. “I ju-ugh! I just feel so...so guilty!”

“Guilty?” Otto asked with a concerned face. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I just...do! I don’t want you to-to have to do anything like that for me. It’s just—it’s my thing and I don’t want you to have to pander to it like that,” Atticus finally spat out. They groaned and put their head in their hands. Otto’s soft reply encouraged them to look up again.

“I know I don’t have to do it. I don’t feel obligated. I want to do it. It’s not just you who gets something out of it. Trust me, you’re not the selfish one here. You get turned on and share that with me and then...I get turned on. And now whenever I get the hiccups and I’m alone I get turned on by them thinking about how turned on you would be if you were there. Figure that one out. Let’s just say I’m not sharing that one with my therapist,” Otto said widening his eyes for emphasis.

Atticus experienced a little whiplash at that admission. First of all, Otto had admitted it so casually that they hadn’t realized the implication of what he’d said until he’d finished the statement completely and they found themselves backtracking their memory to make sure they’d heard it correctly. Secondly, being reminded that Atticus wasn’t the only one experiencing arousal should have been an obvious statement but it still took them by surprise that while Otto was so obviously giving something of arousal to Atticus that the writer was also providing Otto with an equal amount of arousal.

For some reason, to them, it always felt like Otto was doing most of the work. But obviously he didn’t see it that way.

They must’ve been quiet for a while because they felt Otto’s finger poke the middle of their forehead and they frowned, swatting at it.

“Just checking if I broke anything…” he said with a smirk.

“No…” Atticus said, scowling. Then their face turned thoughtful, eyes wide as they looked at him. “So you really get...aroused when you…”

Otto chuckled, “I really do.”

“Even when I’m not there.”

“Yup,” he confirmed. “I suspect that it’s some sort of memory activation. Sort of...my brain has gotten used to the pattern of having hiccups meaning that I’m going to be aroused and so my big brain talks to my little brain,” he said pointing downward, “and says, ‘Hey buddy! Remember this? You’re about to get some...fun...horny things happening!’ and my little brain is like, ‘Oh yeah! Horny things! On it!’ And that’s, you know, sort of how it goes. I...was about to say it’s more nuanced than that, but it’s really not. Little brain doesn’t really work with subtleties a lot. It’s very Id based.”

“And I almost choked on a piece of chicken!” Atty said, still coughing a little from the surprise and laughing at the dialogue.

“I did notice that,” Otto interjected.

“I had no idea you reacted that way…even when I’m not there. Okay,” they said with a sigh and put their fork down as a marker of decision, granted a nervous marker. “So...how is this going to work exactly?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Otto said, smirking. “How long has it been since I even had morning hiccups?”

“I dunno, as while, I think,” Atticus said, feigning casualness.

“Yeah, you do. Pull out your phone. Tell me when I last had them.”

Atticus scoffed, not moving at first, but they eventually pulled their phone out from the pocket of their sweat pants sheepishly. They pulled up their calendar app and scrolled through the months.

“Um...around 13 weeks? Three months? I think, maybe, you had a few teasers but not a real case...I don’t really mark the teasers. I’m neurotic, but not that neurotic,” they said.

Otto nipped the phone from their hand suddenly but before he turned it around he met their eyes.

“Can I see? I just want to see how you mark it,” Otto said.

Atticus hesitated, but sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Otto turned the phone around and scrolled for a bit before amusement lit in his eyes and he smiled.

“Awww,” he said. “A bubble emoji? Like in Dumbo when he hiccups bubbles? That’s really cute! Oh, and you put multiple bubble emojis for multiple cases on the same day? Coffee bubbles...for my coffee hiccups! Hee! No, this is good. I like this. I mean, I dunno what a stranger would think. Weird shower schedule or—”

The phone was yanked back.

“Okay! Yeah! That’s enough! Sir!” Atticus said, pocketing the phone again swiftly, neck feeling hot with embarrassment. “So, how is this gonna work? What...how are you gonna do it? Also, stop looking at me adoringly or I’m going to stab you with this fork.”

“I love when you flirt with me,” Otto responded, leaning on his hand again with a smile. He ignoring their glare as he continued, “I am going to continue eating this pasta tonight a little later than I should. I’m also going to add just a little bit more spice to it. Just something to sort of...invigorate the vagus nerve, if you will. And then I’m going to have one of those sparkling waters before I go to bed. Setting the stage.

“Tomorrow, if I don’t have them by my first cup of coffee, I’ve got a root beer in there and if that doesn’t work...honestly I got nothing. I’m kind of counting on that root beer.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Atticus remarked, impressed.

“I have. This weekend might be when your party is, but tomorrow is the day I get to celebrate you and I’m not missing the chance to make this as good a day as I can for you. Oh, and I found a new antique’s mall that I want to show you if you’re up for it,” he said.

“Okay, I’m in. You inducing, antiquing...I am there!”

“Seriously? The antiquing got you over me inducing hiccups for you?” Otto said, put out.

“What? No! I...no, it’s just. Otto. I am going to find a fucking banjo clock if it kills me. And that’s your fault, by the way. You made me this into clocks,” they said.

“We live in a house literally lined with clocks on every wall, you know,” he said.

“And not one damn banjo clock. Not one! It’s your fault for telling me about it in the first place. Banjo clocks are so sexy.”

Otto gave them a look.

“Not in that way! I’m not—I don’t have a clock fetish. It’s a turn of phrase!” Atticus argued.

“I wouldn’t blame you, though. Winding a mainspring? Oof. Really gets me going. And putting a pendulum in beat—hey!” he exclaimed with something wet plopped on his cheek. “Did you just throw a noodle at me?!”

The lunch devolved into a miniature food fight.

That night Otto made good on his plan to overindulge on carbs. Atticus made him promise that if he felt uncomfortable or ill that he would cure his hiccups and take an antacid. Even though Otto had explicitly, without a doubt, claimed he wanted to do this Atty couldn’t help but feel nervous. But as they laid down next to their husband and snuggled a little into his soft shoulder they couldn’t help but feel excited as well.

The Induction

The morning started with Otto shifting a little in waking up. Atticus had snuggled into his arm during the night and though they moved quite a bit they found the place again and had rested for the majority of the rest of the night in the soft warmth.

Usually Otto kept a pretty early schedule but the carb intake last night caused him to be drowsy this morning and he startled a little realizing he’d woken up at 7am. To him, that was sleeping in. Atticus stirred beside him before looking up at him sleepily.

“Hey,” they said, voice lower than usual in morning hoarseness.

It reminded Otto of how low Atticus’ voice actually was. Even as their voice had lowered thanks to the testosterone they tended to speak in their higher range. Otto assumed it was habit. But hearing the lower octaves Atticus could utter did something to the clock maker. He enjoyed the gravel.

Otto went to reply but he paused, tucking his chin as his stomach and chest jerked.

Atticus’ eyes went wide and alert and Otto had to chuckle.

“Just a belch,” he said, softly. “Little gassy.” He gave another soft burp and sighed.

The writer tried to hide the disappointment from their face.

“You feel okay?” they asked.

“Yeah. A little ‘hung over’ and bloated from the carbs. I woke up later than I planned,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and stretched.

Atticus yawned in response and rubbed their eyes with the heel of their hand. They grabbed for their glasses so they could see.

“What time is it?” they asked.

“After 7,” he said.

“...gross,” Atty said with a huff and almost wanted to roll back around and go back to sleep, except there was an excited energy they couldn’t ignore.

“You can go back to bed if you want. Happy Birthday, by the way,” he said and gave them a little kiss on their forehead.

It had been established that the only kiss Atticus didn’t need consent for was a forehead kiss. As such, Otto tended to give them out abundantly when he wanted to show his love. He loved watching the tired, grumpy face of his partner morph into a sheepish little smile and their small body sigh in contentment.

“Thank you. I love you,” they replied laying their cheek on his shoulder.

“I love you, too,” he said.

“I’m up now. And, honestly? Really curious to see if your plan is gonna work, today,” Atticus admitted.

“Hmm. Well. I guess I’ll go make some coffee then…”

“Cool. Tell me when it’s ready,” Atty said, and turned around in bed again, closing their eyes as they took off their glasses.

Otto laid there for a beat, a little amused at the reaction, “Okay then!”

As it turned out, coffee was not the instigator they’d both hoped for. Otto was certainly gassy this morning, but the hiccups were elusive despite the clock maker feeling like he was going to get them. He described the feeling as a sort of pressure in his throat. It was like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out, almost.

They both decided before Otto tried the root beer that it would probably be a good idea to have breakfast. Otto went all out. He made all of Atticus’ favorite breakfast items. When all was done there were plates with belgium waffles with fruit and whipped cream next to eggs over-easy and sausage patties and breakfast potatoes. The coffee was a peaberry blend, light roast. Otto made it in a chemex because both the blend and the brewing technique tended to be Atticus’ preference. It was the small things Otto had recorded in his mind that made Atticus feel wholly seen and loved.

Atticus literally couldn’t finish it all, but saved what they couldn’t eat for later. Being a “small king,” as their friends called them, putting away food wasn’t really what their body did best. Otto accomplished more on the food front, but he had already felt a little bloated so he ate less than he normally would. Still, it was much more than Atticus. But that was just a matter of mass. Otto was more than a foot taller than Atty, after all, and much broader though he still read as a lanky man with his long limbs and torso. The writer coveted the clock maker’s soft belly, though. Society be damned, sculpted muscles had never been their thing.

They both came away from breakfast feeling sufficiently full from the feast. Atticus collapsed on the couch in the living room while Otto insisted on cleaning up by himself. It was usually Atty who cleaned up as he did most of the cooking, but because it was their birthday they were shooed away with their coffee mug to luxuriate while their husband took care of the chores.

Atticus watched Otto’s tall form navigate the kitchen, his long arms easily reaching the cabinets and his long legs quickly navigating the space between placing objects in their proper places. They caught him belching and burping a few more times, rubbing his stomach absently as if coaxing more gas out.

After that breakfast, Atticus felt their own stomach was a little distended as well, but not painfully so. It was a pleasant plumpness, like Otto’s presented. Atticus was happy to have the shape they did. After their top surgery and hormone replacement therapy they grew fond of the way weight distributed in their middle and the softness it gave them. They appreciated it as much on their own body as they did on Otto’s.

Finally, with one final reach of Otto’s arm into the refrigerator to grab the root beer, the clock maker made his way from the open kitchen to the couch and settled himself next to Atticus.

“You didn’t talk much during breakfast,” he noted.

“I was too busy enjoying it,” Atticus said, sipping their coffee and watching Otto’s hand twist off the top of the brown glass bottle.

“Mm,” Otto said with suspicion. “You weren’t too busy watching every time I burped to make sure I wasn’t hiccuping?”

Atticus sputtered a little, glad they had swallowed the coffee before his question.

“I—” they said, about to deny it, “Well. I mean. Maybe…”

Otto laughed softly.

“I’m not teasing you too much, am I?” Otto asked, checking in.

“No,” Atticus responded seriously, shaking their head. “It’s kind of cute. I like it.”

Otto put the bottle up to his mouth and then lowered it suddenly, “Oh good, cause I just wanted to make sure.” He took the bottle up again and lowered it. “I just didn’t want it to seem like I was being cruel.” the lip of the bottle almost reached his lips when he lowered it once more. “Because sometimes I have a tendency to over d—”

“I swear to gawd…” Atticus interrupted him in a calm but stern voice having been following the path of that bottle every time he raised it.

“I can hear the threat of bodily injury in your voice,” he said, amused.

“Drink it!” Atty exclaimed.

“Guess it’s not cute anymore,” he muttered, his voice echoing into the neck of the bottle as he finally took a few healthy gulps of the root beer.

At the last swallow Atticus watched Otto’s body spasm suddenly. This was more than just a suppressed burp.

Otto lowered the bottle to his lap and his body jerked two more times, silent hiccups rocking his body backwards. “I think I’ve got ‘em,” he said, face concentrating as another hiccup jerked his head back with a little squeak from his throat. He also released a couple more airy belches as the hiccups continued interspersed. “They’re a little heurp!-a little weak. I’m gonna drink a little more.”

“Okay,” was all Atticus could say as they felt excitement thrum through them like electricity that all of the anticipation was leading to him actually getting the hiccups...for them. They felt an emotion beyond simple arousal, but one filled of gratitude that they hadn’t expected feeling.

As Otto downed the rest of the bottle Atty enjoyed watching his stomach jiggle softly with the hiccups triggered by his gulping. Still, they noticed, the hiccups he’d developed weren’t as fast or hard as his normal hiccups.

Otto had his hand on his chest as he waited for one hiccup after another. He seemed to notice their lack of boisterousness, too. They were squeaky, airy hiccups. While it was humorous to hear the higher pitched hiccups come out of Otto compared to the huskiness of his regular hiccups, they didn’t seem to create as much body movement. Still, Atticus was extremely excited to see his hiccups at all after so long.

“These are different, right? Heulp! Than my regular hiccups? Not as hyup!-as fast or strong?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” Atty said. They cuddled close to him, putting a hand on his belly as it bounced in another spasm.

But Otto seemed to be thinking about something, eyes narrowed in consideration. Atty listened to his chest as he released another soft burp and hiccuped right after.

“I have an id-idea,” he said, jolting with another silent hiccup. “I’m gonna hold my breath.”

To anyone else this would’ve seemed counter productive to the goal, but both Atticus and Otto knew that when he’d tried to cure his hiccups in the past by holding his breath it made them remarkably worse. Specifically, Otto’s hiccups became even faster than normal.

Atty hadn’t seen this themselves, but they’d been told by Otto that for about a minute after holding his breath they would speed up quite a bit before calming back down to his normal pace (which was still quite fast compared to other people’s hiccups).

The speed of those hiccups apparently startled his friend, then roommate, so much that he suggested going to the hospital. But Otto laid down to see if they would go away on their own first and they did, eventually. It was the longest time he’d had the hiccups (sober), a little over 5 hours in total.

Knowing this story brought some concern to Atticus.

“You sure?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Otto said. “If they get too bad w-hmp!-we’ll cure them. I just feel like these aren’t go-gonna last very long.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I hope I don’t end up-up curing them.”

Even Otto’s weak hiccups had a pretty decent effect on his body. The indentations in his neck might not have been as deep but his body still jerked and swayed with every hiccup. Atticus rubbed his back reflexively.

“Alright,” they agreed.

Otto took a large breath in and held it. For a moment nothing happened. There wasn’t even a hiccup after the time there had been before. Otto shot Atticus a frown of disappointment. Had it cured them after all? But then there was a hard hiccup and it jerked Otto’s body so hard that it shocked them both.

The clock makers hand went to his chest instinctively. Another hiccup barreled in close to the last. And then almost immediately after that a third hiccup shot through his body, throwing his head back as he widened his eyes in surprise. After that they were coming pretty consistently.

Atticus immediately felt their body react to the stimuli. Between their legs started pulsing as Otto let out his breath to a cacophony of newly energized hiccups.

“Hu-uck!-huuck!-h’muck!-huck!-HUCK!-HUCK!-hmk!-hmmmk!-hmmMMK!-I-mk!-I thmmk!-think th-uck!-that dihip!d it!” Otto struggled to say.

He turned toward Atticus and the writer watched his head be forced back over and over again. Anyone else wracked with such strong and fast hiccups might have a hint of distress on his face. Otto’s face held a soft smile, though his brows scrunched a little at each hiccup.

“Do-huck!-you-h’muck!huck!HNK!-wa-hmk!-nthup’k!-humk!-to-huck!-hu-uck!-go-unk!mk!huUCK!-upsta-hrk!hrk’l!-huck!-stairs?” Otto eventually got out.

‘Do you want to go upstairs?’ Atticus translated in their head through the nearly blinding arousal that hit them.

Otto’s head bobbed with each hiccup. His stomach was visible through the tight white undershirt and it jiggled in reverb as the hiccups kept forcing it over the edge of the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

Despite Otto being the one that should’ve been rendered speechless by his hiccups’ speed, Atticus found themselves not able to verbalize a response in the throws of their excitement and simply nodded in agreement.

The couple traversed the stairs to their bedroom single-file, as the narrowly designed stairwell only allowed as such. Atticus kept their hand on Otto’s ever bouncing back as they followed him. The sound of his hiccups, which were louder as he exerted himself with the climb up, echoed off the walls.

They came in doubles and triples in between small second respites where Otto found his breath. The clock maker realized that it would have been smarter to induce in their bedroom once they both finally landed on the bed. His hiccups were giving him very little leeway in catching his breath. He forgot how exhausted he got when they had been this fast before. But, unlike before, he was also getting excited. He wanted nothing more than to give Atticus the very best for their birthday and, judging by his partner’s face as they sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and rubbed his back in acknowledgment of his struggles, he was succeeding.

“You good?” they asked, checking in on him. They’d never seen him hiccup this fast so consistently.

He was still on the edge of the bed and was leaning his elbows on his knees. His body was jerking upward every half-second. The hiccups had gotten rounder and sharper as they continued, interspersed with his normal lower and huskier hiccups.

“Hup!-hup!-hup!-hup!-mk!hpk!-hmp!hup!-huUP!-hulp!-huck’l!-hip!hip!-hip!hip!hup!” Otto had attempted to talk but had given it up. Instead he nodded and put a thumb up.

The Saucy Bit

He scooted back on the bed and used a pillow to prop himself up as he pulled out the drawer of the nightstand to dig out supplies. When he looked up he saw Atticus had already begun to disrobe. Their top surgery scar, running across their entire chest from one side to the other and peaking at the middle in curvature, picked up the reflection of the sun through the window. The thickened skin was raised in places a little, hypertrophic scarring that had never decided to settle into the small white line the other parts of the scar had taken on.

The writer was self-conscious about the thickness of the scars, but Otto loved the texture they made as he rubbed his fingers across them as he did now while they leaned forward to take off their sweatpants. They smiled at Otto’s touch trying to set their head against his while he explored their chest but was unsuccessful with how hard Otto’s hiccups continued to jerk his head back rapidly.

As usual, Atticus left their boxers on. Otto never questioned why they didn’t want to expose themselves fully, but he could only guess at the dysphoria they may feel so he trusted them to create that boundary without having to spell it out.

Otto was delighted that Atticus still allowed him to explore their anatomy, though. Being able to actively increase their arousal when they were already aroused by touching them was euphoric. He loved how different Atticus felt to his fingers than anyone else he’d been with, vagina or penis. He had greatly enjoyed experimenting with them to see what felt best and how much pressure to give and where.

With this being in his mind, even while hiccuping madly from his self induction, he rerouted Atticus’ body when they came toward him while facing him. He had an idea and he was having trouble verbalizing anything so he hoped his non-verbal manipulations of their body would translate.

Atticus was confused at first, but at the encouragements of Otto’s hands on their body they found themselves turned to face away from him. Then Otto pressed their back into his front and they suddenly realized why. They could feel every movement facing this way. It was like when they were in the park underneath that tree during Mark’s birthday. Otto, now stripped down nude, was flush to Atticus’ back as he leaned on the pillow cushioning him from the headboard of the bed.

Atticus’ body jerked with Otto’s and they took a breath at the rush of arousal that hit them. They felt his stomach spasm in the small of their back while simultaneously feeling his chest jerk away from them. As usual, Otto found Atty’s neck and nuzzled, his hiccups jerking his head across their shoulder and the loudness of some of them hitting Atticus’ ears increasing their arousal all the more.

“HUP!-HUP!-HUP!-HUCKAH!-huck!huck!-huck’m!-mk!-hup’k!-huppah!huck!-h’muck!-mk!mk!-huck!…” and so on as Otto’s excitement continued.

To say Otto wasn’t getting tired from the onslaught would be a lie. But the excitement he felt as he continued to get harder and harder with each squirm Atticus made and each gasp of ecstasy they let out was worth whatever consequences he might face from the strength and speed of this case.

When Atticus’ hand made to relieve and pleasure Otto he pushed it away.

“Le-hup!-Let-hup!-me-huck!huck!-focu-ulp!-focu—f-hulp!-s on-hup!-on-hup!-yo-hup!hup-you!” he said, struggling. ‘Let me focus on you.’

With a gasp, and boy had Atticus been doing that a lot, they felt Otto’s long fingers slick with lube travel under the front their boxers from behind. They whimpered as he coated them and started his slow administrations. Atticus’ body pressed into Otto’s behind them, legs opening.

Otto’s hand and fingers would twitch as his body lurched with hiccups in between the soft and focused movements and, every time, Atticus found their body jerking in time with the twitches and hiccups. They lost themselves in Otto’s fingers and body and sounds. They moaned and cussed and hissed until breathy gasps hit them when Otto stroked faster against them and they felt the cold hot rush travel up and down their body with a shivering arch of their back and final whimper and their body fully relaxed into the cushion of Otto’s body, still jerking with hiccups.

It took them a few moments to open their eyes, not realizing they’d closed them, and turn toward their husband, head craning up and back to catch his pinched expression of arousal. Knowing, somehow, that Atticus was responsible for that intense look brought a warmth into them they didn’t know quite how to explain.

Otto had already started to grab himself, no longer able to hold back his own needs. Really, he didn’t need lube or a condom and only used the latter for quicker cleanup. He was uncircumcised and made full advantage of his ability to pleasure himself so freely.

“Can I watch?” Atticus breathed, voice as low as their register would go and husky with recent climax.

Otto shivered at their voice and nodded quickly as Atticus turned around. They watched him as he whimpered in stimulated arousal between the spasms his throat was still emitting. Atticus settled themselves beside his body, hand on his stomach, half straddled on his thigh.

Otto locked eyes with his spouse, dark eyes to dark eyes, his hooded by his prominent brow and theirs behind the lenses of their glasses. His hiccups stayed fast but became squeaky, desperate, as he closed his eyes. The feeling of moistness on his thigh from Atticus’ wet soaked crotch through their underwear broke him through with a grunt as he gasped and relaxed, opening his eyes finally and blinking.

The Afterglow

He could feel Atty’s head next to his neck, now, in the crook of his shoulder. He could feel their hand slowly massaging his belly and he realized he did, indeed, still have the hiccups. But, small miracles, they weren’t as fast. Though they were still strong.

“Hu-UCK! Aaah. Mmm. Hu-mmk! Uh. MMK! Mmm,” he muttered as he rubbed his chest.

“Starting to hurt?” Atticus asked, lips moving on his chest before looking up at him.

“Not yet Hu-ulk!-mmm. Just h’plmk!-uh, just tight. Huppah!” he gave a sigh. Some of them were still a little squeaky and it was starting to tickle his throat. He cough-hiccuped a couple of times in response, holding a fist over his mouth. He plapped his hand back down on his chest after he cleared the irritation.

Otto felt his partner’s hand on his cheek and he let his head be guided lazily to their eyes.

“Thank you,” they said passionately.

“That was-huck!-that was good? Huck’m!” he asked.

Atticus took a hand to his chest and gave it a brief massage that elicited a hiccuping sigh from Otto.

“That was amazing,” they confirmed. “I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Ooh-hoop!” Otto exclaimed, straightening up a little bit past the pillow that cushioned him in excitement.

Atty giggled at the movement and expression on his face, eager and earnest. They held his cheek again, loving the rough texture of his short beard on their palm, and leaned in to provide their thanks in a kiss far past their normal chaste fare.

Otto hiccuped once, hard, in the middle of the kiss and as the kiss ended he hiccuped again just as forcefully. His head met the back of the headboard sharply with a crack that probably sounded worse than the impact.

“Ow!” he yelped, holding the back of his head with a wince.

“Holy crap, man!” Atticus said placing their hand over his on the spot where he’d impacted. “Wow, way to ruin a moment!”

“Mmk!-uh, thanks for the sym-mmp!-sympathy huck-ah!” Otto said, the last hiccup hitting him with such force that it sent his head back toward the same spot it had hit before. Fortunately both his and Atticus’ hands prevented it from impacting this time.

“Alright, sit up! Sit up! I do not want a concussed husband for my birthday,” Atty insisted. “You need an antacid? Or cure? I got that lemon juice the other day at the store so you don’t have to keep biting into lemons. Bad for your teeth.”

As Atticus’ hand finally trailed off the back of his hand and down his face before departing completely, Otto sat up, slouching a little, and smiled fondly. The position made his hiccups more apparent and he rubbed his neck feeling the muscles there pull. He’d not had hiccups in so long that he’d forgotten how sore his neck got when they were that fast. Talk about repetitive motion injury. But, spying one of his many clocks, he realized he hadn’t really had them for that long. Though the pleasure he experienced with Atty had made time seem a lot slower. Their speed certainly did a number on his body, though.

“Mmm-hmuck!-mm. Shower fir-erk!-irst?” he suggested. “And I need to holmk!-need to thro-mmk!-throw these sh-hip!-sheets in the washer while mmk!-uh while I’m thinking of it HILP!”

“Shower does sound nice,” Atticus agreed.

“You go st-HERP!-start it while I thr-hup!-throw these in the mmk!-laundry?” he asked, gathering the sheets as they both slid off the bed at last.

“Okay,” they said with a smile and a small kiss to his cheek as he bent down to collect the linens.

Shower-time (implied nudity)

Atticus stood in the shower letting the warmth through their hair and over their body. Their muscles were still charged and they were still a little sensitive from Otto’s birthday present. Just reminiscing the way he looked and how it felt was enough to get them a little excited again.

These sessions they had were infrequent compared to other couples, but absolutely worth the wait. And chances were high that even after this case ended Otto was bound to get them again a few more times before the end of the day.

Atty heard the bathroom door open and: ~H’MUCK!~

The sound shot around the room bouncing sharply off of every surface in a reverberating tinny echo.

“Shit!” Atticus startled. They held the bar of the glass shower door to keep themselves from falling.

“Damn! That wa~higgup!~-uh, was loud. ~hmmk!~” Otto said, covering his mouth to the last hiccup, though it still found a way to echo in the small bathroom. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Atty said pulling the glass door back and peeking out. “Come on in.”

He stepped into the tub and pulled the door to behind. ~Hk-mmp!~ He was trying to muffle them now to prevent the loudness, but now that Atticus was prepared for it his hiccups sounded amazing when amplified by the bathroom’s acoustics.

“I can’t tell,” they said as they moved aside to let him wash water over himself, “are they worse or is it just the bathroom making them sound worse?”

This was the writer’s casual way of checking in on their husband to make sure they were okay. Those hiccups had been no joke. And he’d let them get that way on purpose because of them. While Atticus was touched by the gesture, they were aware that having the hiccups like he had was exhausting and possibly painful.

“I think it’s the ~hulp!~ the bathroom-~HUP!~ Shit! Sorry!” Otto said covering his mouth and then putting the hand on his chest as his head jerked back a few moments after with another that he silenced. That last loud one had taken him by complete surprise.

Atticus couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“It’s okay. I kind of like how it makes them sound,” they admitted. They said this while lathering up their hands and starting to wash his stomach and chest.

Were the silicone scrubbers much more efficient at washing than soap and hands? Yes. But any excuse to touch their partner’s belly and watch the hiccups continue to affect him was worth the deficit.

“Yeah?” Otto said, looking down at their administrations with a smile and a, “~HUCK-uh!~”

He laughed at the ridiculous way the sound carried his hiccup which made him hiccup again, this one a little squeakier. “~HILK!~” Which made him guffaw and he eventually released a, “~huUUCK!~” But that one made him wince as his stomach and chest told his brain that all of this hiccuping nonsense was getting a bit much by sending a little spike of pain into his core.

“Oof…” Atticus responded sympathetically.

“Ugh. ~hu-UCK!~ Yeah. I’m def—definitely getting rid of ~h’MUCK!~ of these before ~mk!mk!~ before going to the antique’s ~humpk!~ store. Ow…” he hissed and then looked sheepish. “Sorry…”

“No apologies necessary,” they said reaching up to caress his face. “You jacked up your diaphragm for me and I am very grateful but you definitely need a break.”

He laughed a little in response, it ending in a “~hu-UP!~” that encouraged him to take a deep measured breath in an attempt to soothe his abused diaphragm.

“Can I ~huULP~ wash the rest of my body, now? ~ULP!~-uh!” he asked as he watched Atticus continue to circle the soap along his chest and belly, his body hair there swirling in response to the movements of their hands.

Atticus paused and looked up, glint of mischief in their eyes for just a moment before they rolled their eyes and sighed dramatically.

“Okay, fine!” they relented.

They turned away from him (and quite possibly the most adequately cleaned belly and chest on the planet) to soap up their own body as he chuckled again.

Planning for the Next Installment (no hiccups)

After both of them had showered and dressed Otto made quick work of curing his hiccups. They had finally started to settle down anyway after the shower and by the time he swallowed the shot of lemon juice they relented easily.

Popping an antacid for good measure, he ushered Atticus into the car.

“You’re up to something…” Atticus said suspiciously.

Otto was grabbing his seat belt and snapping it in with gusto when he looked up.

“Yeah I am! Up to some antiquing!” he said with a grin and a small pinch to his spouse’s shoulder. “C’mon, get your seat belt on!”

“Yeah...no...this is more than that,” Atticus replied as they buckled themselves with not quite as much energy as Otto had somehow revived after his show-stopping hiccups earlier.

“Pssh! What? No! I love antiquing! You know that!”

“Not this much. In fact, you usually get bored halfway through the lots,” they said, eyes narrowed.

“Okay. Do you actually want to keep asking questions?” Otto said, lips pinching closed and eyes wide in askance. His brows went up too as he cocked his head to the side. The expression and gesture implied that if Atticus wanted to be surprised then perhaps they should stop digging.

“...no,” Atticus decided.

“Good answer! Let’s go!” Otto exclaimed.

To be continued… (fondly written ellipses, not ominously)

[tavyliasin]

Above Him, Down Below (Smash) - Ch4/4: Size Matters

The final part of Yurgir x Reader! Part 1 Click Here Part 2 Click Here Part 3 Click Here

Yurgir x Gender Neutral Reader One Shot Chapter 4 of 4 // 3,231 words

Full AO3 Fic Here

Pairing: Yurgir/Gender Neutral Reader SPICE Rating: 6/5 Content Warnings: Unwise use of potions, sex, size difference, power play, mild predator/prey, scent kink

Spoilers Vaguely House of Hope, this is mostly porn without plot. Canon Compliance Do you want canon? Oh dear. This. This is just indulgence~ Other Notes We literally sat and worked out both the size scaling, and how to use elixirs, scrolls, and sorcery points in spells to extend the length. So, you know, technically rules compliant~ Anyway, you came here for Orthon Sex, so I'm not going to hold back now...

Smut below the cut! ----- -----

You took a little longer, letting the feeling fully come back to your limbs, noting - with some pride - the bruising beginning to rise under your skin. The pain didn’t bother you, it was soft, grounding, and would ensure the memory crystalised clearer in the days that followed. Well, if you had any of your mind left to conjure memories. 

Mage Hand once again proved to be your most useful cantrip as your clothing floated towards you, the pockets thankfully undamaged. The first potion you withdrew was a healing one, quaffed swiftly, followed by a far simpler flask of drink - strong, cold, and full of caffeine to ensure that sleep would have no chance of pulling you away from the night too soon. Most important, though, was the third bottle. Thick glass with a liquid inside that almost seemed heavy by itself. 

Yurgir watched on with interest as you unstoppered the bottle, propped up on his arm beside you in a pose that might look more familiar on a painting of some high born noble with a tastefully placed fruit basket disguising the lewd detail. A lewd detail that was still dripping slightly in a way that made your mouth water-

No time to think of that though, not quite yet. The potion was strong, intense, and felt just as heavy in your throat as it had in the bottle. Spicy with a burn that heated your stomach as you began to feel the effects. Your body began to swell - it wasn’t a painful sensation, but it was in its own way uncomfortable to feel your limbs and organs expand. Elixir of the Colossus, the label helpfully informed you, would last until you slept. Your body had grown noticeably, the strength coursing through your muscles like a drug, the healed aches giving way to a different fire. But it wouldn’t be enough.

“Can you use spell scrolls?” You looked Yurgir in the eye, already fishing through your other pocket for the parchment, struggling with fingers that were larger than you were used to. 

“I am no wizard, Rabbit, nor am I a fool.” He frowned, the fire in his gaze sparking brighter. “I can, but nothing that would constitute a contract.”

You sighed in relief, both at his ability to use it and that you had located the rolled paper in one piece. “This,” you began, “will make you smaller. Not by much, and for no more than one minute, so do not use it until I tell you.” 

“You have an excess of courage, Little Rabbit.” He took the scroll in his huge fingers, looking over it closely. “You remind me of the ones who run first into battle, the first to spill their blood on the ground.” 

“But this isn’t battle.” You reminded him, discarding the remains of your clothes once more and standing, at last rising higher than his huge form. 

“Is it not?” He chuckled, removing the last of his clothing and casting it aside. “There is power in battle, a clash of weapons, and none leave the battlefield unscathed.” 

The darker meaning beneath his words should’ve been a warning, but they only stoked your arousal. There was power, and you were about to hold it completely. “On your back, Hellhound.” You demanded of him, all too calmly, as you began to turn the words of your own spell in the back of your mind. The inherited sorcery in your magic would be enough to extend the time limit to 6 minutes. It would have to be enough. If you were both the size you were now… You shuddered, unsure if it was mortal dread or a wave of clearly ill-advised arousal behind it. 

Yurgir grunted as he rolled onto his back, waiting patiently as you began to pull the threads of the weave together around your body, praying to any gods that would listen that your concentration would hold on. 

The Enlarge spell stretched your limbs, your skin feeling tight as it grew with your muscles until you were almost halfway to being as tall as him. The wood of the bedframe creaked beneath the extra weight. One more step…

“Use the spell scroll, Reduce yourself, Commander.” This time, rather than debasing him with the comparison to a beast, you gave him a moment of respect with his title. You were asking a lot of him, of his pride, but to your surprise - and delight - the words formed quick and fast on his tongue as his body shrank beneath you. He was the same height as you - no. He was a little shorter. 

You stood over him, legs still having to step wide to straddle his hips as you looked down upon the predator turned prey.

“Little…Rabbit?”

“Little Orthon.” 

You smirked as you sank to your knees, unused to being so large or to seeing him stilled beneath you. 

“Four taps,” you reminded him.

“50 seconds,” he cautioned you in return.

There was no choice but to sink to your knees over him swiftly, taking hold of his still throbbing arousal and lining it up, grateful that the lingering oil from his hand earlier would make this easier. There wasn’t time to wait or go slowly. Your hips met his in one swift and brutal motion, no doubt bruising both as the bed creaked and the air left his lungs in a grunt. 

His concentration didn’t waver, but neither did yours. There wasn’t time for that. You took a steady pace, leaning forwards to loom over him for the brief time that you could, pinning his head down by the horns, ignoring the sharp edges cutting into your palms and the way he gritted his teeth at you. “You follow orders well, Commander.” You spoke directly into his ear, rewarded by a low moan that was soon followed by a realisation. He liked that.

The next realisation hit much faster - you should’ve had another 20 seconds to get used to him at this scale, but his concentration broke from the praise in his ear. You gripped his horns tighter, feeling even those growing in your grip as beneath and inside you he expanded. 

The scale of his finger from before began to feel like a softer and comfortable memory. Sharp ridges and hard patches of scales were becoming more clear, visceral friction increasing at an alarming rate as your legs were pushed further apart by his widening hips. Your breath left you in a strained moan, barely holding your control over your own spell.

5 minutes.

“Ahh, Rabbit,” he chuckled through his own pleasured groan at feeling your body tighter around his now larger self. “Greedy Little Rabbit, you will be your own undoing.” 

You pushed harder on his horns as he grinned up at you, knowing that your own strength would fade the moment the spell left your body. Seizing the chance you reached as far as you could to pin his arms behind his head, gripping between his elbow and wrist, your fingers barely wrapping around his muscular forearm. “Maybe,” you gasped, forcing strength back to your voice, “I don’t mind coming undone.” Yurgir answered your words with a thrust of his hips, hitting deeper than you were prepared for, changing the tide again. You had the upper hand at first, but now you were on even ground, and the clock was ticking. You gritted your teeth, bearing the ache of the stretch, learning quickly how to move to make the most of every inch of his ridges, drawing deep rumbling moans from his chest as you did so. “Brave creature, but how long will you last?” 

4 minutes.

“How long will you?” You snapped back, forcing your body to ignore the burning of your thighs stretched around his waist, the friction within pushing the breath out of your lungs every time you moved. 

A drop of sweat rolled down your nose and landed on his lips, his tongue snaking out in an instant to taste it. “Fear.” He smirked, wicked teeth catching the light. “I can taste it on you, smell it on you, blending with that absurd lust.” 

He was right, the adrenaline coursing through your veins was slowly shifting from the empowering feeling of being above him, of holding him down, and turning to a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The bed beneath you protested having his full weight and your enlarged form riding him ferociously.

3 minutes.

You had been in actual life or death battles less tense than this. A fitting comparison given the “bludgeoning weapon” that was hammering your insides harder as his hips moved to match your thrusts. At least the pleasure burning in every nerve was overriding the burn more and more as your body got used to taking him. 

You moaned a little, unexpectedly, as you changed angle slightly, the intensity of the sensations beginning to fray the edges of your mind with bliss. Focus, fuck. You pulled harder in on the magic. 

“Such pretty sounds you make, Little Rabbit, you are enjoying this.” The scent of his hot breath every time he spoke mingled with his sweat, the lingering odour of his earlier release still clinging to your skin heated by his words and your own body. 

“You would make a fine horse, Commander, though they talk less.” A brief image flashed through your mind of a bridle and bit between his teeth, the thought alone tightening your muscles around him. 

His laugh shook through you with vibrations that made you grip his arms harder as they ricocheted through your whole being. “And you clearly belong in the cavalry. Though you do not mind when I talk, do you.” 

2 minutes. 

The wavering edges of your concentration didn’t give you time to consider the meaning behind his reply, nor to consider that his words formed a statement rather than a question. He could feel how you tightened and quivered every time he spoke, the Orthon could see right through you, reading you like a book. 

You decided to write the next line of it yourself. “Do not stop,” another pang of pleasure gripped at the pit of your stomach. “Do not stop unless I allow you to.” 

“You think you can maintain control? Do you even want to?” This time it was a question, one that demanded an answer that leapt to your lips without thought.

“Take what you want.” Just four words uttered in haste with no concern for personal safety. His muscles began to bulge beneath your fingertips. Now he was willing to take control. “Good, just like that.” You whispered in his ear, directing the words to rile him up even more, permission and praise together. “Your funeral, Rabbit. As you wish.” 

1 minute.

Your strength wavered for a split second, long enough for Yurgir to twist in your grip and take hold of your wrists, shoving your hands roughly behind your back and pinning them there. He began to use your body as leverage, pushing you down as he thrust up into you, grinning as your back arched in pleasure. 

50 seconds.

The world was coming apart at the seams, the Wweave fraying in your concentration.

45 seconds.

Every muscle was tensed and coiled, for a moment thinking to strain against the hands pinning your arms behind you.

40 seconds.

The fear rose as the time ticked on unchecked, stomach tied in knots and flipping itself over as you squirmed at every ridge, each and every one already feeling larger inside you.

35.

Magic unravelling with a moan that echoed from the walls, the final thread snapping with your concentration before the last sand in your timer left the top half of the glass.

In an instant your body began to shrink, muscles constricting and contracting both inside and out, the Orthon groaning at the deep pleasure of feeling you tightening around him. He switched his grip to hold your arms with just one hand, the tides fully turned in his favour as only the elixir kept your body from ripping apart like your clothes had done earlier. 

Your voice was completely gone at this point, utterly and completely filled, beyond what you had imagined, beyond what you had thought possible. That potion vendor would be getting a hefty tip if you made it to morning. 

You were still finally shrinking back to the potion’s original expansion when he flipped you over. The breath was forced from your lungs by the impact of your back hitting the furs, further gasping by another forceful thrust as he fully took over. Any facade of your dominance falling under your own power was dispelled. 

“You’ve proven a worthy prey, Little Rabbit.” He released your hands from the pin  long enough for you to stretch them out above you, somewhere between releasing the tension in your shoulders and the small survival instinct trying to claw its way to safety. The rest of you disagreed.

Your legs tried to wrap around him, ignoring the bruising and stretching of ligaments that screamed for a mercy they would not find in the brutal pace of an Orthon at the peak of lust. Even beyond your own moans, you could hear the guttural grunts above you, droplets of his sweat landing on your wrought body, feeling as if they might evaporate instantly from the heat of your burning flesh. 

Consciousness swimming, you struggled to withstand the size and pace of his body slamming into yours with something close to a furious need. For a horrifying moment, you thought that the potion, too, was wearing off. Ridges swelling, thick veins pulsing and throbbing as he began to near a climax that you dreaded as much as you desired-

Everything was building to fever pitch, your own pleasure at the sheer heat of the situation alone, a daydream you hadn’t dared to make a reality- and yet, here you were. 

“Brace yourself.” His words were the only warning you had, hands twisting to clutch the furs beneath you even as his grip kept you pinned. His free hand slipped down to draw the most agonising pleasure as his fingers added to the maddening stimulation outside your body, all the while the throbbing within reached the natural conclusion.  

Nothing could have prepared you for it. The rush of heat, pulsing, gushing, somehow even stronger than when he had covered your body earlier. Your own climax was drawn out both by his dexterous touch and merciless pace. The scream that left your lungs felt as if it would echo through all 9 hells and beyond, waking sleeping gods and horrors from the depths of the darkest corners of the universe as your body was completely overtaken by shivering and shuddering waves of pleasure. 

“Good, Rabbit, let them all hear you.” He growled closer to your ear, an edge of possessiveness in his tone. One that you might have noticed, had your consciousness not been entirely swamped by the convulsions of every muscle and nerve, electric with ecstasy. 

He slowed as the waves of the aftershock continued to pulse, the overstimulation keeping the edge of bliss sharp in your mind until you finally began to calm.. 

Four taps. He stilled. Your hands were released from his grip and he carefully moved to the side of you again. 

You lay back with your eyes closed for a moment, not drifting, but allowing yourself to just indulge. Basking in the blissful feeling of being completely and utterly overtaken by the very object of your desire. And what’s more, still breathing at the end of it. 

You almost jumped at the feeling of a large finger tentatively stroking your forehead. “Ah, good. You are conscious.” His hand remained, soothing in an unexpected gesture. “How long will your potion last, Little Rabbit?” 

“Until I sleep for the night.” You replied quietly, almost willing to curl in against him and let your dreams carry you off already.

“Then stay awake.” He tapped the top of your head lightly. 

“I thought I was supposed to be giving you orders?” Your hand gestured to roughly where you assumed the contract would be. “Time hasn’t passed yet.” 

“You are. You told me quite clearly to take what I want, Little Rabbit, or have all thoughts left that pretty head of yours already?” He resumed the tender stroking, his other hand soothing your back as his arm curled over you. 

You groaned. It was…enticing, certainly, but… “I think we might have found the limit of my courage. At least for an hour.” 

“Then a shorter rest.” He pulled you in against the warmth of his body, breathing in the scent of you as he rested his large chin on top of your head. “One hour, Little Rabbit. Unless you want to change your order?” 

You moaned softly against his large chest, nuzzling your face into his heated skin. “No. Not yet…” 

“Good.” He soothed, the hint of a purr rumbling against your curled up form. “I would like to hear what other noises you might make, as I mark you as my own.” 

Mark? You wondered silently, already feeling the edge of sleep tugging away the thoughts, senses surrounded by his odour. Little did you realise that the choice of words you had used formed their own verbal contract. He was no devil trying to trick you - the command was simply one he understood in his own way. For better or worse, what Yurgir had decided he wanted was a little rabbit with courage enough to face him as you had, a body that could withstand his ferocious appetite, and a mind sharp enough to ensure that that same body wouldn’t break. How he interpreted take was also very simple. Where you had meant “use for your pleasure, in this moment” he had heard “stake a claim, make this one your own.” 

The nap in his arms was warm and pleasant, soft dreams running through your head until you were woken by the light tapping of his fingers on your hip. 

“Awake, Little Rabbit? Then let us continue.” 

—

It was a strange sight for the townsfolk in the Lower City of Baldur’s gate. An Orthon strode out in broad daylight carrying a bundled up mortal wrapped in rough furs towards the tavern. You ignored the stares, the muttering, and remained curled up in his arms. You could probably have walked by now, but that would have denied you the feeling of being completely and utterly safe in the grip of a fiend who could have - arguably even should have - snapped you in two for having the audacity to control him. 

But he was satisfied, as were you. He deposited you carefully into your bed at the inn, ducking low to avoid scraping his horns along the ceiling. 

“Until next time, Little Rabbit.” Yurgir pulled the sheet over you, turning to leave.

“Next time?” You repeated his words quietly, trying to seek the meaning.

He laughed quietly, pausing before he opened the door to leave. “Battle, or otherwise, you know where I reside. Call on me, and I will be there.” 

The stunned faces of your companions didn’t even register as you smiled to yourself, exhausted body finally drifting back to sleep. Next time. It sounded like a dream, as far off and impossible as, for example, winning a contract to control an Orthon. 

--- ---

ENDING NOTES

Still awake, Little Rabbit? I'm impressed~ Thank you for joining me on this little foray into the limits of size difference - or at least as far as I can go with it right now. It was very fun to indulge in this one, and I would love to know if you enjoyed it~ With special thanks to my Beta Reader who endured the whole way through, barely clinging to their soul trying to escape their body, and giving the fic the subtitle "smash" because that became the most used comment on their favourite lines~

[visenyaism]

seven years ago in the name of tolerating free speech from all political perspectives my nasty ass evil university let an army of tiki torch wielding nazis shouting jews will not replace us march through grounds threatening the lives of students and community members with zero police presence. and today they retroactively changed campus policy around tents so they could send in the cops to bust up the gaza memorial vigil. genuinely fucking stomach turning

[joifee]

Hi Bdubs 🐴

godfather vibes

[spacecolonie]

i saw you in a dream

[paintedcrows]

Gravity Text Post (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

when the first thing your long lost husband does with his son is brutally murder over 100 people

it’s gonna take a while to clean up

[dieserr]

if I try working on this anymore I’ll explode probably just take it

[north-noire]

I know exactly who you are, William.

[ophanim-vesper]

A short-ish fancomic poem thing about my hc for Zelda

(best read from left to right)

[tavyliasin]

Above Him, Down Below (Smash) - Ch3/4: The Orthon, Unleashed

The third part of Yurgir x Reader! Part 1 Click Here Part 2 Click Here

Yurgir x Gender Neutral Reader One Shot Chapter 3 of 4 // 1,519 words

Full AO3 Fic Here

Pairing: Yurgir/Gender Neutral Reader SPICE Rating: 5/5 Content Warnings: Being used as a fleshlight, size difference, power play, mild predator/prey, scent kink

Spoilers Vaguely House of Hope, this is mostly porn without plot. Canon Compliance Do you want canon? Oh dear. This. This is just indulgence~ Other Notes I honestly don't know how else to CW describe this other than "becoming a fleshlight". You knew what you were doing when you got this far, though, let's not pretend you didn't.

Smut below the cut! ----- -----

The knot on the hide strip had tightened since you tied it, but you were able to work it loose swiftly enough before your legs gave out beneath you, your body slumping down and leaning back on his hip as you fought to regain your composure. A wet sound snapped your attention to the source of it, the Orthon grinning as he lapped his hand clean of everything you had left upon it.

“And you called me greedy?” You watched him with some fascination as he indulged his own hunger again, giving little care to the bitterness of the oil. The finger that had been exquisitely torturing every nerve in your overstretched body just moments ago lingered in his mouth as he sucked the taste from it like the finest delicacy. It was, without a doubt, utterly indecent, and you could not tear your eyes away for a single second.

After a nod and a gesture from you, the Orthon freed his other hand by himself. With a little leverage and a sharp tug, even the thick hide snapped like cheap cotton in his hand.  “Are you done, Little Rabbit?” 

“No.” You shook your head. Weak as you felt from the second climax, even with the burn of your muscles screaming for mercy, you refused to give in so soon. You looked over your shoulder, over the ridge of his hip, where his loincloth had long since fallen to the side to reveal the most intimidating ridges of his body. 

Hardened, twitching, somehow a deeper red hue than his already crimson flesh, and glistening with barely contained arousal pearling at the tip. 

“You’re not satisfied, are you?” The urge to hoist yourself up, lay across his stomach, and attempt to unhinge your jaw to try and taste him was strong…but this time it couldn’t quite compete with the exhaustion seeping into your bones. But you didn’t need strength… “Do you have more oil?”

“Rabbit, I see what you are looking at, this carrot is not for one your size.” His voice carried a note of concern blended with disappointment. An unusual thought, but you considered there might potentially be unpleasant consequences for an Orthon to kill their superior, even if it wasn’t intentional. 

“Alright,” you conceded, “I’m not quite fool enough to think I can take that as I am…” You did a few quick sums in your head, estimating sizes and relative proportions. “Use the rest of my body instead. My whole body.” 

“Explain.” Yurgir reached for another bottle of oil even as he asked, showing some trust in your judgement.

You crawled across the makeshift bed, the furs beneath you shifting under your hands and knees until you were close enough to whisper your idea into his ear. You didn’t need to, of course, you could’ve stayed where you were and your words would’ve easily reached him. But then, you wouldn’t have been able to feel his breath wash over you in a hot wave, to reach out and hold his horns as you leaned close, to smell the scent of your own lust lingering on his lips. 

An Orthon like him was hardly built for romance and flowers, but that was never what you came here for. The passionate kiss of a lover was never on the menu, instead you happily laid your body into his arm and savoured the feeling of the oil coating your legs and torso. This was better than roses and sweet nothings whispered under the moonlight. Giving your body over to be used until you recovered your energy.

His grip was careful at first, taking a moment to massage the oil into your skin before laying you down on your back. He took hold of your legs, bringing them together and lifting them as he shifted to kneel below you. It was easy enough for him to hold your ankles in one hand, sliding the other beneath your hips to angle your body. 

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, feeling just the tip of him pressing against your thighs testing, teasing-

He was right, as were the calculations you’d made when you considered it. There was no way in all 9 hells that he would be able to fit inside - this was thicker than the finger that you’d used to pleasure yourself, and the ridges along his length alone were dangerous. But it still felt satisfying to hear the low grunt as he began to slowly thrust between your legs, pushing through almost all the way to your face. 

You could feel the pulse throbbing through visible veins as each motion had him grinding against your chest, some sensation still in your own over-stimulated nerves subconsciously driving your hips to seek a little more pressure from him dragging over you. It was worth savouring, his heat, the smell of him so close, drenched in the bitter oil, the slick of his own dripping arousal beginning to mark you with his scent- 

As soon as your arms had the strength, you put them to use. The excess oil easily coated your hands down to your elbows, your fingers finding paths to the most sensitive areas as you listened to the grunting moans from above you. It was almost as if your whole body sought to embrace him, to grip tighter and give him more friction and feeling, hungry to know what it would feel like for more than a few drops of hot lust to cover your body.

“What happened to your commands, Little Rabbit?” Yurgir grinned, slowing his pace to lean forwards and gaze down at your small body, dripping with sweat and oil beneath him. “The chattering creature has become a quiet Little Bunny.” 

The last words were halfway between a laugh and a growl, his teeth looking ever more predatory as he began to change his pace, thrusting more roughly against your body, his grip keeping your legs tight together. “You’re following them,” You gasped out with ragged breath, succumbing to the deeply erotic feeling of being a mere plaything for him. “Following them perfectly.” 

“Foolish creature.” He spoke down to you again, no longer as if he were talking to a superior. “You could have commanded me at the head of an army.” His pace increased, eyes lighting up with bloodlust that fueled his arousal. “You could’ve slain every foe who ever dared cross your path in one bloody rampage.” 

The look on his face was possibly the most erotic sight you could imagine. Teeth bared, eyes blazing, lips curled into the grin of a warrior bathing in the blood of his enemies. 

“You would have had power, victory, and you choose,” he thrust more forcefully with every word as you felt him pulsing and growing beneath your hands and between your legs. “You choose to lay beneath me.” 

His words fell away to guttural grunts and low moans as the pressure was clearly building. Although you were far from reaching any peak of your own, it was still satisfying to feel the friction of him against your body, and deeply arousing to know he was enjoying every moment of taking you as his own. 

His head fell back with a primal roar as he reached his climax. The heat was almost smothering as he thrust and pulsed, coating your body with a release that didn’t seem to want to stop. Truth be told, you had known fountains to spill less than this, but that wasn’t a complaint. What should’ve been degrading to many was a prize you had won from him, savouring the drop that landed on your lips. 

By the time he stopped, breathing heavily, slowly letting your legs down to lay flat below you, you were absolutely covered. 

Yurgir’s eyebrows raised in amusement. “Little Rabbit, you are going to smell like that for weeks.” 

“I certainly hope so.” You grinned, taking the huge scrap of cloth he handed you to try in vain to wipe at least some of the mess from your body. Though perhaps a mop would’ve been the better choice? You weren’t quite sure, nor were you in a hurry to rid yourself of the warm slick evidence of his satisfaction that was soaking into your skin. “Now…when you took off my clothes, you didn’t break anything in the pockets, did you?”

“I don’t think so.” He considered the question, looking at the shredded rags of what had been your outfit. “But you should have warned me, Rabbit, if you had wanted me to be careful.”

You shrugged with a lopsided smile. “I wasn’t certain that I’d want them, but there were a couple of potions in there… That is, if you’re not too tired to continue?” 

The Orthon laughed again, a deep and growling noise that echoed from the stone walls. “Small pitiful thing, I am no mortal. I can go without sleep for a week, live off the clamour of battle alone for as long as it takes.” He leaned over you, bringing his face achingly close to your own. “Once is not nearly enough to finish me.” 

--- --- END NOTES Almost there... Do you want to go one? Or do you surrender?

Chapter 4 - Size Matters

[bunnis-monsters]

Late nights thoughts

Shy puppy hybrid that can’t help but hump your pillow and favorite stuffed animals when you’re gone. You’re so mean, leaving your needy pup all alone when he’s in rut.

Usually he’s a shy little thing, hiding behind you and yipping nervously when someone gets too close to you… but when you get home today, he’s on top of you instantly, using his taller stature and inhuman strength to keep you pinned to the floor as his fat red cock rubs against your hole.

“Left me all alone… missed you… w-wanna make puppies, wanna!”

He blubbered out apologies and needy whined as he fucked into you, melting into a puddle when he finally got to knot you and claim you as his mate.

Maybe your puppy wasn’t as shy as you thought… at least… not when he really wanted something.

[bubblingsteam]

Disco dump

[iizuumi]

whoever decided to give astarion a gun ily

[stil-lindigo]

the calamity.

a comic about being seen.

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[lazylittledragon]

mombin pt 6 and look who showed up

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