Wish yyou could have partaken in I and ours' little day on the town! We had the most weird ass brunch in some hippie bistro, bought some clothes and then some Mangas :3
Loverboy Werewolf who was never really interested in humans before. Always setting his sights on the other female wolves in the pack. But that was before he happened across you, a perfect and plump thing lying so prettily in the meadow on his pack’s grounds.
Loverboy Werewolf who introduces himself to you by chasing a nearby deer into the meadow and promptly “saving” you from getting trampled. As if the deer were more dangerous than him.
Loverboy Werewolf who’s usually so good at talking to women, his tongue silver and his wit quick. But in the face of you he was nothing but a bumbling baboon who could barely utter a word. Luckily it was something you found charming in its own unique way. A soft blush on your cheeks that he couldn’t help but mirror.
Loverboy Werewolf who goes to the meadow daily, sometimes multiple times a day, in order to get just a chance at seeing you. Usually you’re there and on the rare occasion you’re not he always feels his heart drop into his stomach. If he could he would spend all waking and sleeping hours with you.
Loverboy Werewolf who will roll around in the flowers with you, talking and laughing your hearts out. He’ll watch as the sunlight casts a glowing warmth across your face. Like it too is drawn to your beauty and craves you as much as he does. All of nature is made more beautiful by you.
Loverboy Werewolf who proves it as he plucks flowers from the meadow and spends days trying to learn how to make flower crowns from a kind older woman in the pack. When he finally gets it down the first thing he does is make one for you, placing it gently on your head. The sight takes his breath away and from that day onward he makes a new one for you to wear.
Loverboy Werewolf who is no doubt in love with you. And he hopes you love him too. He thinks you do. At least the flowers he plucks the petals off of say so. If the way you act around him says anything then you definitely do. Especially when you egg him on to make chase.
Loverboy Werewolf who plays along with your games as he chases you around the meadow. But it never lasts long before he’s tackling you into the grass, protecting your head and rolling over till you lay on top of him.
Loverboy Werewolf who always sucks in a breath as you wiggle on top of him, your body rolling and grinding in a way that can’t be on accident. His heated eyes bore into your own, his claws finding their way into your plush waist and guiding your movements. Rocking you back and forth against his growing erection.
Loverboy Werewolf who tries so hard to stay calm but quickly ends up losing himself. Picking up pace and grinding you hard against his bulge. Rolling your hips up so it hits your sensitive clit every single time. He loses further control as your mewl sounds so much like a wolf’s howl. It sends him nearly feral for you every time.
Loverboy Werewolf tries to save your clothes as he undresses you. But his patience wears too thin too fast and your clothes end up a shredded mess no matter what you two do.
Loverboy Werewolf who’s so impatient to get you on his cock yet the second he bottoms out inside of you he keeps you still. Content just to feel your tight heat wrapped around his twitching girth. No matter how much you squirm or beg he never starts his thrusts until he’s ready. Feeling you and soaking in the sensation. Basking in the warmth of your embrace. He relishes it and wouldn’t rush a second of it.
Loverboy Werewolf who fucks you like an absolute beast when he finally is ready. Crushing the flowers beneath you as he ruts into like the wild animal that he is. The force of his thrusts sending your body flying upward before he slams you back down his length. The leaking angry tip of his cock making out with your cervix and smashing against every sensitive spot along your walls.
Loverboy Werewolf who hooks his arms beneath your legs, nearly bending you in half in order to get as close to you as possible. Finding new ways to jackhammer his dick into your silken walls in order to mold them to the shape of his shaft and get as deep within you as possible.
Loverboy Werewolf whose pace is utterly relentless. Fucking into you with only one goal in mind. Your pleasure. And when you’re crying and babbling through broken words, begging for his knot, he gives it to you. Of course, he’d give you anything you desire. He watches in awe as his knot swells up and the second he snaps his hips, popping the last of his knot into your already overstuffed cunt, you immediately cum. Your release triggering his own right after you, his knot locking you two together.
Loverboy Werewolf who inhales deeply, welcoming the perfect mixture of your flowery scent combined with his that wafts from your very pores. He can’t get enough of it even as he nuzzles into your throat, nipping at the sensitive flesh and inhaling deep. Your responding giggles send his heart fluttering. Gosh, how he wants to cherish you always.
Loverboy Werewolf who suddenly has the deep urge to sink his fangs into the flesh of your throat. To mark you as his and make you his mate. Whether you were a werewolf, a human, or even a damn vampire, he didn’t care.
Loverboy Werewolf who somehow resists the urge, not wanting to do anything rash without having talked to you. To get your unwavering consent. To have you beg to make you his as much as he yearns to beg to be yours. If he spends any longer consumed by your scent he may not last much longer. So he leans back, looking down at you as if you hung the moon and the stars.
Loverboy Werewolf who doesn’t say a thing, letting his eyes speak of the depth of his feelings as he plucks a nearby flower from the ground. One that made it intact after your sweaty activities. Gently he tucks it behind your ear, mesmerized by the sight of you once again.
Loverboy Werewolf who is so enchanted he doesn’t even notice it was the same type of flower he always picked to test if you were in love with him. The same flower that said yes every time.
I know it's a joke or something but me healthy is a little bit insane, whereas me depressed af is like, just a zombie that's kinda there.
Me healthy is catty and a little bit mean and mischievous and a tiny bit feral, with a lot of confidence that can feel like it's unearned, whearas me depressed is demure and discrete and apologetic.
A friend of mine recently said "I'm glad you're back, Levi" when I started being catty again lol
Something about knowing this being could destroy you and trusting them not to and in turn the monster is letting you see this part of them and trusting you not to be afraid or disgusted etc etc
I just got done writing 3k+ words of dommy mommy buzzard hybrid milf for the guy who was sad there wasn't more femdom X male reader monster smut around here and I CAN'T FIND HIS POST AGAIN???
So now I have this fucken whole ass book chapter and I can't even ping out the one person I wrote it for 😭😭😭
Anyways, I'm gonna like, cry a little and then do the editing passes and then post it on here I guess 😔
Love you babies still, but if you're a guy and want a lil bit funny lil bit scary very very hot smut with a wild/feral femdom buzzard hybrid, I got one coming 😊🖤
I need to get working on a pinned post with my master list, my to-dos and an invitation to get some asks and stuff! A few people are following this blog but I want to hear about you guys!!
Buzzard hybrid uses you to deal with her heat (Fem Monster X Masc Reader)
Synopsis: After a few months of her migrating near your house, you've become pretty accainted to a wild, feral buzzard hybrid. Despite warnings, you keep your routine into the breeding season, and she gets a hold of you.
CW: Light dubcon (no common language), scratching lover, slight horror, gore (mentioned in passing).
Reader: Reader's genitals are masc, reader is supposed to be read as masc, but their gender doesn't really come up that much?
Special Word: I started this for a specific guy who complained about the dire lack of femdom monster X Male reader content on the site. Lost his username so oops haha
Anyways, it wasn't what I envisioned from the start at all, I wanted a tyranical ice dragoness but that one turned a little huh...rapey. So Instead take this one.
Also it ballooned to 3k+ words. Oops!
You had been seeing that buzzard hybrid on your way to work for a few months now. She was clearly wild: completely unclothed, her back covered in dark brown feathers. Light cream feathers adorned her throat, breast and belly. Her face was the only naked part of her body, revealing pale skin and large eyes with black scleras and irises that looked like rings of bronze and copper around pinprick pupils. You could call her pretty, even if she had quite a few scars up there.
All throughout the end of summer and the start of fall, you would see her every morning perched on the telephone poles or hanging from their side with her claws, or even soaring up high above the fields. She was massive, an easy 7ft tall, at first terrifying and then slowly becoming more familiar. She seemed to pay you little attention, her gaze focusing on you only in passing as you drove past her hunting post. You'd say "Hi ma'am" all alone at the drive wheel, and you'd be happy if she even gave you a glance.
When the months grew colder, she'd start hunting for larger prey, bulking up for the coming of winter. One night, you were driven back to your house lost in the countryside when the headlights of your cranky old car caught her silhouette between the streaks of sleet. She had been holding an entire dead deer with its throat ripped out and its guts hanging down, while your "neighbors" pale face was stained red and her chest black with caked blood.
By the time the new year came, she had become an entire cryptid. A group of teens had reported being attacked by her in November, as, in the dead of night, they trespassed the woods near where you lived. You watched them on television describe her as a demon or a ghost or some kind of mothman. You knew it was her, though. A few others followed their steps, wanting to see the "monster", and one got an eye almost plucked out.
Representatives of the Bureau of Hybrid Ecology and Control knocked on your door shortly after to warn you about her. They knew her as a class-two aggressive hybrid: capable of harming humans and willing to do so if aggravated. "She's on the verge of class-one," they told you, "But she's one of the only five females in the state, so unless we confirm a first class threat or that she isn't too old to breed we aren't allowed to do anything."
According to them she moved from further west, where she gained her class-two status a good sixteen years ago. It happened after she ripped a lumberjacks' entire arm off. She had also amassed quite a bit of notoriety from a history of sweeping on any poor fool who threaded near her nest. For six months they thought she had died, but it turned out she just migrated. You were the only one here during her hunting hours, so you were the only one to see her until November, and you'd never thought of reporting the arrival of a new hybrid. After all, she'd never attacked you, right?
"Your commute crosses right through the middle of her hunting grounds, and your home is within 500 yards of her nest," the Representatives told you, "With the breeding season coming, you need to be extremely careful. You don't want a hormonal buzzard hybrid deciding you're threading on her courtship, or worse- that you're receptive to it."
You laughed at that idea, what was she going to do? Swoop down onto the hood of your car and rip off its roof? Again, she'd never attacked you, barely even gave you any attention despite the fact you basically shared a commute. Sure, you might feel a little boastful that apparently you were ever possibly to the tastes of such an impressive woman, but that would never happen. Right?
Hindsight is always 20/20 and you feel kind of stupid now, with this huge feathered woman hunched over you, the hood of your car buckled under her weight and its roof crumpled in her talons. The breaths coming out the slits of her nostrils turn to mist in the cold night. She's pinning you with the exact same eyes you saw her use to pin rabbits and hares and deer and boar. How heavy is a boar, again? You're pretty sure some are heavier than you, right?
"H-hi," you sheepishly greet her.
You've never seen her this up-close. She looks even larger, her chest made huge by a powerful keel, generous breasts and a thick coat of feathers. Her arms are thicker than your thigh and her thighs thicker than your waist. She throws the bent steel aside like it's paper and extends a taloned foot to the backrest of your seat. Her movements are slow and lazy, but you feel every ounce of formidable power behind them as the aluminum frame whines over your shoulder.
In the cold February night, you can feel the warmth of powerful flight muscles roll off her body as she further invades your personal space. Soon, there's only mere inches between your faces, her hypnotic eyes pinned down onto yours, wide opened in an expression you can only read as general excitement. Her mouth opens slightly to reveal sharp, curved and black fangs, like two dozen beaks ready to tear your face to shred. You're not sure whether that's a threat display, a sign of intense focus or even a hint of arousal.
A call rises from the base of her throat and she lets out a soft, raspy, high-pitched whine, one that sounds almost like a hungry cat's meow. It's not quite like the ones you've heard her make in the distance, at the birds that dared enter her territory: it tones down and feathers out at the end. It sounds almost begging, like a question or a whisper. Can she even make out words?
"I guess huh we never-" She moves her body closer, placing her other leg on the handbrake. The lever complains under her weight. "Oh! H-hey, let's not- Let's calm down!"
This time, the call comes out clear and loud. It sounds almost like "Shut up", or at least some kind of angry. Can she even be angry? The blood rushes from your face as she tips her head one side and then the other, keeping her eyes perfectly pinned on each of yours. You've seen her do that right before striking, assessing her prey in perfect detail.
You move your hand to try and push her away but hers is faster and grabs your wrist. Her grip is like a vice and you know exactly how lucky you are that she did not push her talons right into your flesh. She calls again, loud and raspy, but finally her gaze falls from your eyes. Instead, it glides down to your throat, your chest and your waist. You see a glint of humanity in the frustrated flutter of her eyelashes, but you don't know what is triggering it.
Her other hand slowly edges closer to your shirt, softly clawing at the fabric in a gesture that looks more exploratory and confused than aggressive or predatory. The blood comes back to your cheeks when her fingers make their way under the hem of your clothing and grab your flank. Her palm is rough with scales and a little cold.
"Oh-hey, ma'am-" You shudder as her touch glides up to your ribs.
Her gaze flickers across your clothing and you can see her strange, hybrid mind try to make sense of it. A soft, muffled call of frustration rises from her throat as she tugs at it. Your hand starts to ache in her grip and you wince a little. She looks up to your face, and then your fingers as you try to move them to keep the blood flowing. You see another bit of focus as she opens her fingers, and remember that raptor talons lock down. Letting go of you is a choice, which feels at least a little encouraging.
"Thank you," you breathe out, massaging the bruised articulation.
You share another intense gaze and finally understand that she is trying to mate with you. Your face flushes red as you clear your throat and your eyes flee back down her body and the hand firmly gripped around your shirt. You have to admit, you did think about it a few times, the moments were you were alone. Her face is pretty, and her massive frame has something alluring to you. Even her claws and the way she uses them on her prey elicits something inside of you.
You gently tug back at your shirt until she lets it go, and then do your best to take it off, having to move in the cramped space left between your car seat and her body. Your skin bumps at the cold air, and soon your hair rises as both her hands brush across your chest and your stomach.It's like having ten knives caress across your skin. That they don't bite into it is only by sheer gentleness. You don't really know what to do yourself, so you just reach for her waist.
The first layer of feathers is hard and rigid, but the ones underneath are maybe some of the softest thing you've ever put your hands on, and much warmer. While her face doesn't react to your fingers spearing through her coat -eyes still intensely focused on your skin- the feathers do, rising under and around your touch, and you swear you can hear a shudder coming from her throat. Her mass finally lowers and she comes to sit on your lap.
"Hey, this is really nice but-" her gaze pinning back to your eyes make you halt for a second. It's always so intense and inhuman. As much cutely naive and terrifying in how untainted they are by malice - or anything else. You decide to keep going anyways. "But you know, huh…it's not the most comfortable place to do that…and you kind of busted my windows…I'd prefer you don't cut yourself, right?" You punctuate the sentence with an awkward chuckle. Her gaze doesn't budge.
Instead, you start reaching out to the door handle. She call at you once again, this time certainly aggressive, with feathers erected and fangs barred. This is definitely a threat display. A taloned hand comes to push on your throat and she shifts her weigh further towards and above you. As you're bracing to get cut and bit, the ratchet adjuster of your seat finally gives and you end up totally laying down on your back.
The hybrid looming over you keeps you completely stuck to the cracked faux-leather: her hips forbid yours from moving, and her hand around your throat doesn't even give you the ability to lift your chest. With a few warm puffs from her nostrils and agape mouth, her aggravation shifts back to arousal as she lowers her focus back down to your chest, and then lowers it again to your hips.
"I-I get it-" The words are difficult to make out with her fingers around your throat. "Let's stay here, it's nice too…" She is completely ignoring you.
Instead, tongue out in profound focus, she starts humping your bodies together in slow, deliberate and powerful movements. You feel the vice of her grip loosen around your neck, her thumb instead brushing along your jaw. Her breath quickly becomes ragged with what you can only guess to be exertion and need, but then another frustrated, whiny call rises from her syrinx as she fingers at your pants. She seems confused by your clothing once again. You're rock hard and feel quite tight in your boxer, and nothing she is doing helps it.
"Hum-…give me a second," you whisper as you start working on your belt and then your pants themselves. As you try to tug them lower along your thighs, she lifts her body up from yours. Strands of wet are drawn between the cotton fabric and her pussy, revealed bare between the parted feathers.
Finally, your cock is free and her body comes back. She is warm and wet, and you can feel the throb of powerful muscles against the underside of your length as she rocks back and forth over it. Her gaze is completely focused on your bodies grinding together, her hands thankfully pushing against your seat rather than resting her weight on your chest. You dare touch her again, hands brushing up her thighs and resting around her waist, eliciting the same reaction as before. You realize that, even with your mightiest effort, you could never stop her movement, barely even slow it. You don't dare try that.
Under the soft, warm bulk of her feathers, her body is toned to mighty, powerful muscles. You can almost picture the bare skin of her belly snaking back and forth in alluring tides. By the time you're lost deep enough in thoughts and pleasure to let your thumb brush there, her talons turn your face to the side, pushing your cheek into the headrest. You look back up to her face and find her gazing back at you, panting heavily. She lifts her hips off your body again, this time pulling and entire lacework of strands between your skin and her feathers. Before she can even move a dangerously taloned hand to align you with her, you oblige and do so yourself. A soft, low call hums through her chest. It feels like praise.
"Okay…" you breathe out, "Let's take it slow, right, ma'am?" Her face tilts again, and her mouth closes. Luckily, she has the same idea as you.
Her body lowers slowly again, talons drawing shallow scratches down your cheek, neck, clavicle. Her warmth, so formidable and comforting in the cold late February night, descends onto you lazily, inch by inch. Her wide-eyed gaze flutters, lids batting and almost closing as she does her best to keep eye contact. You have to do the same. Tight wouldn't exactly be the word, rather you can feel incredibly powerful muscles squeeze around you in the most delectable invite.
As your bodies come to sit flush into another, the fogs of your sighs mix and braid in the night air. Then, she lowers the rest of her mass onto you, pushing the feathers of her stomach and chest onto your achingly cold skin. It's a welcomed warmth and a surprising amount of intimacy, one that you certainly couldn't have been expecting. The hand that hasn't been furrowing your shoulder squeezes its way down your back and wordlessly demands your hips up. You oblige, not wanting her to claw out your spine.
You can't do anything but nuzzle your head against her breast, and the musky, dusty smell of her feathers completely drowns out your scent. It's like pushing your head into the warm belly of a long-haired cat, and just as soft. And it's enough to drown out your whimper as she finally starts to move.
"F-fuck…" you sigh, toes curling in your shoes, your knee hitting the driving wheel as her powerful body milks you from base to tip with slow, decided motions.
Your hands wander up her spine, trying to grasp a handful of feathers, as if this could anchor you in the face of her attentive treatment. Again, you feel her react under your fingers, but this time as you brush against a spot in the middle of her back, you also feel it around your cock. She tightens for a second, then releases, and yet in spite of that her pace keeps the same: leisurely, so utterly delectable and yet so cruelly sluggish you want to beg her to stop or go faster.
You don't know whether she doesn't want to hurt you, prefers it that way or is just taking her time, but she keeps this slow, intimate pace until your thoughts start to waver. You can hear her pant above you, and your skin is glistening with sweat. How can you manage to be overheating in late winter?
She keeps rocking her hips in the same slow, drawn out way until you're fighting for your life, whimpering and pulling at her feathers. You've never felt yourself closing the edge so slowly. She pulls you closer and closer and closer and you're not sure there even is a limit to how close she will get you with such a rhythm.
You ignore the tinge of her talons digging in your back, and rock your hips back into her. It's a desperate attempt to get more friction, a little faster pace, anything so you don't lose your mind. With another angry call, and without ever stopping her up-and-down motion, she sits back up. The hand in your back scratches its way to your flank, claws closing around your waist to pin you down.
"P-please- I want to cum so bad," you beg, but she leaves you to whimper in the freezing air, your sweat turning to fog.
She pushes your cheek back into the headrest and yet you can feel her squeeze harder around you, and you can see her knees tremble. In this position, you hit deeper into her, and she grips down tighter on the head of your cock. As her panting runs more desperate and her proud, straight back hunches over you, you realize she's coming close, too.
Her gaze wavers from yours, eyes finally struggling to keep their intense focus, and finally you reach nirvana together. You shoot warm ropes of cum inside of her as she keeps milking you as best as her own orgasm lets her. When finally her legs give out and she can't move anymore, she grinds the two of you through the rest of it, closing once again the distance between your skin and her feathers.
You stay joined and embraced there for a while, even after you've grown soft. Your breath comes back to you even through her coat and even under her weight. "Holy shit," you mutter, and you feel a soft trill vibrate through her chest. She then sits up again and lifts herself off your body again. Copious amounts of both your cum and hers leaks from her and down onto your lap as shaking legs take her over your dashboard and to the cratered hood of your car. She crouches for a moment, eyes glowing in the faint starlight as she looks back at you. Then, she turns away.
"Are you just gonna leave?" you ask between two hard swallows. You manage a chuckle, but you admit the sudden distance hurts.
She gives you a short glance, and then takes off, leaving you spent, head still spinning a little, and alone.
You hear a firm knock on your door, ripping you away from the memories of last night. Putting down your just-drawn cup of coffee, you make your way to the door. The uninvited guest turns out to be one of the BHEC Representative, part of the team who warned you in the first place, and then tapped off the entire woods right next to your house. He has a clipboard in his hand and has his back turned to you, looking at the wreck of your car. You were lucky it could even last up to halfway into your driveway.
"Hi?" you ask, opening your door.
"Hi," he says, paying you no mind as he takes notes, "I see you had an unfortunate encounter, recently."
"Huh…I mean…"
"We wanted to tell you that we're reaching the end of February and the specimen living next to your house hasn't made any sign of looking for a mate," his voice has a bored drawl as he keeps his back turned to you and writes a description of your poor vehicle, "We have concluded she isn't of breeding age anymore and therefore will attempt to capture her and bring her to a reserve."
"Huh…about that 'not of breeding age' thing…" He finally looks up at you, your disheveled hair and the feathers stuck in it, and the furrows down the side of your neck. His face turns a few shades paler as he sees the sorry state you're in. "I think you need to update your report…"
I just got done writing 3k+ words of dommy mommy buzzard hybrid milf for the guy who was sad there wasn't more femdom X male reader monster smut around here and I CAN'T FIND HIS POST AGAIN???
So now I have this fucken whole ass book chapter and I can't even ping out the one person I wrote it for 😭😭😭
Anyways, I'm gonna like, cry a little and then do the editing passes and then post it on here I guess 😔
Love you babies still, but if you're a guy and want a lil bit funny lil bit scary very very hot smut with a wild/feral femdom buzzard hybrid, I got one coming 😊🖤
Also guys, give my friend here lots of love, go and make her posts explode. Commission her so much she gets super rich and can buy me the ahegao wrapped hellcat I deserve.
It's funny how the same people who complain about not finding enough fanfiction content are the ones publicly ranting about authors and mocking their kinks or their way of writing.
You wanna know why there's not enough content? Because creators are terrified of putting their free labor out there, only to have people like you critiquing their - entirely free and optional, mind you! - pieces when you could be scrolling instead.
"When the author writes y/n as-" grab a pen and do it yourself.
"It's just my opinion because I find it weird-" then think it, don't post it. Why are you so possessed by the need to publicly insult someone doing hobby work?
I swear, I just stumbled upon a post that had tens of thousands of reblogs and hundreds of comments where everyone just kept piling on fanfic writers. Whether it's a trope, or the use of some words, it doesn't matter: y'all really out there dining for free and then spitting in the chef's face.
If you can vent in several paragraphs, you can also just scroll and mind your business. I can't believe it has to be said that you're an asshole if you nitpick someone's literal fun.
People who moralize the absence of some content within the fanfic and X Reader space (such as the fact most X Readers are wrote for cis white women, or are cozy coffee AUs etc) but then do not go the mile and make the content that they want to see kind of piss me off for similar reasons.
Like it's not that hard, fucking pick up the pen, motherfucker.
I've even seen some people excuse the usage of AI like c.ai for some of the afforementioned reasons. Bitch just use your brain and make art, this is literally what makes us fucking human.
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