This is my writing masterlist, if you're looking for my fic art, you can find it here: ★ Art Masterlist ★
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Series: Bargaining with Beskar
(The Mandalorian x f!reader) [+18]
You’re an ex-bounty hunter just trying to escape the Guild’s radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite? [Ao3]
-> Consolidated Masterlist of fic and art
{Book One}
Bargaining with Beskar
Silver and Steel
Krayt’s Teeth
Valkyrie
Devil’s Advocate
Oathsworn
{Book Two}
The Most Dangerous Game
Ghosts of the River Styx
Garden of Ishtar
Bilgerat
Star-crossed
The Roar of Thunder
Series: Flowers for Ishtar:
(Nonhuman!Mando x F!reader) [+18]
You discover your hunting partner isn't human, which in a galaxy far, far away isn't that strange until his alien needs become too much for him to hide. [Ao3]
Blue Orchid
Pink Dahlia
Red Rose
Oneshots:
Crown of Silver, Heart of Gold [gn!reader, fluff]
Moonflower, A Flowers for Ishtar ficlet [fluff]
Oneshots:
All That Glitters (Nymph!F!Reader)[+18]
You're a captured Nymph that finds herself being rescued from the clutches of an evil sorcerer by a handsome stranger. After he generously grants you your freedom, a chance encounter has you returning the favor and landing you in his arms. [Ao3]
Unbridled (Centaur! Pero Tovar x F!Reader)[+18]
The woods have always been full of myths, but you never expected one to just show up at your doorstep. You promise them a night in your barn, but one of them takes your generosity as an invitation for more. [Ao3]
Things That Go Bump In The Night Pero Tovar x F!Werewolf!Reader
Only a fool would wander into your domain, but that's precisely what Pero has done, hunting for the fabled werewolf that lurks between the trees. Will the thrill of the hunt be enough to claim such an elusive bounty, or will another primal urge drive him more wild? [Ao3]
Icing on the Cake Pero Tovar x Plus size!f!Reader
A love of food has put you in a prestigious position as the head chef at the Wall, but the evidence of that love shows in more ways than one, and catches the eye of one very hungry stranger. [Ao3]
Series: Firestrike
(Mercenary!F!Reader) Enemies to Lovers/Soulmates (ongoing)
Pero, separated from his brother, seeks to continue his life of coin and crime, but finds out quickly that he's not meant to be alone in the world, whether he likes it or not. [Ao3]
Firestrike
Smoke and Smolder
Series: Solisequious
A Treasure Planet/Prospect Crossover
(Cyborg!Ezra x F!Reader with last name) [+18]
Delinquency seems to run in the Hawkins family, but so does a nose for treasure. When long lost family returns bearing ill-tidings and ill-begotten artifacts, will you follow in the footsteps of your grandfather's noble legacy, or will a charming cyborg lead you down a more unsavory path? [Ao3]
Solisequious
Dawnbreaker
Red in Morning
Zenith
Into the Twilight
May the Stars Guide You Home
Oneshots:
Kudzu (Corrupted!Ezra x f!reader)[+18]
A familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well? [Ao3]
Oneshots:
The Things We Do For Love, An Honest Smut Fic (Frankie x f!Reader)[+18}
You and your husband Frankie are trying to get pregnant, but real life keeps getting in the way. [Ao3]
Oneshots:
Snakes and Ladders (Naga!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader)[+18]
Arranged marriages are common in Westeros, and an exceptional way for minor Houses to forge alliances with their neighbors, but as the last unwed daughter of House Blackhaven you're left with the political tablescraps: Dorne. Are the horror stories about the Red Viper just fable, or are they more terrifying than you ever could have imagined? [Ao3]
Oneshots:
Under Your Skin (Corrupted!Marcus Moreno x f!Reader) [+18]
Your beloved Heroic has finally returned after going MIA on a mission, but something about him doesn't seem quite right. It's hard to tell if he left something behind on the battlefield, or brought something alien home with him.[Ao3]
★Dieter Bravo★
%100 crack fics:
Buttered Toast, written by my husband @man-slvt-mando, translated from discord by me.
the worst fic ever, an experiment to fight writers block
★Fanworks★
Lovely works written by lovely people
My Sweet, Sweet Mesh'la [Bargaining w/ Beskar] @cmart009sfwdraws
North Star [Bargaining w/ Beskar] @novemberrain221
@rosharanfiction has requested AU recommendations for her upcoming bday so this is my list of a few of the 451 current bookmarks I have on my ao3. Mostly Joel Miller but a few other ppcu characters thrown in for good measure. All have links to ao3, so make sure if you read and enjoy that you leave them some love with a comment and a kudos!!
Andrea, I hope you have the most awesome 30th bday ever!! I'm so happy to have you in my life, and I'm so grateful that the universe has brought us together!! (thank you fandom lol) I'm wishing you nothing but peace, joy, and love in the coming year!! xoxo - Sky💖💖💖
(P.S. Feel free to add any of these fics to the masterlist that you're making.)
Joel Miller x Reader No Outbreak AUs:
What You Can't Have by @rosharanfiction (complete)
91.7k words and obviously I had to start off with this one!! A story about a bachelorette style dating show in which a singer/songwriter signs on to help boost her career after a sophomore album flop. Tons of handsome men about, but wait a minute, who's that hottie behind the camera? Joel Miller, is that you? Love, love, LOVE this story!! I laughed, I cried, and when it was over I immediately went and re-read it. (p.p.s. you better be putting your own story on your masterlist because it is TOO AMAZING to leave off!!)
Meet Me in the Back by atticrissfinch (complete)
12 works amounting to 59.5k words of gas station attendant Joel Miller who is a dirty pervert with a nasty mouth. This series starts off as a fun kinky romp but evolves into a compelling story about two lonely people finding comfort and love within each other.
Halcyon by @justagalwhowrites (complete)
154.2k words about two high school friends reconnecting later on in life. This story was an amazing read, with compelling characters who sometimes made me want to rip my hair out but had me crying tears of joy by the end. (PS I'm not 100% sure but I am fairly convinced that this author is a fellow native Texan, because there is a road trip up 35 that has them stopping in West for some kolaches and that is about the most accurate to Texas thing I've ever read in a fic lol)
Maintenance Request by @burntheedges (complete)
88.6k words about a college professor who keeps on running into Hot Construction Guy Joel Miller all over campus (usually at the most inopportune times). This is a very sweet workplace romance that is mostly fluff with some very kinky fun towards the end. (This one features both Ellie and Sarah! Which you don't see all the time in no outbreak AUs but is something I really enjoy. Sarah is still Joel's daughter, but Ellie is the reader characters niece!)
East Side Of Sorrow by @zialltops (complete)
111.4k words and something I don't really now how to adequately explain in a short paragraph summary but a story I enjoyed immensely. For this one I STRONGLY recommend reading all of the tags listed as this is a story that could be potentially triggering for some people.
Swept Away by @punkshort (complete)
97.5k words of hotel mogul Joel Miller who is looking to expand his empire by convincing the owner of an island of the coast of Fiji that the sugar baby he brough with him is his long term significant other. If you love a fake dating trope this story is right up your alley!
The Way He Cares by @gothicpaperback (complete)
42.6k words of an enemies to lovers story about a woman who is running out of time to have a baby. Sure her neighbor Joel is a pain in the ass but he's also a good father to Sarah. And since there aren't many options around, a little bit of liquid courage prompts the question- be my baby daddy? A very fun read that had me both kicking my feet giggling and blushing to high heaven!
From the Ground Up by @ak-vintage (in-progress)
53.4k words about a girl named Kate who's run into a series of problems that end up with her moving back in with her parents and in need of a job ASAP. Good thing Joel Miller is looking for an office assistant for his and his brother's construction company. This is one where I really connect with the characters because they're written in such a beautifully compelling way.
Dried Roses by crazycomet (in-progress)
93.6k words about a girl who's dealing with the tragic passing of both of her parents and is now responsible for raising her three younger siblings. One night out to blow off some steam ends up with a much older gentleman following her home to give her one night of pleasure she won't soon forget. But after her one wild night out it's time to focus back in on what's important, her siblings. And hey wouldn't you know it, her sister wants to have her new friend over for a slumber party. Her name's Sarah Miller, and her dad wants to meet you before hand. Hey wait a minute isn't that? This is SUCH an amazing story, with so many OCs that I absolutely adore. Cannot wait to see where this story goes!
When Joel Met You by @pandapetals (complete)
176.5k words and one of my fav AUs of all time!! It's inspired by When Harry Met Sally and my god does it do the film justice while still being it's own amazing thing. Ironically before reading this fic I had never actually seen When Harry Met Sally (don't come for me I know, I'd seen like almost every other romcom in existence but this was just one I had missed) and I decided to wait until this fic was finished earlier this year to finally watch the film, and now I have two amazing pieces of art to love!!!
Other PPCU Characters x Reader AU Fics:
Sassenach and the Spaniard by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker (complete) The Great Wall (2017)
209.1k words. I LOVE a historical romance and reading the summary for this one on ao3 I knew it was gonna be amazing!! And boy was I right!! Inspired by the Outlander series, the reader is thrust into the past where she meets Pero Tovar. Their love story spans continents, and reaches through time. HIGHLY recommend that everyone read this one!!
i cannot get you close enough by @leslie-lyman (complete) Bloodsucking Bastards (2015)
12.3k words and an A/B/O AU! Surprising that this is the first A/B/O on this list but boy do I love this one!! An accident happens, pushing you into an unexpected heat, but thank goodness your coworker Alpha Max Phillips is there to see you through it!! A quick fun and dirty read that is extremely enjoyable!!
THE ROOMMATE AGREEMENT by @auteurdelabre (complete) Bloodsucking Bastards (2015)
145.5k words and oh my god, they were roommates!! Needing a place to live ASAP you move in with one Max Phillips, but the longer you live together the more you begin to notice some odd things about him. Like you only ever see him at night time, and you've never actually seen him eat? This one was so fun!! Also a lot of really fun cameos from Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) but not necessary to have seen that movie to enjoy the story.
Babysitting for an Alpha by Much_Ado_Abt_Novels (complete)
The Mandalorian
50.5k words and another A/B/O AU! Din needs someone to watch his child while he's out taking care of business and you're the perfect person for the job! And surely being confined on a small space craft with an Alpha who is also technically your boss could have no issues for you as an Omega....right? An angsty, fluffy, smutty ride, and a good time to be had by all who read it!!
Blue Orchid by @beskarberry (complete)
The Mandalorian
31.2k words of yummy delicious alien smut. What if Din wasn't quite human under all that armor? As his bounty hunting partner it's your duty to help him with his biological needs while you're in the middle of space. Even if that means becoming an incubator for his eggs.
The pistol was on the far side of the room, but you knew it had at least one charge in it. One good shot. You didn’t want to hurt Ezra, but the monster on the other side of the door, pushing on it so hard it slammed against the doorframe with each attack, wasn’t giving you any other options.
You were going to have to kill him.
Summary: a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?
Rating: MAXIMUM EXPLICIT HOLY FUCK
Word count: 11.4k
Content warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending
A/N: Did you read those content warnings? Good, now read them again. If you enjoyed Garden of Ishtar and Blue Orchid, you'll be excited to know I've outdone myself once again! If those made you even the slightest bit uncomfy then turn away now, this is not for you! I bring you this in time for kinktober, but the only list I'm following is my own personal list of kinkiness, and have dumped some of my personal faves into this fic. It's DARK, its SCARY, it's a little stupid at points, I'm not a complete monster, there's comedic relief abound, but this is raw, unfettered filth, and if you read all those tags and still get mad about this fic, don't come crying to me.
DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.
Your day had started off so… normal.
It was a lovely morning on the Green, dappled sunlight filtered through the thick jungle foliage and cast illusive gold coins over the canvas of your tent, softly illuminating the cramped little quarters you’d called home for the last eight months. Even the pollen seemed thinner than usual according to your slap-and-patched meteorological equipment, the clunky machine ticking happily away in the corner; and as you sipped at your watery tin of artificial instant espresso, you thought today might not be so bad.
After a hearty breakfast of liquid caffeine and a bar of fruit jerky, you went through your usual routine of checking over your supplies. Well, not your supplies truth be told. Almost everything in your ramshackle clinic belonged to the honest-to-Kevva doctor who had once called it home, but after what looked like a failed experiment with aurelac harvesting… well, somebody had to fill his shoes after the good doctor bit the literal dust.
And that somebody was you.
You, however, were not a doctor, or a nurse, or anything else that could be quantified as a medical professional, but you’d just happened to be in the right place at the right time, or wrong place depending on who you asked, and you took up the mantle quite nicely. It was curiosity more than anything that made you brave enough to rifle through the doctor’s notes and journals pertaining to human anatomy and their relation to aurelac reproduction theories, but you’d only made it through the more familiar anthropological textbooks when you received your first patient.
Another prospector had come to your tent seeking out the field medic that was listed on the maps, bleeding profusely after nearly slicing their finger off extracting the prized gem of solidified goop. There was too much blood being wasted for you to try convincing them that you weren’t who they were looking for, but after a surprisingly well-placed handful of stitches and neatly wrapped bandages, you were doubting your inabilities as well. Happy with their digit returned to almost full functionality, they’d offered you some dehydrated protein paste and an old filter hookup as trade, and thus your new life as field medic had begun.
Part clinic, part outpost, your little neck of the jungle grew slowly over time. One tent became two, then three, then some scrap metal was converted into an infirmary of sorts complete with a pair of rusty, threadbare cots and a pump-action shower. You ‘treated’ all kinds of ailments using the late doctor’s leftover annotations, from dust lung to acid burns, and on more than one occasion had to bust out the surgifoam wound filler to staunch the bleeding from thrower holes. Though you weren’t qualified by any means, your patients tended not to ask too many questions when you were the only thing standing between them and Kevva's merciful embrace.
You’d watched the morning sun climb into the sky through the flimsy clear plastic ‘window’ taped into the side of the tent and wondered what the spacefarer’s deity would lead into your arms today, only to have your question answered all too quickly. Squinting through the warped plastic you caught the slight reflective shimmer of sunlight sliding over the rounded bubble of a prospector’s helmet. Their drab green flight suit had them almost blending into the surrounding foliage, only their shambling gait giving away that they weren’t growing up from the ground themselves.
Trust was something that had to be earned at your place of business, and even a weak-looking stranger was no exception to the rule. You grabbed your thrower pistol and cranked the battery frantically, getting just enough of a charge for a single shot before dashing to the radio. With your eyes locked on the nearing stranger you flipped rapidly through the stations until the haunting static crackled to life with the sound of someone singing.
“Dream, s-sailing among the stars. Dream, put into port at Mars. Reddened… -huff- world in a darkened sky. Load supplies and away you fly, Phobos… -phew… passing by, You can… can touch it if you want t-to try. On this day... S-Sail… sail away.”
...Ezra?
It had to be, nobody on the Pug or the Green or even the fucking Fringe sang songs like that anymore, the soliloquies of forgotten Earth poets long deceased brought back from the grave by an avid bookworm.
You remembered Ezra, the ‘bonafide’ prospector, as he called himself, had wandered into your healing arms more than once, bringing with him a handful of minor cuts or burns and a delightfully insightful conversation. Polite and well-educated, he’d been thoroughly interested in your research findings and what books you had read lately, and wasn’t the least bit dissuaded in your abilities even after he’d correctly deduced that you weren’t the medical professional listed on the maps.
The confession seemed to make him even more open to conversation, which with a chatterbox like Ezra that almost came as a shock, but you couldn’t help enjoying his company while you patched him up. More southern than pecan pie and just as sweet, Ez would recount marvelous tales of his adventures on the Green, sometimes enunciating so wildly with his calloused hands that you had to restrain him to keep him from pulling his stitches, and more than once you suspected that he liked it when you did. The prospector was leagues more pleasant than most of the rough diggers and brainless Saters that you dealt with, even if his tall tales were clearly exaggerated, and the way his big brown eyes glittered under the rakish little patch of blond hair sticking out from his temple made you suspicious that fabricating stories solely for your amusement was his method of flirting with you.
And if he was, you wouldn’t have been entirely against it.
There was always one story he circled back to, something about an aurelac queen lost somewhere out in the wilds. It was a fable you’d heard while you were still on the Pug back before your ship went tits up. The whispered legends the other prospectors told in the station’s cafeteria still haunted your ears, seedy tales of a sprawling matriarch that oozed with literal rivers of gold hiding somewhere under the loamy soil of the forlorn little moon. Ezra had been hunting it for months - he’d told you while you were busy sewing a hole in his shoulder closed - undeterred by the words of warning passed over insta-meals about the dangerous treasure hunt. He was determined, you’d give him that, or maybe he was just so charming and headstrong that you couldn’t imagine anything stopping him from succeeding in his quest.
But maybe only having one arm would slow him down.
“Ezra? What fucking happened to you?” You asked hurriedly as you ushered him in through the tent’s zipper, sealing it back up quickly after he’d stumbled through the entryway, dropping your thrower in the process. Even through his thick plasticast helmet you could hear his ragged, muffled breathing as it fogged up the transparent dome, a clear sign of a clogged filter made more evident by the bright red warning light searing up the filter’s side.
The prospector nearly fell trying to sit down on the floor, the grimace on his clammy, pale face replaced with a pained smile when he saw you. “H-hello, turtledove.” he rasped as he clawed at the locks of his helmet. You stepped in to help him pull the grimey, olive drab head cover off and tossed it aside, trying not to crinkle your nose at the stench of him. His sparkling amber eyes glittered from under sweaty brows at you once the bubble had been pulled clear, dulled slightly by the pain he seemed to be suffering. “I seem to have f-found myself in a m-mess'a hot water.”
“I’ll say, the last time I saw you in here you were symmetrical.” You hissed, glaring at the pinned sleeve of his flight suit where his right arm had been.
He followed your gaze with a broken laugh, “Surprisingly, that would appear to be the least of my troubles.” A coughing fit tore at his ribs, the grittiness of it hinting at a lungful of pollen. You grabbed the nearest inhalant canister and knelt up against him, holding the breathing cup to his face. He groped at your hand with his one good one, sucking down the moist antihistamine with each ragged breath. “Much obliged, but the black that’s tryin’ to suffocate me is no matter in comparison to the laceration I have sustained to the sunny-side of-”
“Oh my fucking GOD Ez just shut up and show me where!”
He groaned, agitated but submissive and much in need of your services. “Y’see that’s what I was tryn’a tell you, turtledove, if you’d just let me finish-”
You did not let him finish. Furious, you started pawing at his flight suit, aggressively manhandling him to find where he must be bleeding out from. Ezra protested candidly, especially when you found the bloodstained hole in his canvas right above the junction of his leg and groin, dangerously close to his femoral artery. You dug your fingers in and ripped the tattered canvas and the soft cotton of his boxers appart, doing your damndest to ignore Ezra’s wails of embarrassment.
More of a stab wound than a laceration, the bloody hole oozed hotly with crimson mixed with the most sickening shade of green. Poison. “How did this happen?” You asked harshly, grabbing for your medkit and already pouring antiseptic on the wound before Ezra could launch into a thousand-year yarn.
He hissed at the pain, “Kevva, girl!! Give a man a warning before you start assaultin’ him so close to his family heirlooms!” Ezra’s hand dug viciously into your shoulder, trying to ground himself while you tortured him to good health. “I found the queen, birdie, she’s real, and she is treacherous.” His gasps turned to rhythmic hyperventilation when you stabbed him with an antivenom agent, teeth bared in a grimace, thumb trying to break your clavicle.
“Keep talking, Ez.” It was surprising that you even had to make that demand of such a chatterbox, but you had to keep him distracted while you pumped the wound full of poly-mag spray foam to suck up the leaking venom.
“Yes, doctor.” He mused sarcastically over the foam spray’s whooshing. “That mistress isn’t like the smaller growths, oh no, she’s got a mighty armory at her disposal. All spikes and stingers and what have you, never seen anything like ‘er in all my days. One of ‘em got me, as you can clearly see, and I am fortunate that your fine establishment was so proximal to the scene of my near-castration.”
“Me too.” You rambled, though you weren’t entirely listening. Swabbing at the bloodstained skin to clean it, you watched the spongy material turn from creamy white to fungal green, then nearly to black as it soaked up the residual toxins. You’d seen some wild shit out on the Green, but nothing quite like this. Once Ezra was in better condition you might be able to find something in the doctor’s ledgers about it, but getting the weary prospector back from the brink of death was the more pressing matter. “Here, take these.” You demanded, thrusting a plastic amber vial of pills into his hand.
His throaty laugh scraped over his lips like sandpaper. “If it would not be too much of an inconvenience I must humbly request that you remove the lid for me if I am to-”
You snatched the bottle back with an apology, forgetting that he couldn’t get the child-proof lock undone on his own. Ezra tossed the pills back the instant you gave the vial back to him sans cap, ignoring the ‘do not chew’ warning on the bottle and crunching right through the tablets. His head hit the wall with a groan from the burning suddenly in his throat, but he soldiered through it and swallowed grossly. Disgusted but distracted by your work, you used a pair of tongs to pry the soaked sponge out of the wound. It stuck sickeningly to the flesh, leaving a spiderweb trail of filaments that you had to clean up before dosing him with another round.
“Am I gonna live, doc?” He hummed, his tongue caught back behind his teeth where he was trying to pick a chunk of painkillers free. You shrugged and nodded while you watched the second dollop of marshmallow goop expand and harden without changing color. Ezra sighed, “At least if I shed this mortal coil, the last wonder to grace my sight shall be your exquisite visage.”
He would choose to flirt now, of all times. “You’re not gonna die, Ez, not if I have anything to say about it.” The surgifoam looked stable and clean, so you pulled a gauze pad and a set of waterproof bandages out and began dressing the wound for healing, but you were startled by a heavily gloved hand landing on your forearm.
A lopsided smile wormed its way over his features, making his dark eyes sparkle up at you. “Sweet, benevolent angel of the Emerald expanse, I do declare you are the finest creature these weary eyes of mine have lain upon in a coons age.” The oaken tones of his voice dropped lower, the pad of his thumb dragging slowly across your arm. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”
You looked at him, then glanced briefly at yourself. Still in your dumpy sweats and fruit-of-the-loom tank top, you couldn't be compared to any sort of day except for maybe ones involving tornadoes. Your mouth still tasted like bean water since you hadn’t gotten around to brushing your teeth, and the horrific realization dawned on you. Fever. The sweat of Ezra’s brow nearly scalded your palm when you slapped it against his forehead. “Shitballs, Ez you’re burning up. Suit’s gotta come off, bud, gotta get you cooled down.”
His boyish grin spread across his face from ear to ear, flashing you with his pearly white teeth. “Undressing me already, darling? Shouldn’t I at least treat you to a night of exquisite romances? Let us free ourselves of these oppressive flight suits and get dressed to the nines!” He conducted an imaginary orchestra with his solitary hand, tapping his foot to a beat only he could hear. “I want to take you dancing, turtledove, would you grant me the pleasure, nay, the honor of letting me sweep you off your feet?”
“Sure Ez, that sounds grand.” Worry cut through your voice like a knife, he was rapidly getting delirious and if you didn’t cool him down soon his brain would melt right out his ears. “We’re, uh, gonna be late for the ball, come on, on your feet, darling.” He nearly purred at you while you undid the clasps of his outerwear and tore the zipper down, peeling him open like the world’s most disgusting banana.
He fucking reeked, and it took every ounce of gumpsha you had to keep from retching at the smell. Under the heavy canvas his threadbare t-shirt and ratty boxers were soaking wet with sweat and blood, making him sticky to the touch. You worked the sole sleeve off his good arm, revealing a poorly-placed wrapping on his stump that he’d obviously done himself, the dirty bandage in dire need of replacement. Planting your feet, you bolstered yourself up under his good arm and hauled him off the floor, but lifting the lean-muscled digger was less of a challenge than it was to keep your breakfast down. STinKy!
Ezra fell haphazardly against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he worked to pull his legs free of the coveralls. You tried to ignore the soft, sloppy kisses he was pressing to your skin while you walked him back towards the shower, but the goosebumps firing over every inch of your flesh gave you right away. “Divinity pales in comparison to the softness of your skin, my turtledove.” He mused, dragging the bristles of his facial hair along the column of your throat. “Does Kevva know you walk the mortal planes, my celestial songbird, or did she send you to me herself?”
He was nipping at your earlobe by the time you got him to the tub, and you couldn’t toss him in nearly fast enough. He flopped unceremoniously into the large plastic wash basin, slipping around like butter in a hot pan when you turned on the water. The sound he made when the cold shower blasted him made your blood curdle, torn somewhere between a scream and a whine that was made a thousand times worse by his panicked, one-armed flailing.
“Hold still, fucker!” You bellowed, jumping in the tub and nearly tackling him to keep him in the water and getting yourself soaked as well. Honestly he had every right to flail, the water was nearly frozen it was so fucking cold, but it was a necessary evil if you were to save his life.
Ezra hissed and cursed and spat like an unfixed tomcat until the punishing temperature of the shower seeped into him and brought his fever down to a more reasonable level. His eyes softened slightly as he came back to himself. “I.. what… where?? T-this isn’t the ballroom, this is a bathtub!” He searched the infirmary for the expansive dancefloor that he had been imagining, only to find that the only other dancer in the room was you.
You, however, were just as soaked and disheveled as he was, taking the brunt of the shower blast against your spine. “Excellent deduction, Sherlock. This is indeed a bathtub. Feeling any better?” You asked, patting him on the cheek in such a way that he jumped from your touch.
He reached up to press your hand into his face, scratching your palm with his scraggly beard. “In your stupendous care I know I will want for naught, but to behold your lovely features with thine own eyes is a cure for more than the physical afflictions I have suffered.” He turned and kissed at your palm before you pulled it away, making him whine from the loss. “Please, my starlight, let me kiss you...” He made little kissy faces at you, his eyes closed while he pictured the softness of your lips against his own.
Ok, so his brain is still a little fried. “Ezra…” you scolded, trying to formulate a plan while he smooched the air. “You… you need to get cleaned up so you can take me to the ball, can you do that for me?” That seemed to get his attention, even if his focus was fleeting. “I’ll help you, but you gotta get washed up first, ok? Arm up.” Ezra did as he was told, letting you peel the soaking wet undershirt off of him, careful not to catch on his stump cover in the process.
Cold water ran like a river down the expanse of his bare chest, causing the thin trail of dark brown hair that dusted down the front of him to waver in the flow. His bare flesh was riddled with scars, some long and jagged, some round and smooth where he’d apparently been shot numerous times. One or two of them you recognized from having patched up yourself. If you both weren’t in such a sad state at the moment you might have let yourself indulge in the sight of him a little longer, but alas, duty calls.
Carefully, you stepped out of the way of the water, letting it hit him fully while you hunted for something to wash him with. Your own loofah would have to do, and though he was still protesting the icy torment you had subjected him to, he melted quickly when you dragged the sudsy sponge over his skin. “Oh… oh turtledove, you slay me with your affections. You must allow me to return the favor…” He started trying to lift his arm, but the painkillers and exhaustion were taking their toll, and instead only managed to get his hand as far as the edge of the tub. His thumb dragged little circles over the plastic while he waxed poetic at the feel of you scrubbing him down until his musings turned to mumbles right before he passed out cold.
Jabbing your fingers up under his jaw, you hunted for a pulse, letting out a relieved sigh at the feel of his heart beating steadily away. With him finally still, you gave him what must have been the first real shower he’d had in months, and you were almost sad that he couldn’t enjoy it fully. The wretched stink of him washed away with the dirt and grime that spiraled down the drain, and you felt the first pangs of a headache flickering behind your eyes from having your sinuses abused for so long.
Cleaned to your liking, you shut the water off and stood, groaning at the kink in your back that would only worsen when you dragged Ezra’s motionless body out of the tub. You dried him off as best you could before hauling him out of the oversized plastic bucket and onto one of the rickety metal cots nearby. Try as you might to towel him off, water poured from your own soaked clothes, making him that much more wet. Deciding that he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, you peeled off the nearly see-thru tank top that had probably been showing off your nipples to him the entire time you had him in the tub. No wonder he was flirting so much.
Ezra mumbled in his sleep a bit while you dried him fully, but you quickly encountered the same wet clothing problem with his boxers. You had to get them off, you reasoned to yourself, they’re wet and they’re obstructing your ability to see the dressing you had placed, even if there was still a sizable hole in the leg. Taking a big-girl breath, you reached for the waistband of his shorts, but the idea of modesty was not why you hesitated there.
Peeking out from the worn cotton edge was something dark, and not dark like the hair that was growing along his happy trail. It was under his skin, a greenish tint that spiderwebbed up his belly, and you felt your own guts churning at the sight.
What the fuck is that.
You had to be brave. Digging your fingers into the elastic band you pulled the soaking wet cotton all the way down, exposing more of Ezra than you had ever thought you would see. The freezing cold water didn’t leave you with much to look at, but you still felt heat splash across your face at getting to see him so naked for the first time. Your devious embarrassment turned to gut wrenching fear though when you tore your eyes away from his chilled cock towards the ugly, infectious-looking veins sprawling outwards from the wound you had dressed.
Son of a bitch.
The wound cover was waterproof, but it was already demanding to be changed, the queen’s venom soaking through the surgifoam once again. You replaced the dressing quickly, the cold sweat of relief breaking out over your skin when the dark lines started to recede and fade. Ezra fidgeted in his sleep, his brows creasing while he mumbled something regarding a serenade. Gently you brushed your fingers over his forehead to check his temperature and soothe his fretting, watching how his brows relaxed from your touch and a weak smile graced his damp face.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, you smiled sweetly back at him even though he couldn’t see you, drawing slow patterns over his face that made him hum. You wandered over the curve of his brow and the swells of his cheeks, then past the edge of his jaw to the long column of his neck. That led you to his clavicle, and that led you to his missing right arm.
What had happened, you wondered, concern written clearly in your eyes for no one to see. What would have been detrimental enough that he would have lost it? The edges of the wrapping were wet and stained and obviously in need of replacement. Ezra groaned in protest when you started peeling them away, the soaked gauze smelling just as bad as he did before you’d gotten him washed up. Gross.
You’d unwrapped the bandage almost all the way to the remains of his bicep when the sudden, familiarly darkened lines began to show again. Frantically now, you almost ripped the wrapping off, unspooling it quickly and revealing more and more of the shadowy streaks. Black threads gave way to a toxic dark green color the closer you got to the site of the amputation, the flesh becoming hard and chitinous to the touch like that of an insect.
The final bandage fell away, and you nearly screamed.
“Ezra, what the fuck!?”
Your distressed whisper fell on deaf ears. Where you were expecting a closed scar, or even an open and infected wound, something inhuman was growing. A tiny protuberance jutted out of the middle of the stump, the same dark green color as the surrounding skin, but the end of it bore a trio of little spikes. When it didn’t explode or rot off immediately, you leaned in to try to get a better look at it, but your sudden closeness made the alien appendage twitch, and with a sickening drop in your belly you realized what you were looking at was a hand.
Barely a few inches long, the little limb flexed and grasped at nothing, making the veins stretching over Ezra’s shoulder pulsate disgustingly. Covering your mouth you stumbled backwards and away from the unknown entity, nearly tripping over the wet clothing on the floor. It didn’t make any move towards you, but you couldn’t be in the same room with it any longer, deciding that somewhere in the doctor’s research there must be something that could help you.
Panic-stricken, you told the sleeping prospector not to go anywhere before dashing from the room to where you kept the handwritten journals of a dead man. There was so much information that you'd had to sift through while learning the cliff notes of healing that you'd never actually taken the time to explore the doctor's other interests.
Aurelac.
The doctor had left this part of the compound in a hurry, notes had been thrown around in a disorganized flurry when you’d discovered it, and none of them had probably made it even close to the correct order when you tried to file them back away. Once or twice, when the cool nights had you shivering, you’d debated burning the nonsense notations for warmth, but bookburning wasn’t in your blood.
Most of them had been written in a scrawling hand, the penmanship deteriorating with each page you dug up. It was almost all illegible nonsense, nothing like the anatomical references you had studied, the sentences strung together in the words of a madman.
‘Aurelac gestation…queen’s venom... similar chromosomes. Under spe-ific conditions… formation of… amniotic sack… re-ductive org-... ov-lation…”
You pieced together what you could, stitching a quiltwork of information together in the hopes that you could uncover some way to save Ezra, but nothing seemed to make any sense, and what you could even read became less and less helpful as the hours dragged on.
Night fell without your notice, the sun slipping behind the thick vegetation, stealing away the soft ambient light filtering through the tent canvas until you were straining your eyes in the halo of light from your little desk lamp. Words like corruption and transformation swam before your tired eyes, as meaningless as they had been from the moment you sat down.
-Squeak... squeak... squeak... squeak...-
The rhythmic metallic noise startled you from your research, the high pitched grate of it making your teeth itch, but even in your exhausted state you could tell it was coming from the infirmary.
-Squeak... squeak... squeak... squeak...-
Against the ice freezing in your veins you rose, the glacial burn of adrenaline begging you to run the other way, but that was your patient in there, probably suffering a seizure or thrashing in his sleep, and yet the way your hackles rose along the back of your neck told you something much worse was lurking in the dark. When you reached the scrap metal doorframe of the infirmary something else caught your attention, a smell that you didn’t recognize though it was much more pleasant than dirty prospector or the caustic rot of infection.
It smelled like blueberries.
"Ez? Y'ok?" You called, taking a handful of confused, cautious sniffs. It didn’t smell like the artificially flavored jerky you were accustomed to, it was organic, the richness of it hitting you in the face like you’d just walked into a farmers market and making your mouth water. Licking your lips to keep your spit back, you hunted for one of the kerosene lamps that should be somewhere on the wall, but a pained groan froze you in place.
"Turtledove~"
Half rasped, half moaned, Ezra called to you over the incessant squeaking that was coming from his bunk, and that paired with the panting you could hear sent a sickening heat to pool unbidden in your guts. You found the lamp finally, your fingers shaking as you turned the knob and cast the room into a warm yellow light that barely reached the farthest corners, but it was enough to reveal the source of all your mysteries.
Ezra had managed to roll over onto his left side, curled up in a little ball, his right arm fisted in the sheet- his right arm? Ezra didn’t have a right arm.
And yet now he did, but it wasn’t the one he had been born with.
Where the protuberance had been just hours ago, a long, well-muscled limb had grown and taken root, the three little spikes now full length fingers tearing holes in the flimsy cotton up near his face. It had an elbow, a wrist, and fingers, but that’s where the humanity of it ended. His skin - if you could call it that - shimmered the dark green color of algae growing around the lip of a sewer drain in plates of exoskeletal segments, catching the light of the kerosene lamp as June beetles do when the sun hits them just right.
Yet somehow that wasn’t the worst of it.
His left hand, trapped under his body, burrowed calloused fingers underneath the sheet covering his groin, trying desperately to relieve himself of the achy swelling tenting his blanket. With each rock of his hips against his still-human palm, the old rusty bedframe under him squeaked and squealed enough to make your teeth rattle in their sockets, but the needling in your jaw wasn’t strong enough to distract you from the night time activities of your patient.
Ezra the lobster boy was jerkin’ it.
“Please, turtledove, I-I need… I need your help…” he drawled, his fingers twisting around himself under the straining fabric. “H-hurts…”
His cry of help startled you from where you had been slack-jaw gawking at his insectoid appendage, but your feet would not obey your healer heart to move. “Ez…” you soothed, putting your hands up in a sign of peace. “Where does it hurt?”
The prospector groaned, convulsing in on himself, his new claws puncturing the threadbare mattress under him, catching on the springs. “E-e-every… everywhere! Please, make it stop!”
The words that next left your mouth competed with the temperature of your cheeks, your face unsure if it should be icy with fear or flush with embarrassment. “Can you… can you please take… for fucks sake, can you take your hand off your dick?!”
“HURTS!” Ezra nearly screamed, his face contorting in pain, drowning out all his pleasure. “C-can’t… can’t stop, hurts!”
His short, clipped sentences were so out of character for him, and maybe that was the final straw that got your ass in gear towards him, towards your patient. Hanging the lantern up made Ezra even more shiny and glistening, his body coated in sweat, his lips wet with spit, or maybe tears. That big, bug-like claw looked even more intimidating up close, his muscles flexing under softer chitin segments, its three dagger-like fingers safely embedded in your mattress.
Your heart thundered in your chest, matching the beat of the drum between your legs. You couldn’t help it. Here was this gorgeous yet extremely unsettling man fisting his cock on your bed; and you were inches away from getting to see it in all its glory. “Ez, is this where it hurts the most?” you asked, pointing to the pumping of his fist. He gave a strangled ‘uh-huh’, his eyes flicking open just long enough to see you pointing before squeezing shut again - a flash of night-dark amber. “I’m gonna have to take a look, take your hand away, please?”
There was a stillness in the air for a moment when he sucked in his breath, stealing all the oxygen from the room at what you were asking. He almost couldn’t let himself go, but when he finally did, and his human hand dragged out from under the sheet, up the soft plush of his abdomen and into the light of the lantern, something else dragged with it.
Something very… wet.
Ezra’s fingers, and now his belly, shimmered with an inhuman amount of precum, the sudden appearance of it flooding the room with even more of that blueberry aroma. He left a snail-trail up his abdomen as he took his hand away, the thick, viscous fluid soaking into the hair on his belly. “Hurry…” he moaned, his face contorted with pain, the tip of his cock pushing desperately against the sheet, soaking right through it with the same ambrosial liquid and leaving a sizable stain.
Hurry.
You reached for the sheets’ edge, flinching when the buck of his hips made the bulge of his cock arc towards you. You took three big breaths, and yanked the sheet back, throwing it over Ezra’s naked butt and revealing every inch of him to the world.
And oh, how many inches is that?
Your brain made windows’ shutdown noises at the new spectacle before you. The soft, chilly dick of the man you had tossed in your bed was no more, and in its place a long, almost fluorescent green spire grew. It curved in an undulating wave of emerald flesh, pulsating with veins clearly visible under the translucent skin. Every inch of it shimmered with wet, from the girthy, hair-nested base of his balls to the now-pointed, elongated tip. His new cock throbbed under your observation, dragging his hips forwards, begging to be touched.
“Look how it aches for you, turtledove…” Ezra purred from under the fortress of his chitinous arm, the sound of a feral grin haloing his words. “How badly it needs you, wants you… How badly… I… want you…”
Between the filth of his words, the sight of his otherworldly nudity, and the now sickeningly-sweet scent of honeyed fruit cloying the air so thickly you could taste it, you were tempted to take him up on that offer. “Thought you said it hurt, Ez?”
“So much! Can’t…” his left arm flailed a bit from where it was trapped under his body, the muscles in his right claw straining to free it from the mattress. “Can’t get any… any release… Please?”
“I’m not gonna jerk you-” you started to say, glaring at him from under your brow, but when something squelched between your fingers you gasped with surprise, finding that your hand had disobeyed you and wrapped around him of its own bidding. “-ok, I guess I am.”
Ezra’s moan was so strong it could have brought the tent down if it was any louder, his needy cries of pleasure fueling the fire growing in the pit of your stomach. He rocked his cock into your hand, the slimy thing slipping over your palm with ease. It was big, bigger than anything you’d ever seen on a man, maybe even bigger than you’d seen on some animals. Your fingers didn’t even curl all the way around at his base, but twisted easily around his weeping tip. Your hand was quickly as covered in warm precum as his had been, an unnatural amount that dribbled down your wrist and pooled on the bed.
You had to resist the urge to lick yourself clean.
“S-so good, so soft…” he groaned, rolling his hips in time with your strokes. “A-are you… this soft… all over?” His left hand squirmed out from under his body until his human fingers reached you, gliding gently over your bare breasts. The sensation startled you, forgetting that you were topless, but hey it’s your fuckin house. His long arm followed you back, groping now, squeezing the pillowly flesh of your chest so it spilled between his fingers. Some phantom voice in the back of your mind told you he probably should get a smack for that, but having a strong man’s hands lovingly caressing your breast made you shiver in delight, and so you let him continue to stroke you while you stroked him.
“Is the pain f-fading, Ez?” you asked, your voice more of a hoarse whisper than you intended.
“Yeah, yeah turtle d-dove, but… would feel better… inside...?”
Some semblance of common sense slapped your frontal lobe. “No, Ez, I’m not putting that in anything. You’re just gonna have to-”
“Need… need to…” Ezra rasped, the muscles in his alien shoulder flexing and straining. “N… need! NEED!”
-rrRRIIPP!-
The freshly-molted claws tore through the bedding, making it rain bits of cotton and fabric, turning the little infirmary into your own personal snow globe. Viciously-sharp talons shoved against your sternum, launching you back onto your ass and almost knocking your skull against the other cot. Scrambling for purchase, you scuttled away from where Ezra was pulling himself upright, his eyes locked to you with deadly focus, his face twisted into a snarl. You lept to your feet before he could clamber off the bed, practically on all fours as you flew through the scrap metal door, slamming it behind you.
Within seconds Ezra was thundering against it, pounding his fists and raging on the other side of the variegated metal. “Come back, turtledove! I need you! WE NEED YOU!!” He clawed at the door, the rusty iron screeching under his new claws and vibrating up where your spine was pressed against the door.
Your heart like a rabbit in your chest, you frantically looked around the tiny space for something, anything, that would help. Somewhere there should be tranquilizers, right? Fuck, those are back in the infirmary. Maybe something to smack him over the head with? You glanced around for a blunt weapon when your eyes fell on a different type of defense: the thrower pistol.
It was on the far side of the room, but you knew it had at least one charge in it. One good shot. You didn’t want to hurt Ezra, but the monster on the other side of the door, pushing on it so hard it slammed against the doorframe with each attack, wasn’t giving you any other options.
You were going to have to kill him.
You braced your stance, waiting for him to hit the door one more time before launching yourself across the room, ducking to grab the pistol right as the door was thrown open so hard it broke off its ramshackle hinges. You flipped around, aimed the gun, and fired.
-*BANG!*-
Ezra howled in pain, clutching the new hole in his right shoulder with his still-human hand, his canines flashing in rage. Instead of blood, some kind of thick, black ichor dribbled from the wound and down his exoskeleton arm, running in riverettes off his clawed fingers. Undeterred, he lurched towards you, your brain kicking into overdrive to escape. You dodged the naked man’s grasp, instinct telling you to run outside, but the Green’s unforgiving pollen would kill you slowly, at least with Ezra you had a fighting chance.
So that’s what you did, you fought.
You swung a punch at him as he fumbled for you, catching him deftly in the side of his skull, but just like with the bullet hole he seemed unphased in his new anatomy. You swung again, and this time he caught you, his long, segmented fingers digging harshly into your wrist. You struck out with your other arm, only to meet the same fate, and when you resorted to kicking, he kicked back, taking your feet out from under you and putting you on your back.
“That wasn’t very nice of you, turtledove,” he snarled, straddling you under him while keeping your arms captive, his neon green dick oozing onto your bare belly. The precum was warmer now, hot almost, so close to your own sex. He smiled venomously down at you, the deep brown of his irises ringed with a threatening shade of gold. “It’s ok though, a little boo-boo ain’t gonna make me like you any less. I must express to you my desires, beautiful.” He said with a grind of his hips, his upper body leaning over yours, pinning you to the ground like an insect in a display case. “You have vexed and haunted my fantasies since the day I laid eyes on you, and now, to have you for myself… Well, maybe not just for me. For… us.”
“Get off me! Ezra, this isn’t you! Let me go! Let me help you!” You squirmed in his iron grip, trying to get a knee up into his back. He hooked his legs over yours, completely disabling you.
“‘Fraid I can’t do that, birdie. I have my orders.” He sighed at your furrowed brow. “You can’t hear her? She sent me to you. She chose you.”
You made a mental note to add auditory hallucinations to his chart. “Fuck are you talking about? Who? Who do you hear, Ez? Who is telling you to do this?!” you were pleading now, hoping buying into his charade would earn you your freedom, but he only tightened his grip, grinding his hips down onto yours.
“The Queen.”
Ezra surged forward, dropping his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss, taking you completely off guard. His tongue took advantage of the surprise, probing deeply into your mouth, hunting for your own to tangle with. The taste of summer fruit flooded your mouth with his tongue, so strong you thought it might choke you until it actually did. His drool was as thick and viscous as the stuff dribbling from his cock, sloughing from his mouth into yours until you were forced to drink it down.
It warmed your mouth, your tongue, your cheeks, and the back of your throat, oozing down your gullet in a wave of hot pleasure that made your eyes roll back. Ezra’s teeth nipped at your lower lip, licking deeply with every chaste kiss until you were kissing him back. Whatever toxin was in his saliva was quickly having an effect, leaving you lust-drunk on his kisses alone. He ground his hips down on you, dragging his extraterrestrial appendage over the skin of your tummy, and you raised your own hips up to meet him.
He hummed delightedly into the cavern of your mouth, lapping and laving his way around like a giddy teenager’s first kiss, pulling away with an obscene smack of his lips. Spit-glistened and swollen, his own mouth was turned upwards in a boyish grin. “We knew you were perfect, sweet songbird, we knew this was where we were meant to come. We knew you would be the one.”
Haze filtered in around your sight, making everything in the room fuzzy in a way that it almost didn’t want to be seen; everything but the man poised above you. Ezra almost seemed to be glowing, drawing your gaze to him and him alone. As his hips gyrated on the wrong side of yours, the heat in your gut surged down to your groin, making your cunt throb with need and turning your panties sticky with wet.
“What.. what’ve you done… done t’me?”
“Why, we’re just gettin’ the festivities around for your coronation, darlin’,” Ezra purred, a string of words that didn’t make a lick of sense, the most glaring of all was his constant use of we. You felt his hands unspool from your wrists finally, but your arms would not obey you and laid limply on the floor, drunk on whatever Ezra had poured into you. He sat up fully and dismounted you, dragging his mismatched hands over your heated skin. “So beautiful, wanna touch all of you, don’t be shy now.”
He paused at your breasts, your nipples pebbled almost painfully hard, so sensitive that when he wrapped his strange fingers around them you cried out and arched your back, pressing your tits into his warm hands. The drawl of his praises made your skin prickle, soft good girls and oh, aren’t you gorgeous prayed to the altar of your body. He bent to kiss your soft skin, the bristles of his upper lip dragging euphorically across your flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
He kissed all the way down your torso to the ratty waistband of your sweatpants, leaving a halo of gentle, benign kisses around your belly button. His caring caresses belied his alien arm and drooling appendage, making him, for a moment, nothing more than a man.
Ezra hooked his eight fingers in the waistband and pulled, tugging your sweats and panties off in one go, tossing them somewhere unknown. You should be angry, embarrassed, furious even with him undressing you against your will, but your blood pounded like a volcano in your ears, threatening to pyroclast right out your cunt if your burning need wasn’t addressed. Ezra sat back on his haunches and whistled, scrubbing his chin with his three-clawed hand. “Ain’t you a pretty sight, all slick and wet, that just for us?” He purred, sliding his fleshier finger through the slick coating your thighs and bringing it up to his lips to taste. “Mmmph, perfect. Could smell you for miles, birdie, but to taste you, now that is truly divine.”
Warm hands pushed your knees apart, revealing your cunt to him fully. The slap of cold air on your sensitive nethers pulsed in your brain like you’d been doused in cold water, and suddenly the moment became all too real.
He was going to fuck you.
Some semblance of control spurred your legs and limbs, and you flailed, flipping onto your hands and knees to try and flee. You screamed when Ezra dug into your hips, dragging you back towards him. His claws scrambled up the right side of your body until he had your neck in his long fingers, the razor sharp tips pressing threateningly into your jugular and forcing your head back. “Now now,” he seethed in your ear, nipping and licking at the side of your face. “Don’t go makin’ this any harder than it has to be, birdie. We’re gonna make you feel good, don’t you worry now.” He bit you, sinking his teeth so hard into your neck you knew he broke the skin, warm blood and venomous spit trickling down over his nightmare-green fingers.
The familiar heat spiked into your bloodstream again, and you were quickly pliant in his grip. “There, isn’t that better? You’re strong, ain’tcha? Knew you would be. Knew it had to be you.” Behind you, Ezra kicked your legs further apart with his knees, lining his dripping cock up with your slick heat and plunging forward, bottoming right out and making you instantly see stars. “FuuuUUCK! What a tight little cunt! So.. fucking... tight… and… wet!”
He punctuated each word with an experimental thrust, forcing you to open up more around him without giving you a chance to let your body accommodate, but your insides were soon slick with his precum and yours, letting him glide in almost effortlessly save for the inhuman size. The claws around your throat tightened slightly, rooting you in place while Ezra fucked you to his liking. The tip of him pushed and pulsed aggressively against your cervix, trying to rearrange your guts with each stroke.
“That feel good, songbird?” he mused in your ear, biting the lobe. Your mind said no but your body screamed yes, moaning and clenching around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Bet it does. Gonna feel even better when I pump ya full. Make ya mine allll MINE!”
He left one more feral bite on your shoulder and pulled himself back, pushing a palm between your shoulder blades and forcing you down from your elbows onto your face, ass high in the air just for him. He readjusted his knees, his grabby fingers taking generous fistfuls of your ass, and slammed himself home.
The wet slap of skin on inhuman skin echoed faintly in the little ramshackle tent, mixing with his growls and your whines, the wet drip of juices pouring out of your cunt splattering on the bare floor and leaving a slippery mess between your legs. Ezra was an animal behind you, fucking you like it was his last day alive, sweat tracking down his face and chest, sticking to your ass and thighs with every brain-melting thrust. A five-fingered hand slipped down your hip towards your mound, fishing sloppily for your clit to rub vicious little circles against. You keened in pain and pleasure, bearing you walls down around his length, making it squelch obscenely.
“That’s it… thaaaat’s it, little bird, come for us. Be a good girl and come so we can fill that belly proper.” That velvet baritone slipped like sin up your spine, curling in your veins until it snapped, making you gush around him. He groaned and picked up the pace, fucking you like a man possessed, as if his only reason for living was to pound your pussy into oblivion. “Yes… YES! Gonna… gonna.. f-fuuUUUCK!”
Ezra plowed forward, making room for himself in your already-too-full cunt by breaking through the gates of your womb, the pointy tip of him slipping past your cervix and pouring his cum into you. Your body seized up under the foreign intrusion, cold sweat breaking on your brow, a scream dying in your throat while you scrambled for purchase on the hard, barren floor.
It was like gallons of molten syrup were being spilled into you, hot and slick and unbelievably filling. Each little desperate rock of Ezra’s hips against your ass made more and more of him fill into you, and it didn’t stop. He was growling, snarling, feral with each pump, the base of his cock swelling wide inside of you into a sort of knot, giving nowhere for his cum to go but in.
And in… and in… and in it went.
You felt the weight of him growing inside you, pushing against your abdominal wall until your skin tingled from the inside. More and more of his juices flooded your womb, distending it, filling it, stretching it until you could feel it hanging heavily underneath you. The feeling of fullness was like nothing you’d ever experienced, swaying gently from your belly with each of Ezra’s last thrusts.
When he finally stilled, he was heaving breathlessly, his chest almost spasming with his burning lungs. He threw his head back and gasped for air, letting his synapses swim in the serotonin he had so valiantly earned. Those dangerous hands of his crept gently to your hips, drawing tender, loving circles around your bruised hipbones and red asscheeks, marked with his passing conquest. From there, he let himself wander down your sides to your tummy, cupping the new roundess with almost fatherly devotion.
“So good to us…” he whispered with a slide of his palms, splaying his fingers wide over your taut skin. “She will live on now, after she dies. Through you, little bird. You should be so proud.”
You couldn’t make sense of his words, you couldn’t make sense of anything really, your mind becoming cloudy with exhaustion; probably a side effect of the venom. Your own ragged breath fogged up the floorboards, leaving a steaming ghost of moisture on each pant. Before you succumbed entirely to the darkness growing behind your eyes, you felt Ezra lean forward, trailing kisses of admiration up your spine, your shoulders, your neck, your throat, brushing his scratchy lips against your ears, the crack of his mouth splitting into a grin to whisper,
“All hail the Queen.”
You woke up bleary eyed and naked on the floor of your shack, the soft light of the nearby orange planet warming the golden tones of the sunlight streaming in through the little plastic window. Your head hurt, a migraine threatening to break between your ears, trying to convince you to go back to sleep. Rubbing at your eyes, you tried to remember why you were on the floor. Strange visions danced in your mind, of strangers from the stars and space aliens with insect arms, paired with thoughts of dangerous men and being ravaged on the floor of your own home.
Had… had that all been a dream?
Perhaps staying on the Green so long wasn’t as good of an idea as you’d thought if living on fruit jerky and instant espresso was going to make you go crazy. You began to sit up, desperate for a shirt and a cup of coffee, when the arm flung over your waist coiled tighter.
You didn’t need coffee anymore.
Adrenaline seared through your veins when you looked at the arm keeping you hostage. Dark emerald green, covered in chitinous plates and ending in wicked sharp claws; the alien of your nightmare alive and well, and apparently spooning you. Ezra’s inhuman palm flattened and dragged lovingly over the next of your waking nightmares: your sudden pregnancy.
Fuck you were big, swollen and full, of what you didn’t know. Couldn’t be a human baby… that should have taken months, not hours. And yet you looked all the world like a mother to be, with your baby daddy coiled around your backside.
Ezra shifted when your breaths quickened, adding another fun fact to your growing list. His cock, still hard and inflated at the base, was still lodged in your cunt, keeping any of his cum from leaking; though your legs and thighs, as well as the ground under you was soaked through.
“Ez… Ez wake up. Ez wake up right now.” you demanded, trying to shuffle your hips to dislodge him, but that knot was firmly wedged inside you.
His arm tightened, and he nuzzled the back of your head with sleepy kisses. “Mmm.. don’ wanna… sleepy.”
“EZRA!” You were done being nice, shouting the prospector awake with a frightening start. “Get your fucking dick out of me right now or I’m gonna cut it off!”
“Do what, huh?! HUH?!” Ezra’s deep southern voice climbed more octaves than you thought capable, keening with surprise. “The hell you mean, OH! Shit fucking hell!?” Words escaped him while he tried to escape you, struggling to pull his cock free against the knot. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! How!? How did?!” He was almost screaming, his terror sticking in his throat in sudden silence when the knot finally slipped free, a salacious pop preluding the gush of juices that poured out of you with his release.
The loss of him made you whine and ache, suddenly empty but still furious. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, bug boy! You fucked me! And apparently knocked me up while you were at it!”
Ezra put distance between you, his claws tacka-tackaing on the floor finally drawing his attention to his new arm. He screamed and flailed, trying to shake it off, then trying to rip it off, but it was as well attached as the arm that had once been there; the one made of meat and bone instead of plates of chitin. “WHAT IN KEVVA’S CHAOS IS THAT!?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” you rolled up onto your butt, your heavy womb sitting in the bowl of your crossed legs. “You came here after a run-in with the ‘aurelac queen’, and now you’re a lobster and I’m preggers. Explain yourself, fuckwit!”
“I-I-I….” he stammered, looking between you and his claw, paleing even further at his softening cock, the brilliant green of it darkening as it finally came to rest. “I… I don’t… I don’t know.”
“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T- oh. Oh no…” your verbal punishment was cut short by a sudden gurgling in your guts, your full womb twitching with an incoming cramp storm. All the blood drained from your face, a cold sweat breaking out over every inch of your body when your maternal instinct warned you that it was time. “Ezra… whatever it is… it’s coming.”
He looked at you, frozen, confused and scared, and for a moment the half man, half… whatever the fuck that was, seemed to be carved out of marble instead of flesh. Then he was all motion, hurrying to you, hands moving you gently, asking you in a frightened whisper what you needed him to do, as if you fucking knew.
All you knew now was fear, and suddenly pain as the contractions started, tearing a wailing cry from your throat. Ezra eased you onto your back, pushing something soft under your head as a pillow. “Is there something I can give you? Medicine? Something to make it easier? Oh turtledove I’m so sorr-”
“Shut up Ezra! This is YOUR FAULT!” you barked with rage, words like daggers. Ez swallowed dryly at the verbal assault, but he wasn’t leaving your side, no matter how mad at him you were. There might have been something in your med kit to ease the pain, but the contractions were coming too fast, and all you could do was squeeze his hand so hard you almost broke it.
“That’s it, that’s it darlin’, push, I-I see somethin…” Ezra cried from between your legs, ready to catch whatever was coming out. “You got it, you’re doin’ it! I see… what… what is that!?”
You couldn’t hear his fresh terror over your screams and the blood pounding in your ears as whatever was inside you squeezed out your channel and into Ezra’s clawed palm. Head back, vision obscured by your own swollen middle, you couldn’t see what you had just birthed, all you could see was Ezra’s horrified face. There was no crying, no newborn squall, and between the silence and the staring you felt your heart break. “Ez.. Ez please, I need to see… is it a boy or a girl?”
He shook his head, sucking his lips between his teeth. “Um... it’s neither.” He sat back on his haunches and lifted your creation up with shaky hands. Instead of anything resembling a human, what he held was a whitish, pearlescent sac, trailing an umbilical down to your cunt. It was something you were undoubtedly familiar with, but had no business coming out of your snatch. “It’s-”
“Aurelac?”
“That’s… what it looks like. I’ve been prospecting for years an’ I’ve never seen anything like this.” Ezra nearly whispered, turning the gemsack around in his hands, testing the weight of it. “Feels like a big one, too. I can start cut-” You cut him off with another cry of pain, convulsing in on yourself with fresh contractions. “Shit, you got more in there?!” he balked when you nodded, moving the first aurelac out of the way and readying himself for the second. “I’ll do anything ya need me to do, just tell me!”
“Touch… touch…” you babbled, tears streaming down your face. “Need, need -ah!!- need your hands! Help, please!” You arched your back, fighting the contractions to make demands of Ezra with your body.
He was on you in a flash, rubbing gentle circles around your clit with his left hand, exchanging pain for pleasure with each careful dip into your stretched cunt. “There ya go, that’s a good girl, make you come those out, huh?” He laughed nervously, about as confused as you were but happy to be of service. Dark green fingers trailed carefully over the taut skin of your middle, feeling for the next push. “Sorry I’m not usin’ my primary weapon, but that, uh, new fangled hardware looks a tad sharp.”
You were dazed, dull to his words as the fire built inside you until it burst, squeezing another aurelac bag from your belly. Ez moved it next to the other one and continued, picking up the pace but growing sloppy using the wrong hand. “Ez…” you begged in a sweat-soaked haze, “Mouth?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ezra scootched back a bit and dove for your cunt, wrapping his hungry lips around the engorged bud of your sex, sucking a cry of pleasure from you. He laved his tongue over you, sucking up your juices like a man starved, earning a priceless gem for every orgasm he drew from you. The wet of his mouth would have been disgusting on a better day, smacking and sucking between hums of approval and joy, burying his face in your cunt like he was planning on being buried there himself.
Cum flooded out of you, gushing over his face every time you came and dropping a fresh new aurelac sack every time. The pile grew and grew, your tummy flattening to its original size and slowly revealing the top of Ezra’s head, then his brow, and finally his eyes - closed in pleasure.
You’d never seen a more enraptured face.
When the last of your clutch was birthed, and the placenta slithered out with it, you passed out from the exhaustion of labor, deaf to Ezra’s desperate cries, begging you to stay awake as you slipped into darkness.
It was around mid-afternoon when you came to, your hungry guts waking you from your peaceful nappy. You rose and stretched, scratching yourself through the clean shirt you were wearing like a bear waking up from hibernation. You stretched your clean legs and took a deep breath, the smell of quote-unquote ‘coffee’ lighting up in your brain excitedly.
“Hey, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” The soft southern drawl of your now-familiar prospector didn’t startle you like it should, instead it curled warmth and soothing desire through your heart. Ezra approached cautiously, a mug of bean water in hand. “I made you some coffee, if that’s alright.”
The memory of your strange dreams sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to exchange a story for the cup of coffee, but when you saw his hand you knew they had been real.
All of it had been real.
Ezra saw you look at his hand and began to withdraw it in shame, only for you to catch it first. He didn’t resist as you turned it over, examining the exoskeletal joints and the softer spaces between the bone-hard plates. His palm was soft for the most part, and warm, so you placed your face in it, holding him to you. He stiffened with a conflicted breath, then slowly drew the jagged thumb across your cheek.
There was some kind of connection now between you, something that shouldn’t have been but was. A link that could never be broken, a song serenading your heart with a word usually attributed to animals, not men.
Mate.
“Where’s the aurelac?” you asked softly, remembering what mating with Ezra now entailed. He cupped your face in a tiny hug and retreated to find your clutch.
“You got eight of them in total! I went ahead and cleaned them up, got ‘em harvested.” He beamed like a proud parent, presenting the bowl full of glittering gemstones. They were bigger than any you’d ever seen, the size of Ezra’s balled fist each. “I don’t understand it a lick, but uh, I think whatever’s happened to us has made us the richest pair of miscreants on this entire moon.” His smile faded when you fixed him a glare at the word ‘us’, swallowing dryly. “You, my apologies, turtle dove, these are yours. The hand I played in their creation was downright deplorable. You should’a put a bullet in my skull the moment you saw me amblin’ through the woods. I didn’t come here on my own thoughts, somethin’ else was driving me.” He gestured to the wound on his thigh, now covered by a stolen pair of your sweats. “It was the queen, her stinger- it put somethin’ in my head. I could hear ‘er dyin’, tellin’ me to-”
“Shh, Ez, it’s alright. It’s not your fault. You weren’t in control.” You reached up to caress his face, but he caught you and shook his head.
“Do not forgive my actions, little bird. I should be strung up for what I did to you. Please, take that aurelac and buy yourself passage off this miserable moon, get as far away from me as you can! Because this,” he held up his claw, turning the shiny carapace over in the light. “Ain’t comin’ off, and I don’t know if the… urge… will come over me again! You don’t deserve to be violated in such a way.”
He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t deserve any of that. You sighed real big, glancing between the heaping bowl of gold and the rugged, handsome face of the man who had accidentally gifted it to you. He was - when he wasn’t under the control of an alien - a sweet and caring man. Hardworking and strong, and by the look of shame in his eyes, loyal to the end.
You grazed your fingertips over the gemstones, feeling their smooth surfaces, watching the way the dappled sunlight sparkled in the drops of solid gold at their centers. They were perfect in every way, and would fetch enough points to buy anything your heart desired. Ezra probably knew this, but a flicker of deviousness drew you to say “I don’t think this is going to be enough to buy any sort of passage off the Green, might need a couple more…”
He nodded, “I-I can go prospecting, let me get my suit back on, I’ll dig up as many as-”
You caught him before he could get too far. “That’s… not what I meant.”
He stilled in your grip, brow furrowed, plush lips parted with confusion before he figured it out. He was ready to get as far away from you as you wanted him to be, to accept any punishment you saw fit. He wasn’t expecting to be invited back into your arms.
Slowly, he leaned forward, dipping his face cautiously towards you as if you would bite it off, but was instead rewarded with the slight upward tilt of your lips, and the flick of your gaze roving over his own. Your lips met softly, gently, almost a whisper of a kiss before each of you pushed closer. This was not the violent, bruising kiss he had first given you, this was one of unplanned devotion. It was like Kevva xerself had blessed this strange union, drawing you together for reasons only the divine could interpret.
Ezra smelled nice up close, the horrible prospector stink long gone, and only the faintest blueberry strudel remnants clung to the earthy scent of his body. He was warm and soft in the places you needed him to be, even his horror-hand seemed delicate with you. You could get used to it.
You both pulled away for air, stealing each other's breath away in the space between you. “So, what’d’ya say, Ez? You wanna treat me to that dance you were so adamant about? See where that takes us?"
He laughed softly, those honeywell eyes of his sparkling with giddy excitement, only the slightest twinge of unsuredness around their golden edges. “For you, my queen? Anything.”
I love this fic. There are so few oviposition or similar esc fics out there. This and and the Din Djarin ones on your blog awakened something in me that was freaky and I LOVE IT. Cannot reccomend this enough !!
Hi everyone, like I teased out earlier in the week, in honor of finally finishing A Dark and Stormy Night, (my lighthouse keeper werewolf!Frankie x f!Reader mosterfucker fic), I would spotlight some monsterfucking, monsterloving, monsteromancing fics.
I didn't get any suggestions, so here are my personal picks. Feel free to reblog with some others if you'd like.
Monster Love Series Masterlist (monster!Max Phillips x f!Reader) by @outercrasis (I know I just recced this, but I love it, and I DO WHAT I WANT!) Your proclivity for monsters though untested is overheard, now you are going to get your chance. This is probably the first monsterfucker fic I read...
OOPS!
Snakes and Ladders (naga!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader) by @beskarberry
Arranged marriages aren't unusual in Westeros, but the rumors of Price Oberyn "the Red Viper" Martell of Dorne are.
Unknown Currents (merman!Din x f!Reader) @hdlynnslibrary
You take a job at a lighthouse (my personal dream!) and end up helping a merman and his little boy when the merman is caught in a net.
Oberyn and the Merling Series Masterlist (Oberyn Martell x gn!merling!Reader)
Oberyn meets a fair merling in a magical forest that has no business being where it is. Oberyn is enchanted by you and you him. Oberyn knows anatomy isn't going to let him do things in the ways he knows how, but he's no quitter!
Ok so I really wanted to write something for new years but instead I had a panic attack bcz I realized I literally don't know how to write anymore lol so i wrote this just to make myself laugh written dieter bravo x f reader warnings: dieter bravo
the worst fic ever
k so like ur sitting at home and in ur pjs all comfy with ur cat and watching netflix eating popcorn off ur shirt when u hear a knock at ur door. u get up and spill all your shirtcorn on the floor, but carry your cat with u because you didnt order anything from amazong in like 3 days so kitty might have to maul a bitch. u open the door and it’s the hottest man ever, dieter bravo. u almost drop kitty bcz you just say dieter bravos hot face on the covere of the magazine u keep in the bathroom, but the real face was way less wrinkly or melted from the shower. the plush duck face lips were the same hto.
“hey b b girl” dieter sais, leaning on ur doorframe, his ugly wookie pelt robe falling open to reveal he is wearing nothing but boxers and crocs. “i heard u enjoy eating junk food and getting your junk food ate out. do u wanna sit on my face?”
ur like “omg dietr bravo!! im not wearing any makeup!! or pants!!” but he just lafs at that because tahts what he likes about u.
“ya girl i know thats why im heer. the way u scratch ur ass called me like a siren and i just had to come get a taste of that sweet couch cake.” he pushes his sunglasses up on his head, his eyes are bloodshot from smoking too much weed. “well? do u wanna have sex with me or not?”
“duh,” u spit, setting kitty on the floor. “but im not sitting on ur face, my kneeds will give out.”
“right on.” he loafs in to your house, tripping over kitty whne she swats at his tatered robe. “i like your raccoon”
“dont look her in the eye or she will eat your face.” u say right before smushing your face into his. his mouth tastes like doritos and montain dew, and he smells like an old couch that you crashed on once. his chest is sticky when you put ur hands on it, kind of crunchy too, just like that couch. he has huge hands that scoop under ur ass and throw you on the bed and rip of your pjs. ur phone goes flying out the pocket, probsbly never to be seen again.
hes on top of you fast, pinnning you to the bed, slopply groping under ur shirt for ur boobs that bounce boobily. he chokes u with ur tank top trying to get it off but u kinda think thats hot. his robe hits the floor and skitteres away, leaving him in his boxers he got for christmas in 1998. his cocke is huge, huger than his hands. it snaps the elastic and booings out on to your tumpy.
“dont worry baby ckaes ull get this dick after i get taht snatch” he grabs ur legs and throws them over his shoulder and eats ur pussy until u scream and cum all over his face. he snorts it like coke
“omg mr bravo how do you eat pussy so good??!” you breate breathlessley
“i like pudding cups and i never leav them empty.” he pulls actual coke out of his hair and stuffs it up his nose. “ r u ready baby gril?”
“yes daddy!”
he likes that. he fuckes his whole schmeat into ur cunt and it eats it all up. the sound is os wet and obscene it sounds like a car wash. he fucks you and cums all over ur tits, then flips u over and fucks u again but then coms on ur ass. there is so much cum. u are cumming too. the bed breaks from so much fucking and cumming. dieter keeps going until his coke high wears off. u totaly almost die bcz uv never been fucked so good and so much
“wow mr bravo thank u” u say. talking makes cum gush out ur ass
“ur welcom. btw ur my wife now.” he lights a joint
“ok but u have to stop doing so many drugs”
“sure”
he buys u ur own crocs and u love happily ever after
The pistol was on the far side of the room, but you knew it had at least one charge in it. One good shot. You didn’t want to hurt Ezra, but the monster on the other side of the door, pushing on it so hard it slammed against the doorframe with each attack, wasn’t giving you any other options.
You were going to have to kill him.
Summary: a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?
Rating: MAXIMUM EXPLICIT HOLY FUCK
Word count: 11.4k
Content warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending
A/N: Did you read those content warnings? Good, now read them again. If you enjoyed Garden of Ishtar and Blue Orchid, you'll be excited to know I've outdone myself once again! If those made you even the slightest bit uncomfy then turn away now, this is not for you! I bring you this in time for kinktober, but the only list I'm following is my own personal list of kinkiness, and have dumped some of my personal faves into this fic. It's DARK, its SCARY, it's a little stupid at points, I'm not a complete monster, there's comedic relief abound, but this is raw, unfettered filth, and if you read all those tags and still get mad about this fic, don't come crying to me.
DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.
Your day had started off so… normal.
It was a lovely morning on the Green, dappled sunlight filtered through the thick jungle foliage and cast illusive gold coins over the canvas of your tent, softly illuminating the cramped little quarters you’d called home for the last eight months. Even the pollen seemed thinner than usual according to your slap-and-patched meteorological equipment, the clunky machine ticking happily away in the corner; and as you sipped at your watery tin of artificial instant espresso, you thought today might not be so bad.
After a hearty breakfast of liquid caffeine and a bar of fruit jerky, you went through your usual routine of checking over your supplies. Well, not your supplies truth be told. Almost everything in your ramshackle clinic belonged to the honest-to-Kevva doctor who had once called it home, but after what looked like a failed experiment with aurelac harvesting… well, somebody had to fill his shoes after the good doctor bit the literal dust.
And that somebody was you.
You, however, were not a doctor, or a nurse, or anything else that could be quantified as a medical professional, but you’d just happened to be in the right place at the right time, or wrong place depending on who you asked, and you took up the mantle quite nicely. It was curiosity more than anything that made you brave enough to rifle through the doctor’s notes and journals pertaining to human anatomy and their relation to aurelac reproduction theories, but you’d only made it through the more familiar anthropological textbooks when you received your first patient.
Another prospector had come to your tent seeking out the field medic that was listed on the maps, bleeding profusely after nearly slicing their finger off extracting the prized gem of solidified goop. There was too much blood being wasted for you to try convincing them that you weren’t who they were looking for, but after a surprisingly well-placed handful of stitches and neatly wrapped bandages, you were doubting your inabilities as well. Happy with their digit returned to almost full functionality, they’d offered you some dehydrated protein paste and an old filter hookup as trade, and thus your new life as field medic had begun.
Part clinic, part outpost, your little neck of the jungle grew slowly over time. One tent became two, then three, then some scrap metal was converted into an infirmary of sorts complete with a pair of rusty, threadbare cots and a pump-action shower. You ‘treated’ all kinds of ailments using the late doctor’s leftover annotations, from dust lung to acid burns, and on more than one occasion had to bust out the surgifoam wound filler to staunch the bleeding from thrower holes. Though you weren’t qualified by any means, your patients tended not to ask too many questions when you were the only thing standing between them and Kevva's merciful embrace.
You’d watched the morning sun climb into the sky through the flimsy clear plastic ‘window’ taped into the side of the tent and wondered what the spacefarer’s deity would lead into your arms today, only to have your question answered all too quickly. Squinting through the warped plastic you caught the slight reflective shimmer of sunlight sliding over the rounded bubble of a prospector’s helmet. Their drab green flight suit had them almost blending into the surrounding foliage, only their shambling gait giving away that they weren’t growing up from the ground themselves.
Trust was something that had to be earned at your place of business, and even a weak-looking stranger was no exception to the rule. You grabbed your thrower pistol and cranked the battery frantically, getting just enough of a charge for a single shot before dashing to the radio. With your eyes locked on the nearing stranger you flipped rapidly through the stations until the haunting static crackled to life with the sound of someone singing.
“Dream, s-sailing among the stars. Dream, put into port at Mars. Reddened… -huff- world in a darkened sky. Load supplies and away you fly, Phobos… -phew… passing by, You can… can touch it if you want t-to try. On this day... S-Sail… sail away.”
...Ezra?
It had to be, nobody on the Pug or the Green or even the fucking Fringe sang songs like that anymore, the soliloquies of forgotten Earth poets long deceased brought back from the grave by an avid bookworm.
You remembered Ezra, the ‘bonafide’ prospector, as he called himself, had wandered into your healing arms more than once, bringing with him a handful of minor cuts or burns and a delightfully insightful conversation. Polite and well-educated, he’d been thoroughly interested in your research findings and what books you had read lately, and wasn’t the least bit dissuaded in your abilities even after he’d correctly deduced that you weren’t the medical professional listed on the maps.
The confession seemed to make him even more open to conversation, which with a chatterbox like Ezra that almost came as a shock, but you couldn’t help enjoying his company while you patched him up. More southern than pecan pie and just as sweet, Ez would recount marvelous tales of his adventures on the Green, sometimes enunciating so wildly with his calloused hands that you had to restrain him to keep him from pulling his stitches, and more than once you suspected that he liked it when you did. The prospector was leagues more pleasant than most of the rough diggers and brainless Saters that you dealt with, even if his tall tales were clearly exaggerated, and the way his big brown eyes glittered under the rakish little patch of blond hair sticking out from his temple made you suspicious that fabricating stories solely for your amusement was his method of flirting with you.
And if he was, you wouldn’t have been entirely against it.
There was always one story he circled back to, something about an aurelac queen lost somewhere out in the wilds. It was a fable you’d heard while you were still on the Pug back before your ship went tits up. The whispered legends the other prospectors told in the station’s cafeteria still haunted your ears, seedy tales of a sprawling matriarch that oozed with literal rivers of gold hiding somewhere under the loamy soil of the forlorn little moon. Ezra had been hunting it for months - he’d told you while you were busy sewing a hole in his shoulder closed - undeterred by the words of warning passed over insta-meals about the dangerous treasure hunt. He was determined, you’d give him that, or maybe he was just so charming and headstrong that you couldn’t imagine anything stopping him from succeeding in his quest.
But maybe only having one arm would slow him down.
“Ezra? What fucking happened to you?” You asked hurriedly as you ushered him in through the tent’s zipper, sealing it back up quickly after he’d stumbled through the entryway, dropping your thrower in the process. Even through his thick plasticast helmet you could hear his ragged, muffled breathing as it fogged up the transparent dome, a clear sign of a clogged filter made more evident by the bright red warning light searing up the filter’s side.
The prospector nearly fell trying to sit down on the floor, the grimace on his clammy, pale face replaced with a pained smile when he saw you. “H-hello, turtledove.” he rasped as he clawed at the locks of his helmet. You stepped in to help him pull the grimey, olive drab head cover off and tossed it aside, trying not to crinkle your nose at the stench of him. His sparkling amber eyes glittered from under sweaty brows at you once the bubble had been pulled clear, dulled slightly by the pain he seemed to be suffering. “I seem to have f-found myself in a m-mess'a hot water.”
“I’ll say, the last time I saw you in here you were symmetrical.” You hissed, glaring at the pinned sleeve of his flight suit where his right arm had been.
He followed your gaze with a broken laugh, “Surprisingly, that would appear to be the least of my troubles.” A coughing fit tore at his ribs, the grittiness of it hinting at a lungful of pollen. You grabbed the nearest inhalant canister and knelt up against him, holding the breathing cup to his face. He groped at your hand with his one good one, sucking down the moist antihistamine with each ragged breath. “Much obliged, but the black that’s tryin’ to suffocate me is no matter in comparison to the laceration I have sustained to the sunny-side of-”
“Oh my fucking GOD Ez just shut up and show me where!”
He groaned, agitated but submissive and much in need of your services. “Y’see that’s what I was tryn’a tell you, turtledove, if you’d just let me finish-”
You did not let him finish. Furious, you started pawing at his flight suit, aggressively manhandling him to find where he must be bleeding out from. Ezra protested candidly, especially when you found the bloodstained hole in his canvas right above the junction of his leg and groin, dangerously close to his femoral artery. You dug your fingers in and ripped the tattered canvas and the soft cotton of his boxers appart, doing your damndest to ignore Ezra’s wails of embarrassment.
More of a stab wound than a laceration, the bloody hole oozed hotly with crimson mixed with the most sickening shade of green. Poison. “How did this happen?” You asked harshly, grabbing for your medkit and already pouring antiseptic on the wound before Ezra could launch into a thousand-year yarn.
He hissed at the pain, “Kevva, girl!! Give a man a warning before you start assaultin’ him so close to his family heirlooms!” Ezra’s hand dug viciously into your shoulder, trying to ground himself while you tortured him to good health. “I found the queen, birdie, she’s real, and she is treacherous.” His gasps turned to rhythmic hyperventilation when you stabbed him with an antivenom agent, teeth bared in a grimace, thumb trying to break your clavicle.
“Keep talking, Ez.” It was surprising that you even had to make that demand of such a chatterbox, but you had to keep him distracted while you pumped the wound full of poly-mag spray foam to suck up the leaking venom.
“Yes, doctor.” He mused sarcastically over the foam spray’s whooshing. “That mistress isn’t like the smaller growths, oh no, she’s got a mighty armory at her disposal. All spikes and stingers and what have you, never seen anything like ‘er in all my days. One of ‘em got me, as you can clearly see, and I am fortunate that your fine establishment was so proximal to the scene of my near-castration.”
“Me too.” You rambled, though you weren’t entirely listening. Swabbing at the bloodstained skin to clean it, you watched the spongy material turn from creamy white to fungal green, then nearly to black as it soaked up the residual toxins. You’d seen some wild shit out on the Green, but nothing quite like this. Once Ezra was in better condition you might be able to find something in the doctor’s ledgers about it, but getting the weary prospector back from the brink of death was the more pressing matter. “Here, take these.” You demanded, thrusting a plastic amber vial of pills into his hand.
His throaty laugh scraped over his lips like sandpaper. “If it would not be too much of an inconvenience I must humbly request that you remove the lid for me if I am to-”
You snatched the bottle back with an apology, forgetting that he couldn’t get the child-proof lock undone on his own. Ezra tossed the pills back the instant you gave the vial back to him sans cap, ignoring the ‘do not chew’ warning on the bottle and crunching right through the tablets. His head hit the wall with a groan from the burning suddenly in his throat, but he soldiered through it and swallowed grossly. Disgusted but distracted by your work, you used a pair of tongs to pry the soaked sponge out of the wound. It stuck sickeningly to the flesh, leaving a spiderweb trail of filaments that you had to clean up before dosing him with another round.
“Am I gonna live, doc?” He hummed, his tongue caught back behind his teeth where he was trying to pick a chunk of painkillers free. You shrugged and nodded while you watched the second dollop of marshmallow goop expand and harden without changing color. Ezra sighed, “At least if I shed this mortal coil, the last wonder to grace my sight shall be your exquisite visage.”
He would choose to flirt now, of all times. “You’re not gonna die, Ez, not if I have anything to say about it.” The surgifoam looked stable and clean, so you pulled a gauze pad and a set of waterproof bandages out and began dressing the wound for healing, but you were startled by a heavily gloved hand landing on your forearm.
A lopsided smile wormed its way over his features, making his dark eyes sparkle up at you. “Sweet, benevolent angel of the Emerald expanse, I do declare you are the finest creature these weary eyes of mine have lain upon in a coons age.” The oaken tones of his voice dropped lower, the pad of his thumb dragging slowly across your arm. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”
You looked at him, then glanced briefly at yourself. Still in your dumpy sweats and fruit-of-the-loom tank top, you couldn't be compared to any sort of day except for maybe ones involving tornadoes. Your mouth still tasted like bean water since you hadn’t gotten around to brushing your teeth, and the horrific realization dawned on you. Fever. The sweat of Ezra’s brow nearly scalded your palm when you slapped it against his forehead. “Shitballs, Ez you’re burning up. Suit’s gotta come off, bud, gotta get you cooled down.”
His boyish grin spread across his face from ear to ear, flashing you with his pearly white teeth. “Undressing me already, darling? Shouldn’t I at least treat you to a night of exquisite romances? Let us free ourselves of these oppressive flight suits and get dressed to the nines!” He conducted an imaginary orchestra with his solitary hand, tapping his foot to a beat only he could hear. “I want to take you dancing, turtledove, would you grant me the pleasure, nay, the honor of letting me sweep you off your feet?”
“Sure Ez, that sounds grand.” Worry cut through your voice like a knife, he was rapidly getting delirious and if you didn’t cool him down soon his brain would melt right out his ears. “We’re, uh, gonna be late for the ball, come on, on your feet, darling.” He nearly purred at you while you undid the clasps of his outerwear and tore the zipper down, peeling him open like the world’s most disgusting banana.
He fucking reeked, and it took every ounce of gumpsha you had to keep from retching at the smell. Under the heavy canvas his threadbare t-shirt and ratty boxers were soaking wet with sweat and blood, making him sticky to the touch. You worked the sole sleeve off his good arm, revealing a poorly-placed wrapping on his stump that he’d obviously done himself, the dirty bandage in dire need of replacement. Planting your feet, you bolstered yourself up under his good arm and hauled him off the floor, but lifting the lean-muscled digger was less of a challenge than it was to keep your breakfast down. STinKy!
Ezra fell haphazardly against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he worked to pull his legs free of the coveralls. You tried to ignore the soft, sloppy kisses he was pressing to your skin while you walked him back towards the shower, but the goosebumps firing over every inch of your flesh gave you right away. “Divinity pales in comparison to the softness of your skin, my turtledove.” He mused, dragging the bristles of his facial hair along the column of your throat. “Does Kevva know you walk the mortal planes, my celestial songbird, or did she send you to me herself?”
He was nipping at your earlobe by the time you got him to the tub, and you couldn’t toss him in nearly fast enough. He flopped unceremoniously into the large plastic wash basin, slipping around like butter in a hot pan when you turned on the water. The sound he made when the cold shower blasted him made your blood curdle, torn somewhere between a scream and a whine that was made a thousand times worse by his panicked, one-armed flailing.
“Hold still, fucker!” You bellowed, jumping in the tub and nearly tackling him to keep him in the water and getting yourself soaked as well. Honestly he had every right to flail, the water was nearly frozen it was so fucking cold, but it was a necessary evil if you were to save his life.
Ezra hissed and cursed and spat like an unfixed tomcat until the punishing temperature of the shower seeped into him and brought his fever down to a more reasonable level. His eyes softened slightly as he came back to himself. “I.. what… where?? T-this isn’t the ballroom, this is a bathtub!” He searched the infirmary for the expansive dancefloor that he had been imagining, only to find that the only other dancer in the room was you.
You, however, were just as soaked and disheveled as he was, taking the brunt of the shower blast against your spine. “Excellent deduction, Sherlock. This is indeed a bathtub. Feeling any better?” You asked, patting him on the cheek in such a way that he jumped from your touch.
He reached up to press your hand into his face, scratching your palm with his scraggly beard. “In your stupendous care I know I will want for naught, but to behold your lovely features with thine own eyes is a cure for more than the physical afflictions I have suffered.” He turned and kissed at your palm before you pulled it away, making him whine from the loss. “Please, my starlight, let me kiss you...” He made little kissy faces at you, his eyes closed while he pictured the softness of your lips against his own.
Ok, so his brain is still a little fried. “Ezra…” you scolded, trying to formulate a plan while he smooched the air. “You… you need to get cleaned up so you can take me to the ball, can you do that for me?” That seemed to get his attention, even if his focus was fleeting. “I’ll help you, but you gotta get washed up first, ok? Arm up.” Ezra did as he was told, letting you peel the soaking wet undershirt off of him, careful not to catch on his stump cover in the process.
Cold water ran like a river down the expanse of his bare chest, causing the thin trail of dark brown hair that dusted down the front of him to waver in the flow. His bare flesh was riddled with scars, some long and jagged, some round and smooth where he’d apparently been shot numerous times. One or two of them you recognized from having patched up yourself. If you both weren’t in such a sad state at the moment you might have let yourself indulge in the sight of him a little longer, but alas, duty calls.
Carefully, you stepped out of the way of the water, letting it hit him fully while you hunted for something to wash him with. Your own loofah would have to do, and though he was still protesting the icy torment you had subjected him to, he melted quickly when you dragged the sudsy sponge over his skin. “Oh… oh turtledove, you slay me with your affections. You must allow me to return the favor…” He started trying to lift his arm, but the painkillers and exhaustion were taking their toll, and instead only managed to get his hand as far as the edge of the tub. His thumb dragged little circles over the plastic while he waxed poetic at the feel of you scrubbing him down until his musings turned to mumbles right before he passed out cold.
Jabbing your fingers up under his jaw, you hunted for a pulse, letting out a relieved sigh at the feel of his heart beating steadily away. With him finally still, you gave him what must have been the first real shower he’d had in months, and you were almost sad that he couldn’t enjoy it fully. The wretched stink of him washed away with the dirt and grime that spiraled down the drain, and you felt the first pangs of a headache flickering behind your eyes from having your sinuses abused for so long.
Cleaned to your liking, you shut the water off and stood, groaning at the kink in your back that would only worsen when you dragged Ezra’s motionless body out of the tub. You dried him off as best you could before hauling him out of the oversized plastic bucket and onto one of the rickety metal cots nearby. Try as you might to towel him off, water poured from your own soaked clothes, making him that much more wet. Deciding that he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, you peeled off the nearly see-thru tank top that had probably been showing off your nipples to him the entire time you had him in the tub. No wonder he was flirting so much.
Ezra mumbled in his sleep a bit while you dried him fully, but you quickly encountered the same wet clothing problem with his boxers. You had to get them off, you reasoned to yourself, they’re wet and they’re obstructing your ability to see the dressing you had placed, even if there was still a sizable hole in the leg. Taking a big-girl breath, you reached for the waistband of his shorts, but the idea of modesty was not why you hesitated there.
Peeking out from the worn cotton edge was something dark, and not dark like the hair that was growing along his happy trail. It was under his skin, a greenish tint that spiderwebbed up his belly, and you felt your own guts churning at the sight.
What the fuck is that.
You had to be brave. Digging your fingers into the elastic band you pulled the soaking wet cotton all the way down, exposing more of Ezra than you had ever thought you would see. The freezing cold water didn’t leave you with much to look at, but you still felt heat splash across your face at getting to see him so naked for the first time. Your devious embarrassment turned to gut wrenching fear though when you tore your eyes away from his chilled cock towards the ugly, infectious-looking veins sprawling outwards from the wound you had dressed.
Son of a bitch.
The wound cover was waterproof, but it was already demanding to be changed, the queen’s venom soaking through the surgifoam once again. You replaced the dressing quickly, the cold sweat of relief breaking out over your skin when the dark lines started to recede and fade. Ezra fidgeted in his sleep, his brows creasing while he mumbled something regarding a serenade. Gently you brushed your fingers over his forehead to check his temperature and soothe his fretting, watching how his brows relaxed from your touch and a weak smile graced his damp face.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, you smiled sweetly back at him even though he couldn’t see you, drawing slow patterns over his face that made him hum. You wandered over the curve of his brow and the swells of his cheeks, then past the edge of his jaw to the long column of his neck. That led you to his clavicle, and that led you to his missing right arm.
What had happened, you wondered, concern written clearly in your eyes for no one to see. What would have been detrimental enough that he would have lost it? The edges of the wrapping were wet and stained and obviously in need of replacement. Ezra groaned in protest when you started peeling them away, the soaked gauze smelling just as bad as he did before you’d gotten him washed up. Gross.
You’d unwrapped the bandage almost all the way to the remains of his bicep when the sudden, familiarly darkened lines began to show again. Frantically now, you almost ripped the wrapping off, unspooling it quickly and revealing more and more of the shadowy streaks. Black threads gave way to a toxic dark green color the closer you got to the site of the amputation, the flesh becoming hard and chitinous to the touch like that of an insect.
The final bandage fell away, and you nearly screamed.
“Ezra, what the fuck!?”
Your distressed whisper fell on deaf ears. Where you were expecting a closed scar, or even an open and infected wound, something inhuman was growing. A tiny protuberance jutted out of the middle of the stump, the same dark green color as the surrounding skin, but the end of it bore a trio of little spikes. When it didn’t explode or rot off immediately, you leaned in to try to get a better look at it, but your sudden closeness made the alien appendage twitch, and with a sickening drop in your belly you realized what you were looking at was a hand.
Barely a few inches long, the little limb flexed and grasped at nothing, making the veins stretching over Ezra’s shoulder pulsate disgustingly. Covering your mouth you stumbled backwards and away from the unknown entity, nearly tripping over the wet clothing on the floor. It didn’t make any move towards you, but you couldn’t be in the same room with it any longer, deciding that somewhere in the doctor’s research there must be something that could help you.
Panic-stricken, you told the sleeping prospector not to go anywhere before dashing from the room to where you kept the handwritten journals of a dead man. There was so much information that you'd had to sift through while learning the cliff notes of healing that you'd never actually taken the time to explore the doctor's other interests.
Aurelac.
The doctor had left this part of the compound in a hurry, notes had been thrown around in a disorganized flurry when you’d discovered it, and none of them had probably made it even close to the correct order when you tried to file them back away. Once or twice, when the cool nights had you shivering, you’d debated burning the nonsense notations for warmth, but bookburning wasn’t in your blood.
Most of them had been written in a scrawling hand, the penmanship deteriorating with each page you dug up. It was almost all illegible nonsense, nothing like the anatomical references you had studied, the sentences strung together in the words of a madman.
‘Aurelac gestation…queen’s venom... similar chromosomes. Under spe-ific conditions… formation of… amniotic sack… re-ductive org-... ov-lation…”
You pieced together what you could, stitching a quiltwork of information together in the hopes that you could uncover some way to save Ezra, but nothing seemed to make any sense, and what you could even read became less and less helpful as the hours dragged on.
Night fell without your notice, the sun slipping behind the thick vegetation, stealing away the soft ambient light filtering through the tent canvas until you were straining your eyes in the halo of light from your little desk lamp. Words like corruption and transformation swam before your tired eyes, as meaningless as they had been from the moment you sat down.
-Squeak... squeak... squeak... squeak...-
The rhythmic metallic noise startled you from your research, the high pitched grate of it making your teeth itch, but even in your exhausted state you could tell it was coming from the infirmary.
-Squeak... squeak... squeak... squeak...-
Against the ice freezing in your veins you rose, the glacial burn of adrenaline begging you to run the other way, but that was your patient in there, probably suffering a seizure or thrashing in his sleep, and yet the way your hackles rose along the back of your neck told you something much worse was lurking in the dark. When you reached the scrap metal doorframe of the infirmary something else caught your attention, a smell that you didn’t recognize though it was much more pleasant than dirty prospector or the caustic rot of infection.
It smelled like blueberries.
"Ez? Y'ok?" You called, taking a handful of confused, cautious sniffs. It didn’t smell like the artificially flavored jerky you were accustomed to, it was organic, the richness of it hitting you in the face like you’d just walked into a farmers market and making your mouth water. Licking your lips to keep your spit back, you hunted for one of the kerosene lamps that should be somewhere on the wall, but a pained groan froze you in place.
"Turtledove~"
Half rasped, half moaned, Ezra called to you over the incessant squeaking that was coming from his bunk, and that paired with the panting you could hear sent a sickening heat to pool unbidden in your guts. You found the lamp finally, your fingers shaking as you turned the knob and cast the room into a warm yellow light that barely reached the farthest corners, but it was enough to reveal the source of all your mysteries.
Ezra had managed to roll over onto his left side, curled up in a little ball, his right arm fisted in the sheet- his right arm? Ezra didn’t have a right arm.
And yet now he did, but it wasn’t the one he had been born with.
Where the protuberance had been just hours ago, a long, well-muscled limb had grown and taken root, the three little spikes now full length fingers tearing holes in the flimsy cotton up near his face. It had an elbow, a wrist, and fingers, but that’s where the humanity of it ended. His skin - if you could call it that - shimmered the dark green color of algae growing around the lip of a sewer drain in plates of exoskeletal segments, catching the light of the kerosene lamp as June beetles do when the sun hits them just right.
Yet somehow that wasn’t the worst of it.
His left hand, trapped under his body, burrowed calloused fingers underneath the sheet covering his groin, trying desperately to relieve himself of the achy swelling tenting his blanket. With each rock of his hips against his still-human palm, the old rusty bedframe under him squeaked and squealed enough to make your teeth rattle in their sockets, but the needling in your jaw wasn’t strong enough to distract you from the night time activities of your patient.
Ezra the lobster boy was jerkin’ it.
“Please, turtledove, I-I need… I need your help…” he drawled, his fingers twisting around himself under the straining fabric. “H-hurts…”
His cry of help startled you from where you had been slack-jaw gawking at his insectoid appendage, but your feet would not obey your healer heart to move. “Ez…” you soothed, putting your hands up in a sign of peace. “Where does it hurt?”
The prospector groaned, convulsing in on himself, his new claws puncturing the threadbare mattress under him, catching on the springs. “E-e-every… everywhere! Please, make it stop!”
The words that next left your mouth competed with the temperature of your cheeks, your face unsure if it should be icy with fear or flush with embarrassment. “Can you… can you please take… for fucks sake, can you take your hand off your dick?!”
“HURTS!” Ezra nearly screamed, his face contorting in pain, drowning out all his pleasure. “C-can’t… can’t stop, hurts!”
His short, clipped sentences were so out of character for him, and maybe that was the final straw that got your ass in gear towards him, towards your patient. Hanging the lantern up made Ezra even more shiny and glistening, his body coated in sweat, his lips wet with spit, or maybe tears. That big, bug-like claw looked even more intimidating up close, his muscles flexing under softer chitin segments, its three dagger-like fingers safely embedded in your mattress.
Your heart thundered in your chest, matching the beat of the drum between your legs. You couldn’t help it. Here was this gorgeous yet extremely unsettling man fisting his cock on your bed; and you were inches away from getting to see it in all its glory. “Ez, is this where it hurts the most?” you asked, pointing to the pumping of his fist. He gave a strangled ‘uh-huh’, his eyes flicking open just long enough to see you pointing before squeezing shut again - a flash of night-dark amber. “I’m gonna have to take a look, take your hand away, please?”
There was a stillness in the air for a moment when he sucked in his breath, stealing all the oxygen from the room at what you were asking. He almost couldn’t let himself go, but when he finally did, and his human hand dragged out from under the sheet, up the soft plush of his abdomen and into the light of the lantern, something else dragged with it.
Something very… wet.
Ezra’s fingers, and now his belly, shimmered with an inhuman amount of precum, the sudden appearance of it flooding the room with even more of that blueberry aroma. He left a snail-trail up his abdomen as he took his hand away, the thick, viscous fluid soaking into the hair on his belly. “Hurry…” he moaned, his face contorted with pain, the tip of his cock pushing desperately against the sheet, soaking right through it with the same ambrosial liquid and leaving a sizable stain.
Hurry.
You reached for the sheets’ edge, flinching when the buck of his hips made the bulge of his cock arc towards you. You took three big breaths, and yanked the sheet back, throwing it over Ezra’s naked butt and revealing every inch of him to the world.
And oh, how many inches is that?
Your brain made windows’ shutdown noises at the new spectacle before you. The soft, chilly dick of the man you had tossed in your bed was no more, and in its place a long, almost fluorescent green spire grew. It curved in an undulating wave of emerald flesh, pulsating with veins clearly visible under the translucent skin. Every inch of it shimmered with wet, from the girthy, hair-nested base of his balls to the now-pointed, elongated tip. His new cock throbbed under your observation, dragging his hips forwards, begging to be touched.
“Look how it aches for you, turtledove…” Ezra purred from under the fortress of his chitinous arm, the sound of a feral grin haloing his words. “How badly it needs you, wants you… How badly… I… want you…”
Between the filth of his words, the sight of his otherworldly nudity, and the now sickeningly-sweet scent of honeyed fruit cloying the air so thickly you could taste it, you were tempted to take him up on that offer. “Thought you said it hurt, Ez?”
“So much! Can’t…” his left arm flailed a bit from where it was trapped under his body, the muscles in his right claw straining to free it from the mattress. “Can’t get any… any release… Please?”
“I’m not gonna jerk you-” you started to say, glaring at him from under your brow, but when something squelched between your fingers you gasped with surprise, finding that your hand had disobeyed you and wrapped around him of its own bidding. “-ok, I guess I am.”
Ezra’s moan was so strong it could have brought the tent down if it was any louder, his needy cries of pleasure fueling the fire growing in the pit of your stomach. He rocked his cock into your hand, the slimy thing slipping over your palm with ease. It was big, bigger than anything you’d ever seen on a man, maybe even bigger than you’d seen on some animals. Your fingers didn’t even curl all the way around at his base, but twisted easily around his weeping tip. Your hand was quickly as covered in warm precum as his had been, an unnatural amount that dribbled down your wrist and pooled on the bed.
You had to resist the urge to lick yourself clean.
“S-so good, so soft…” he groaned, rolling his hips in time with your strokes. “A-are you… this soft… all over?” His left hand squirmed out from under his body until his human fingers reached you, gliding gently over your bare breasts. The sensation startled you, forgetting that you were topless, but hey it’s your fuckin house. His long arm followed you back, groping now, squeezing the pillowly flesh of your chest so it spilled between his fingers. Some phantom voice in the back of your mind told you he probably should get a smack for that, but having a strong man’s hands lovingly caressing your breast made you shiver in delight, and so you let him continue to stroke you while you stroked him.
“Is the pain f-fading, Ez?” you asked, your voice more of a hoarse whisper than you intended.
“Yeah, yeah turtle d-dove, but… would feel better… inside...?”
Some semblance of common sense slapped your frontal lobe. “No, Ez, I’m not putting that in anything. You’re just gonna have to-”
“Need… need to…” Ezra rasped, the muscles in his alien shoulder flexing and straining. “N… need! NEED!”
-rrRRIIPP!-
The freshly-molted claws tore through the bedding, making it rain bits of cotton and fabric, turning the little infirmary into your own personal snow globe. Viciously-sharp talons shoved against your sternum, launching you back onto your ass and almost knocking your skull against the other cot. Scrambling for purchase, you scuttled away from where Ezra was pulling himself upright, his eyes locked to you with deadly focus, his face twisted into a snarl. You lept to your feet before he could clamber off the bed, practically on all fours as you flew through the scrap metal door, slamming it behind you.
Within seconds Ezra was thundering against it, pounding his fists and raging on the other side of the variegated metal. “Come back, turtledove! I need you! WE NEED YOU!!” He clawed at the door, the rusty iron screeching under his new claws and vibrating up where your spine was pressed against the door.
Your heart like a rabbit in your chest, you frantically looked around the tiny space for something, anything, that would help. Somewhere there should be tranquilizers, right? Fuck, those are back in the infirmary. Maybe something to smack him over the head with? You glanced around for a blunt weapon when your eyes fell on a different type of defense: the thrower pistol.
It was on the far side of the room, but you knew it had at least one charge in it. One good shot. You didn’t want to hurt Ezra, but the monster on the other side of the door, pushing on it so hard it slammed against the doorframe with each attack, wasn’t giving you any other options.
You were going to have to kill him.
You braced your stance, waiting for him to hit the door one more time before launching yourself across the room, ducking to grab the pistol right as the door was thrown open so hard it broke off its ramshackle hinges. You flipped around, aimed the gun, and fired.
-*BANG!*-
Ezra howled in pain, clutching the new hole in his right shoulder with his still-human hand, his canines flashing in rage. Instead of blood, some kind of thick, black ichor dribbled from the wound and down his exoskeleton arm, running in riverettes off his clawed fingers. Undeterred, he lurched towards you, your brain kicking into overdrive to escape. You dodged the naked man’s grasp, instinct telling you to run outside, but the Green’s unforgiving pollen would kill you slowly, at least with Ezra you had a fighting chance.
So that’s what you did, you fought.
You swung a punch at him as he fumbled for you, catching him deftly in the side of his skull, but just like with the bullet hole he seemed unphased in his new anatomy. You swung again, and this time he caught you, his long, segmented fingers digging harshly into your wrist. You struck out with your other arm, only to meet the same fate, and when you resorted to kicking, he kicked back, taking your feet out from under you and putting you on your back.
“That wasn’t very nice of you, turtledove,” he snarled, straddling you under him while keeping your arms captive, his neon green dick oozing onto your bare belly. The precum was warmer now, hot almost, so close to your own sex. He smiled venomously down at you, the deep brown of his irises ringed with a threatening shade of gold. “It’s ok though, a little boo-boo ain’t gonna make me like you any less. I must express to you my desires, beautiful.” He said with a grind of his hips, his upper body leaning over yours, pinning you to the ground like an insect in a display case. “You have vexed and haunted my fantasies since the day I laid eyes on you, and now, to have you for myself… Well, maybe not just for me. For… us.”
“Get off me! Ezra, this isn’t you! Let me go! Let me help you!” You squirmed in his iron grip, trying to get a knee up into his back. He hooked his legs over yours, completely disabling you.
“‘Fraid I can’t do that, birdie. I have my orders.” He sighed at your furrowed brow. “You can’t hear her? She sent me to you. She chose you.”
You made a mental note to add auditory hallucinations to his chart. “Fuck are you talking about? Who? Who do you hear, Ez? Who is telling you to do this?!” you were pleading now, hoping buying into his charade would earn you your freedom, but he only tightened his grip, grinding his hips down onto yours.
“The Queen.”
Ezra surged forward, dropping his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss, taking you completely off guard. His tongue took advantage of the surprise, probing deeply into your mouth, hunting for your own to tangle with. The taste of summer fruit flooded your mouth with his tongue, so strong you thought it might choke you until it actually did. His drool was as thick and viscous as the stuff dribbling from his cock, sloughing from his mouth into yours until you were forced to drink it down.
It warmed your mouth, your tongue, your cheeks, and the back of your throat, oozing down your gullet in a wave of hot pleasure that made your eyes roll back. Ezra’s teeth nipped at your lower lip, licking deeply with every chaste kiss until you were kissing him back. Whatever toxin was in his saliva was quickly having an effect, leaving you lust-drunk on his kisses alone. He ground his hips down on you, dragging his extraterrestrial appendage over the skin of your tummy, and you raised your own hips up to meet him.
He hummed delightedly into the cavern of your mouth, lapping and laving his way around like a giddy teenager’s first kiss, pulling away with an obscene smack of his lips. Spit-glistened and swollen, his own mouth was turned upwards in a boyish grin. “We knew you were perfect, sweet songbird, we knew this was where we were meant to come. We knew you would be the one.”
Haze filtered in around your sight, making everything in the room fuzzy in a way that it almost didn’t want to be seen; everything but the man poised above you. Ezra almost seemed to be glowing, drawing your gaze to him and him alone. As his hips gyrated on the wrong side of yours, the heat in your gut surged down to your groin, making your cunt throb with need and turning your panties sticky with wet.
“What.. what’ve you done… done t’me?”
“Why, we’re just gettin’ the festivities around for your coronation, darlin’,” Ezra purred, a string of words that didn’t make a lick of sense, the most glaring of all was his constant use of we. You felt his hands unspool from your wrists finally, but your arms would not obey you and laid limply on the floor, drunk on whatever Ezra had poured into you. He sat up fully and dismounted you, dragging his mismatched hands over your heated skin. “So beautiful, wanna touch all of you, don’t be shy now.”
He paused at your breasts, your nipples pebbled almost painfully hard, so sensitive that when he wrapped his strange fingers around them you cried out and arched your back, pressing your tits into his warm hands. The drawl of his praises made your skin prickle, soft good girls and oh, aren’t you gorgeous prayed to the altar of your body. He bent to kiss your soft skin, the bristles of his upper lip dragging euphorically across your flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
He kissed all the way down your torso to the ratty waistband of your sweatpants, leaving a halo of gentle, benign kisses around your belly button. His caring caresses belied his alien arm and drooling appendage, making him, for a moment, nothing more than a man.
Ezra hooked his eight fingers in the waistband and pulled, tugging your sweats and panties off in one go, tossing them somewhere unknown. You should be angry, embarrassed, furious even with him undressing you against your will, but your blood pounded like a volcano in your ears, threatening to pyroclast right out your cunt if your burning need wasn’t addressed. Ezra sat back on his haunches and whistled, scrubbing his chin with his three-clawed hand. “Ain’t you a pretty sight, all slick and wet, that just for us?” He purred, sliding his fleshier finger through the slick coating your thighs and bringing it up to his lips to taste. “Mmmph, perfect. Could smell you for miles, birdie, but to taste you, now that is truly divine.”
Warm hands pushed your knees apart, revealing your cunt to him fully. The slap of cold air on your sensitive nethers pulsed in your brain like you’d been doused in cold water, and suddenly the moment became all too real.
He was going to fuck you.
Some semblance of control spurred your legs and limbs, and you flailed, flipping onto your hands and knees to try and flee. You screamed when Ezra dug into your hips, dragging you back towards him. His claws scrambled up the right side of your body until he had your neck in his long fingers, the razor sharp tips pressing threateningly into your jugular and forcing your head back. “Now now,” he seethed in your ear, nipping and licking at the side of your face. “Don’t go makin’ this any harder than it has to be, birdie. We’re gonna make you feel good, don’t you worry now.” He bit you, sinking his teeth so hard into your neck you knew he broke the skin, warm blood and venomous spit trickling down over his nightmare-green fingers.
The familiar heat spiked into your bloodstream again, and you were quickly pliant in his grip. “There, isn’t that better? You’re strong, ain’tcha? Knew you would be. Knew it had to be you.” Behind you, Ezra kicked your legs further apart with his knees, lining his dripping cock up with your slick heat and plunging forward, bottoming right out and making you instantly see stars. “FuuuUUCK! What a tight little cunt! So.. fucking... tight… and… wet!”
He punctuated each word with an experimental thrust, forcing you to open up more around him without giving you a chance to let your body accommodate, but your insides were soon slick with his precum and yours, letting him glide in almost effortlessly save for the inhuman size. The claws around your throat tightened slightly, rooting you in place while Ezra fucked you to his liking. The tip of him pushed and pulsed aggressively against your cervix, trying to rearrange your guts with each stroke.
“That feel good, songbird?” he mused in your ear, biting the lobe. Your mind said no but your body screamed yes, moaning and clenching around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Bet it does. Gonna feel even better when I pump ya full. Make ya mine allll MINE!”
He left one more feral bite on your shoulder and pulled himself back, pushing a palm between your shoulder blades and forcing you down from your elbows onto your face, ass high in the air just for him. He readjusted his knees, his grabby fingers taking generous fistfuls of your ass, and slammed himself home.
The wet slap of skin on inhuman skin echoed faintly in the little ramshackle tent, mixing with his growls and your whines, the wet drip of juices pouring out of your cunt splattering on the bare floor and leaving a slippery mess between your legs. Ezra was an animal behind you, fucking you like it was his last day alive, sweat tracking down his face and chest, sticking to your ass and thighs with every brain-melting thrust. A five-fingered hand slipped down your hip towards your mound, fishing sloppily for your clit to rub vicious little circles against. You keened in pain and pleasure, bearing you walls down around his length, making it squelch obscenely.
“That’s it… thaaaat’s it, little bird, come for us. Be a good girl and come so we can fill that belly proper.” That velvet baritone slipped like sin up your spine, curling in your veins until it snapped, making you gush around him. He groaned and picked up the pace, fucking you like a man possessed, as if his only reason for living was to pound your pussy into oblivion. “Yes… YES! Gonna… gonna.. f-fuuUUUCK!”
Ezra plowed forward, making room for himself in your already-too-full cunt by breaking through the gates of your womb, the pointy tip of him slipping past your cervix and pouring his cum into you. Your body seized up under the foreign intrusion, cold sweat breaking on your brow, a scream dying in your throat while you scrambled for purchase on the hard, barren floor.
It was like gallons of molten syrup were being spilled into you, hot and slick and unbelievably filling. Each little desperate rock of Ezra’s hips against your ass made more and more of him fill into you, and it didn’t stop. He was growling, snarling, feral with each pump, the base of his cock swelling wide inside of you into a sort of knot, giving nowhere for his cum to go but in.
And in… and in… and in it went.
You felt the weight of him growing inside you, pushing against your abdominal wall until your skin tingled from the inside. More and more of his juices flooded your womb, distending it, filling it, stretching it until you could feel it hanging heavily underneath you. The feeling of fullness was like nothing you’d ever experienced, swaying gently from your belly with each of Ezra’s last thrusts.
When he finally stilled, he was heaving breathlessly, his chest almost spasming with his burning lungs. He threw his head back and gasped for air, letting his synapses swim in the serotonin he had so valiantly earned. Those dangerous hands of his crept gently to your hips, drawing tender, loving circles around your bruised hipbones and red asscheeks, marked with his passing conquest. From there, he let himself wander down your sides to your tummy, cupping the new roundess with almost fatherly devotion.
“So good to us…” he whispered with a slide of his palms, splaying his fingers wide over your taut skin. “She will live on now, after she dies. Through you, little bird. You should be so proud.”
You couldn’t make sense of his words, you couldn’t make sense of anything really, your mind becoming cloudy with exhaustion; probably a side effect of the venom. Your own ragged breath fogged up the floorboards, leaving a steaming ghost of moisture on each pant. Before you succumbed entirely to the darkness growing behind your eyes, you felt Ezra lean forward, trailing kisses of admiration up your spine, your shoulders, your neck, your throat, brushing his scratchy lips against your ears, the crack of his mouth splitting into a grin to whisper,
“All hail the Queen.”
You woke up bleary eyed and naked on the floor of your shack, the soft light of the nearby orange planet warming the golden tones of the sunlight streaming in through the little plastic window. Your head hurt, a migraine threatening to break between your ears, trying to convince you to go back to sleep. Rubbing at your eyes, you tried to remember why you were on the floor. Strange visions danced in your mind, of strangers from the stars and space aliens with insect arms, paired with thoughts of dangerous men and being ravaged on the floor of your own home.
Had… had that all been a dream?
Perhaps staying on the Green so long wasn’t as good of an idea as you’d thought if living on fruit jerky and instant espresso was going to make you go crazy. You began to sit up, desperate for a shirt and a cup of coffee, when the arm flung over your waist coiled tighter.
You didn’t need coffee anymore.
Adrenaline seared through your veins when you looked at the arm keeping you hostage. Dark emerald green, covered in chitinous plates and ending in wicked sharp claws; the alien of your nightmare alive and well, and apparently spooning you. Ezra’s inhuman palm flattened and dragged lovingly over the next of your waking nightmares: your sudden pregnancy.
Fuck you were big, swollen and full, of what you didn’t know. Couldn’t be a human baby… that should have taken months, not hours. And yet you looked all the world like a mother to be, with your baby daddy coiled around your backside.
Ezra shifted when your breaths quickened, adding another fun fact to your growing list. His cock, still hard and inflated at the base, was still lodged in your cunt, keeping any of his cum from leaking; though your legs and thighs, as well as the ground under you was soaked through.
“Ez… Ez wake up. Ez wake up right now.” you demanded, trying to shuffle your hips to dislodge him, but that knot was firmly wedged inside you.
His arm tightened, and he nuzzled the back of your head with sleepy kisses. “Mmm.. don’ wanna… sleepy.”
“EZRA!” You were done being nice, shouting the prospector awake with a frightening start. “Get your fucking dick out of me right now or I’m gonna cut it off!”
“Do what, huh?! HUH?!” Ezra’s deep southern voice climbed more octaves than you thought capable, keening with surprise. “The hell you mean, OH! Shit fucking hell!?” Words escaped him while he tried to escape you, struggling to pull his cock free against the knot. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! How!? How did?!” He was almost screaming, his terror sticking in his throat in sudden silence when the knot finally slipped free, a salacious pop preluding the gush of juices that poured out of you with his release.
The loss of him made you whine and ache, suddenly empty but still furious. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, bug boy! You fucked me! And apparently knocked me up while you were at it!”
Ezra put distance between you, his claws tacka-tackaing on the floor finally drawing his attention to his new arm. He screamed and flailed, trying to shake it off, then trying to rip it off, but it was as well attached as the arm that had once been there; the one made of meat and bone instead of plates of chitin. “WHAT IN KEVVA’S CHAOS IS THAT!?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” you rolled up onto your butt, your heavy womb sitting in the bowl of your crossed legs. “You came here after a run-in with the ‘aurelac queen’, and now you’re a lobster and I’m preggers. Explain yourself, fuckwit!”
“I-I-I….” he stammered, looking between you and his claw, paleing even further at his softening cock, the brilliant green of it darkening as it finally came to rest. “I… I don’t… I don’t know.”
“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T- oh. Oh no…” your verbal punishment was cut short by a sudden gurgling in your guts, your full womb twitching with an incoming cramp storm. All the blood drained from your face, a cold sweat breaking out over every inch of your body when your maternal instinct warned you that it was time. “Ezra… whatever it is… it’s coming.”
He looked at you, frozen, confused and scared, and for a moment the half man, half… whatever the fuck that was, seemed to be carved out of marble instead of flesh. Then he was all motion, hurrying to you, hands moving you gently, asking you in a frightened whisper what you needed him to do, as if you fucking knew.
All you knew now was fear, and suddenly pain as the contractions started, tearing a wailing cry from your throat. Ezra eased you onto your back, pushing something soft under your head as a pillow. “Is there something I can give you? Medicine? Something to make it easier? Oh turtledove I’m so sorr-”
“Shut up Ezra! This is YOUR FAULT!” you barked with rage, words like daggers. Ez swallowed dryly at the verbal assault, but he wasn’t leaving your side, no matter how mad at him you were. There might have been something in your med kit to ease the pain, but the contractions were coming too fast, and all you could do was squeeze his hand so hard you almost broke it.
“That’s it, that’s it darlin’, push, I-I see somethin…” Ezra cried from between your legs, ready to catch whatever was coming out. “You got it, you’re doin’ it! I see… what… what is that!?”
You couldn’t hear his fresh terror over your screams and the blood pounding in your ears as whatever was inside you squeezed out your channel and into Ezra’s clawed palm. Head back, vision obscured by your own swollen middle, you couldn’t see what you had just birthed, all you could see was Ezra’s horrified face. There was no crying, no newborn squall, and between the silence and the staring you felt your heart break. “Ez.. Ez please, I need to see… is it a boy or a girl?”
He shook his head, sucking his lips between his teeth. “Um... it’s neither.” He sat back on his haunches and lifted your creation up with shaky hands. Instead of anything resembling a human, what he held was a whitish, pearlescent sac, trailing an umbilical down to your cunt. It was something you were undoubtedly familiar with, but had no business coming out of your snatch. “It’s-”
“Aurelac?”
“That’s… what it looks like. I’ve been prospecting for years an’ I’ve never seen anything like this.” Ezra nearly whispered, turning the gemsack around in his hands, testing the weight of it. “Feels like a big one, too. I can start cut-” You cut him off with another cry of pain, convulsing in on yourself with fresh contractions. “Shit, you got more in there?!” he balked when you nodded, moving the first aurelac out of the way and readying himself for the second. “I’ll do anything ya need me to do, just tell me!”
“Touch… touch…” you babbled, tears streaming down your face. “Need, need -ah!!- need your hands! Help, please!” You arched your back, fighting the contractions to make demands of Ezra with your body.
He was on you in a flash, rubbing gentle circles around your clit with his left hand, exchanging pain for pleasure with each careful dip into your stretched cunt. “There ya go, that’s a good girl, make you come those out, huh?” He laughed nervously, about as confused as you were but happy to be of service. Dark green fingers trailed carefully over the taut skin of your middle, feeling for the next push. “Sorry I’m not usin’ my primary weapon, but that, uh, new fangled hardware looks a tad sharp.”
You were dazed, dull to his words as the fire built inside you until it burst, squeezing another aurelac bag from your belly. Ez moved it next to the other one and continued, picking up the pace but growing sloppy using the wrong hand. “Ez…” you begged in a sweat-soaked haze, “Mouth?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ezra scootched back a bit and dove for your cunt, wrapping his hungry lips around the engorged bud of your sex, sucking a cry of pleasure from you. He laved his tongue over you, sucking up your juices like a man starved, earning a priceless gem for every orgasm he drew from you. The wet of his mouth would have been disgusting on a better day, smacking and sucking between hums of approval and joy, burying his face in your cunt like he was planning on being buried there himself.
Cum flooded out of you, gushing over his face every time you came and dropping a fresh new aurelac sack every time. The pile grew and grew, your tummy flattening to its original size and slowly revealing the top of Ezra’s head, then his brow, and finally his eyes - closed in pleasure.
You’d never seen a more enraptured face.
When the last of your clutch was birthed, and the placenta slithered out with it, you passed out from the exhaustion of labor, deaf to Ezra’s desperate cries, begging you to stay awake as you slipped into darkness.
It was around mid-afternoon when you came to, your hungry guts waking you from your peaceful nappy. You rose and stretched, scratching yourself through the clean shirt you were wearing like a bear waking up from hibernation. You stretched your clean legs and took a deep breath, the smell of quote-unquote ‘coffee’ lighting up in your brain excitedly.
“Hey, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” The soft southern drawl of your now-familiar prospector didn’t startle you like it should, instead it curled warmth and soothing desire through your heart. Ezra approached cautiously, a mug of bean water in hand. “I made you some coffee, if that’s alright.”
The memory of your strange dreams sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to exchange a story for the cup of coffee, but when you saw his hand you knew they had been real.
All of it had been real.
Ezra saw you look at his hand and began to withdraw it in shame, only for you to catch it first. He didn’t resist as you turned it over, examining the exoskeletal joints and the softer spaces between the bone-hard plates. His palm was soft for the most part, and warm, so you placed your face in it, holding him to you. He stiffened with a conflicted breath, then slowly drew the jagged thumb across your cheek.
There was some kind of connection now between you, something that shouldn’t have been but was. A link that could never be broken, a song serenading your heart with a word usually attributed to animals, not men.
Mate.
“Where’s the aurelac?” you asked softly, remembering what mating with Ezra now entailed. He cupped your face in a tiny hug and retreated to find your clutch.
“You got eight of them in total! I went ahead and cleaned them up, got ‘em harvested.” He beamed like a proud parent, presenting the bowl full of glittering gemstones. They were bigger than any you’d ever seen, the size of Ezra’s balled fist each. “I don’t understand it a lick, but uh, I think whatever’s happened to us has made us the richest pair of miscreants on this entire moon.” His smile faded when you fixed him a glare at the word ‘us’, swallowing dryly. “You, my apologies, turtle dove, these are yours. The hand I played in their creation was downright deplorable. You should’a put a bullet in my skull the moment you saw me amblin’ through the woods. I didn’t come here on my own thoughts, somethin’ else was driving me.” He gestured to the wound on his thigh, now covered by a stolen pair of your sweats. “It was the queen, her stinger- it put somethin’ in my head. I could hear ‘er dyin’, tellin’ me to-”
“Shh, Ez, it’s alright. It’s not your fault. You weren’t in control.” You reached up to caress his face, but he caught you and shook his head.
“Do not forgive my actions, little bird. I should be strung up for what I did to you. Please, take that aurelac and buy yourself passage off this miserable moon, get as far away from me as you can! Because this,” he held up his claw, turning the shiny carapace over in the light. “Ain’t comin’ off, and I don’t know if the… urge… will come over me again! You don’t deserve to be violated in such a way.”
He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t deserve any of that. You sighed real big, glancing between the heaping bowl of gold and the rugged, handsome face of the man who had accidentally gifted it to you. He was - when he wasn’t under the control of an alien - a sweet and caring man. Hardworking and strong, and by the look of shame in his eyes, loyal to the end.
You grazed your fingertips over the gemstones, feeling their smooth surfaces, watching the way the dappled sunlight sparkled in the drops of solid gold at their centers. They were perfect in every way, and would fetch enough points to buy anything your heart desired. Ezra probably knew this, but a flicker of deviousness drew you to say “I don’t think this is going to be enough to buy any sort of passage off the Green, might need a couple more…”
He nodded, “I-I can go prospecting, let me get my suit back on, I’ll dig up as many as-”
You caught him before he could get too far. “That’s… not what I meant.”
He stilled in your grip, brow furrowed, plush lips parted with confusion before he figured it out. He was ready to get as far away from you as you wanted him to be, to accept any punishment you saw fit. He wasn’t expecting to be invited back into your arms.
Slowly, he leaned forward, dipping his face cautiously towards you as if you would bite it off, but was instead rewarded with the slight upward tilt of your lips, and the flick of your gaze roving over his own. Your lips met softly, gently, almost a whisper of a kiss before each of you pushed closer. This was not the violent, bruising kiss he had first given you, this was one of unplanned devotion. It was like Kevva xerself had blessed this strange union, drawing you together for reasons only the divine could interpret.
Ezra smelled nice up close, the horrible prospector stink long gone, and only the faintest blueberry strudel remnants clung to the earthy scent of his body. He was warm and soft in the places you needed him to be, even his horror-hand seemed delicate with you. You could get used to it.
You both pulled away for air, stealing each other's breath away in the space between you. “So, what’d’ya say, Ez? You wanna treat me to that dance you were so adamant about? See where that takes us?"
He laughed softly, those honeywell eyes of his sparkling with giddy excitement, only the slightest twinge of unsuredness around their golden edges. “For you, my queen? Anything.”
A/N: This glorious shitpost was written entirely by my beloved husband @man-slut-mando for the entertainment of our discord server. It's beyond crack fic, so hold on to your butts! It's about to get buttery.
You, of the 5 million entries…have WON THE BREAKFAST DATE WITH GIO!
You're driven to the airport, you get on the plane, and arrive at your destination: San Francisco, CA.
You're escorted by the crew of the movie! Limo, mid-morning mimosas, and a luxurious trip though Cali's hottest spots.
Now imagine:
YOU ARRIVE AT:
THE TOAST EATERY!!
Out front stands... Gio
He smiles warmly, and extends a hand to you as you exit the limo
As you walk towards him to take his hand, he throws out both arms and hugs you tightly - Almost too tight, and in true character, yell-whispers in your ear…
"GIO WAS WONDERING WHYEN YOU WERE GYOING TO GYET HEEEERE!"
Immediately he lets you go, and sprints inside the restaurant.
On the tables, toast.
Toast, toast toast.
On the radio: Haywood Banks, 'Yeah Toast'.
The menus? Long bread, with toast.
No extras, only butter, and Gio loves butter.
"THIS is Gio's FYAVORITE PLYACE TO EYAAAAT."
CRONCH CRONCH CRONCH - Crumbs everywhere. Napkins? NO, your way to clean up butter and toast crumbs?
MORE TOAST.
The icing on the proverbial toast-cake while you're there with Gio? He finishes his 24 pieces of butter toast. He has a mountain of crumbs on the tabletop.
He LICKS the table clean.
In front of you.
You stare at him, face guffaw'd.
"Oh, you wanted some of Gio's bounty? TOO BAD, LEETLE GURL. The crumbs are GIO'S."
You try to strike up conversation about the new cliff beasts movie.
"Do NOT try to deestract Gio by talking about the FYEATHERD BIRBS. Gio knows you are trying to STYEAL HIS TOAST."
The server brings you a drink.
Rehydrated milk with toast crumb topping.
"Ah, PYERFECT FOR DEEPING MAI TOAST INTO." Gio drinks the rehydrated milk abomination and smiles. Crumbs: present. Teeth: covered. "NYOW, how about a leetel kees for Gio?" At this point the song on the radio has hit the french toast part. Gio switches into this best french accent. He leans into your face, "omlyeeete due fyoromaaage~"
The date continues.
You leave the toast eatery, Gio still covered in crumbs. Guards? Security? Nope, it's just you two. You walk the streets with Gio as he points out all the best things.
"You see theees fyire hydrant? it is the REE-YONG color of REEYED." He leans down and touches the hydrant. Pulls out a large crescent wrench from his pant leg that you didn't notice before, "Gio needs hydration."
SPLOOSH!
Water, everywhere.
Gio takes a drink. Flooding waters be damned, he pulls you along, both of you soaked.
Phones, ruined.
Hair, sloppy.
Plap plap plap go his wet slippers on the concrete. The $200 you spent on getting all pretty for meeting your favorite actor? Gone. Wasted. Oh yes, did I forget to mention? He's dressed in slippers, jeans, and a bathroom robe. Hair, fluffy and erratic. No shirt.
Crumbs are stuck in his chest hair.
He notices you noticing him. "Oh, you weesh to consume from Gio's glorious chest bounty? I THYINK NOT." He grabs his chacha poppers and licks the crumbs off his chest as best he can.
(We cannot reference his pecs properly, no. We must refer to them as his chacha poppers. Uno and dos)
You continue walking. By now, your shoes have dried, but the rest of you hasn't. Was this the breakfast date you wanted? No, but you were still with Gio…so….
Stop.
Gio stares skyward. "I weesh to eat edamame."
You furrow your brow. "Eda..mame? Like the bean?"
"Gyes. Just lyiek your edamame, madam omelette~" At this point you can't help but wonder what sort of drug induced frenzy has taken control of this man. He turns to face you, and walks up to you slowly, cautiously. "You…will help Gio find his edamame"
Your eyes wander around, looking for anything that remotely looks like a candid camera location. "Hey."
"HYEY." Gio stares you down with a frown on his face. "Do you nyot trust Gio? Why do you avoid hees special gaze?"
Suddenly, a sound graces your ears: Pyurrrruururrubbbbbybbbppbbbpbpbptt
Gio's eyes go wide.
"Gio. Must. Go. NOW." He breaks into a sprint-wobble, aiming for the dry cleaners across the street. You're too stunned to follow him, instead watching as he slams the door open And proceeds to lift the lid on a washing machine by the front window.
The owner starts screaming in an unknown language.
Gio sits upon the washing machine, jeans only part way down his thighs.
Unbeknownst to Gio, and unbeknownst to the shop worker…
This machine will start on the spin cycle if hit just right.
And unfortunately for both parties involved…
The spin cycle starts.
Clearly, we're going to need a bigger mop and bucket soon.
You can't face what is unfolding in front of you, so you turn around and start walking away from the dry cleaners who just received a new indoor paint job. You pull your phone out - Still drenched by the way, and sigh at the fact that it is still indeed dead. You continue walking down the street. Folks watch you as you pass by, questioning your looks, but hey, it's San Francisco.
Suddenly, behind you in the distance, you hear: "plap plap plap plap PLAP PLAP PLAP"
"MYEYE SWEET LEETLE GURL, WHY DO YOU FLYEE FROM GIO?"
A shiver - Nay, an ICEBERG of a shudder runs down your spine. You snap your head back to look at the oncoming disaster that is Gio. At this point, what you see cannot surprise you any more, and yet…
Three, count them: THREE pairs of ladies' underwear are upon his head. His jeans? Still on one leg. His WHITE boxers are now coated in some blue substance which you assume to be detergent, yet you can see a hint of…brown?!?!?
He's lost his robe and now has a yellow suit jacket on.
"WYAT FOR GIOOOO!"
He stops inches from you yet again, and smiles as tenderly as he can, covered in more than the normal amounts of fluids a man should have on at one time.
Before you can say anything to Gio, you hear tires screeching in the distance.You both turn to see your savior approaching at more-than-legal speeds: THE LIMO!
The limo screeches to a halt in front of you both, and two people jump out immediately. In their hands is some sort of hulahoop, with plastic around it?
"Oh, hyellow my frieeends!" Gio chirps before being grabbed by the scruff of his neck.
"Hello, Dieter."
The hula-hoop is held above him, and within milliseconds, a curtain drops around him, hiding him from view.
Clothes are flung from the sides, a large bucket of water is dumped into the ring above Gio, with him giggling the entire time.
The hoop is dropped, and Gio reappears fully clothed and clean.
"Hyellow again!"
Both of his handlers look at you, faces emotionless. "Don't worry, he does this a lot."
"He what?"
"I dyou this a-loht" Gio says, mocking his handlers with a high pitched voice.
The exhausted handler sighs. "Now, shall we continue to the next part of your sweepstakes prize? If you both enter the limo, we can head to our next destination. Gio, we even have your favorite snacks in the limo: fruit roll ups!"
He’s not even hard, but the sounds he’s making do exactly for you what your moans do for him. It’s debauched, but it fucking works. Everything is so noisy: the vibrator, the slap of the dildo making a huge wet mess of your cunt, your mewling and his growling. You wonder how much of it the neighbors are hearing.
Summary: You and your husband Frankie are trying to get pregnant, but real life keeps getting in the way.
Rating: Comically Explicit
Word count: 7.2k
Content warnings: Erotic Comedy, human realness, human bodily functions, interruptions galore. P in V, oral m and f receiving, use of lube and toys. Kinks: everything? They're thrown around pretty loosely but they include mentions of breeding/pregnancy/ovulation (reader is trying to get pregnant) lactation, size kink a bit. Some dirty talk, a little tad bit of daddy kink, some others just thrown in for glitter.
A/N: I've noticed a recent uptick in posts criticizing fanfiction for being "unrealistic" and "setting unobtainable standards" in regards to sex, which besides the fact that these posts are stupid as hell, I have two big fat issues with them.
It's FICTION, if I want to fuck a space alien with a tentacle dick that's my goddamn prerogative, you don't have to read it if you don't want to read the tags.
I don't see anyone writing these ""realistic"" smut fics yall are so adamant about the fanfiction community needing so badly.
SO I DID! BEHOLD! A realistic smut fic featuring our most daddy of dilfs, Frankie! Sex is gross and weird and complete nonsense, so if you've been reading erotic fanfiction getting your hopes up thinking thats how real life sex works, I hate to break it to you, but it don't. It looks more like this.
This fic is ok to be read by anyone over 18, but is intended for more mature readers.
It’s a rare treat for both you and your husband to be home on the same Saturday evening, with the two of you working as much as you do, but today is one of those rare treasures. Early morning saw you both running errands -since grocery shopping alone is forbidden, you snack whore- and the afternoon went mostly to a quote-unquote nap. Now it’s already dark outside, the winter sun having gone to bed early, and the two of you have no other plans besides winding down for the night.
Or, so you thought.
"Babe!"
"Yeah?" The reply comes unhurriedly from the other side of the couch, your husband's ever-present ball cap turning slightly with the tilt of his head, but his eyes don't break from the tv.
"Frankie." You call again, using his name instead of an endearment. That gets his attention quick, and suddenly a pair of enormous brown eyes are meeting yours from behind the couch, going wide when he sees you coming out of the bathroom with an indicator stick in your hand.
"Oh my god baby are you-?"
"No," you cut him off with a stifled laugh, aware that he probably can't see exactly what it is that you're holding. "I'm not pregnant, yet. But I'm ovulating." You wave the indicator stick for emphasis, the smile on your face growing into a full blown cheese while Frankie goes through a rolodex of emotions.
"Fuck babe you had me all excited." He drags a calloused palm down his face, pulling the wrinkles around his eyes flat for a moment while his head hits the back of the couch in mock exhaustion.
"You should still be excited, dingus, this means we gotta do it. Now." You toss the stick in the trash and go wash your hands before crossing the living room to your man, combing your dampish fingers through the kinked hair sticking out from under his hat.
“Oh, I see.” He tilts back into your touch, eyes closing with a soft flutter, lips quirked into a pleasant grin. "Can I drop my fossils off at the museum first?" He asks cheekily, waggling the Switch controller at you.
"Blathers can wait, I can not." Frankie's hat hits the floor with a soft fwump after you tug it off his head, letting his chocolate locks bounce freely. "You have until I finish brushing my teeth."
"Deal." He says, puckering his lips and making kissy noises at you, which of course you indulge him in, pressing your lips to his upside down ones. "Oof yeah, you taste like lasagna."
"And you taste like ass, but I kiss you anyway." Both of you snort and giggle before you trot off to the bathroom, the cheery Nintendo music picking up again in your wake. You get to the bathroom and turn on the water, setting it to almost-hot and getting the toothbrush wet while it warms. The electric oral-B won't be the only thing vibrating tonight.
While you mindlessly scrub your teeth, you start trying to grab whatever toys you think you'll want to use, though honestly you shouldn't try to multitask because by the time you've located two of your favorite dildos you look rabid with the foam coming out the corners of your mouth.
"Hey there, Cujo, you're looking fine this evening."
"Hrruru" you mumble through the toothpaste at the pair of arms coming up from behind you to encircle your waist. Frankie chuckles and kisses the back of your ear before tossing another toy into the running water: a small silicone egg. Cheeky.
"I can't find the cap to your vibrator, have you seen it?"
"Iz n th' shwr"
"I looked in the shower it's not- oh I see it. Nevermind." Frankie snags the vibe cap from the shower caddy and tosses it into the sink as well, avoiding your punishing glare that's telling him he needs to get his eyes checked. "Love you."
You grunt skeptically right as the toothbrush finishes its cycle, buzzing a pattern that tells you it's time to clear the sink. Frankie grabs everything -as well as a towel- and heads to the bedroom, leaving you to finish up your routine; but just as one man leaves the bathroom, another one enters.
"Mrrow?"
"Hi Elvis."
"Brrt mrrrow?"
"No the water is off now I'm done brushing my-"
"Bthurrr mrAH!"
"Ok ok geez, Whatever you say, your majesty." You turn the sink back on just enough for a trickle and pat the old black cat on the rump while he drinks straight from the tap. There's no arguing with him.
"Are you talkin' to that cat again?"
"He's thirsty."
"His water bowl is full, I filled it up when I got dinner 'round for Daisy."
"You try telling that to the King." You say as you enter the bedroom, tugging off your Mandalorian t-shirt from Target and dumping it unceremoniously in the dirty clothes bin. You don't miss the way Frankie immediately turns around like he didn't just watch your breasts tumble out before his very eyes. You know it's been his favorite sight for years, no matter how much they've started losing the war with gravity.
He can feel your eyes boring a hole in his skull while he distracts himself fluffing a towel across the bed, debating for a moment if he's going to need more than one with what he's gonna do to you. The answer comes in the form of you chucking another balled up towel on the bed, and receiving an incredulous smirk for your forwardness. "Oh, so it's gonna be like that, huh?"
"Mmhmm." You hum into the space between his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his waist to press your breasts into his back. "Need you to make a mess of me tonight, daddy."
He half snorts, half chokes; a laugh tripping over the feet of embarrassment. "I ain't a daddy yet, babygirl, but I'm guessing you're gonna make me change that?"
Frankie thinks he's funny, but you've been trying to 'make him a daddy' now for almost two years, and you can't afford to waste a single egg, especially since you’re having a surge right now. They happen so quickly that you missed the last couple, and knowing you missed your window often left you with a lingering feeling of heartbreak; something you were trying to avoid having to experience again. "Frankie, you know how much I want to-"
"I'm just teasing you, sweetheart." He interrupts, turning around in your embrace to face you, wrapping his own strong arms around your hips. "I want it, too. But first I gotta get you nice an' opened up, think we have enough time to do that first?" The pleading arch of his brows softens when you nod, and he rewards you with a kiss to your forehead. "Then let me take care of you, gorgeous."
Frankie's thick thumbs dig into the waistband of your ploppy, flannel house pants, dragging them down along with your laundry day underwear, exposing your bare skin to the chill of the bedroom. Goosebumps prickle on your thighs, making the hair stand straight up to tickle Frankie's palms a bit while he soothes the cold away. For a moment you consider turning the thermostat up, but if you do that by the end of the festivities you'll be sweating through the sheets, so it's up to him to keep you warm tonight.
"Fuck me, you're beautiful, you know that?" Frankie muses, that familiar awestruck tone still present even after years of knowing your body. The bed creaks when he sits back on it, wanting a moment to appreciate his wife before he gets down to business.
"No, you." You chide as if deflecting does you any good, but all it does is earn you a bemused tsk as your husband drags his broad hands up your thighs to your hips, splaying his fingers wide over the soft flesh, imagining the bruises he could so easily leave. You watch him take you in, the darkening swirl in his eyes growing like a summer storm with every inch his fingers touch.
His love for you is etched in every crinkle around his eyes, in the way his lip pulls in between his teeth, in the slight tilt of his head; little movements writing wordless poetry to the goddess standing before him. Frankie takes a moment to lean in and kiss your belly, a silent prayer to the altar of fertility he's about to worship, hoping his offering will take.
-Scratch scratch scratch-
"Elvis! Stop clawing at the bed!" You scold, interrupting Frankie’s ritual of devotion. The living beanbag skitters away down the hallway with his half-crooked tail high in the air, claws tearing up the carpet as he flies. "Did you at least turn off the water?"
No, of course he didn't. He's a cat.
"You want me to get rid of him yet? He destroys everything, plus he stinks."
"Leave him alone, he's my stinky bastard man and I love him, even if his breath smells like death." The tone you use with Frankie is the same one you used to scold Elvis. "I'll get the water."
" I could drop him off on a farm, he'd love it…"
"No!!"
"Birds to chase, fence posts to pee on…"
"Frankie I swear!"
When you return to the bedroom Frankie has scooted up the bed, still dressed in his Grill Sergeant tank top and blue jeans while you stand there naked except for your socks. He beckons you to him with a pat pat pat on the towels laid out next to him. "C'mere, lay next to me."
“You gonna take your clothes off yet?”
He turns away, slightly bashful. “I’m chilly.”
“How do you think I feel?” You grab one of the blankets that’s fallen to the floor and drape it around yourself like a cape before crawling up onto the bed. “At least take your pants off.”
Frankie reluctantly agrees and pulls his stained jeans off, kicking them somewhere into the room that’s nowhere near the dirty clothes bin. Free of the denim he stretches himself out, his shirt riding up and exposing his tummy. You can’t help yourself, you just have to reach an inquisitive hand over to touch his bare skin, making him jump at the contact.
“Can I help you?”
“Bell-eh.” You say softly, brushing your fingertips through the sparse dark hair growing in a line down from his naval towards your ultimate goal of the night. Mr. Wiggler is currently still soft and well hidden inside Frankie’s boxer-briefs, but he’ll get his turn. It’s tummy time, baby.
“I need to lose weight.”
“No you do not. You look perfect.” you punctuate your adoration with a handful of kisses to his wonderfully soft middle, giggling a bit at the way his treasure trail tickles your nose.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.” He reaches for you and pulls you down onto the bed, flipping you under him. “When did you last shower?”
“This morning.”
“Perfect.” He dives for your lips, kissing you hastily. “Does my pretty baby want me to eat her out?”
“Yes!”
“Nuh-uh uh, yes who?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“That’s better.” Eyes full of mischief, he kisses his way down your chin and jaw, nipping at your neck and collar bone in a mock-threatening way. He wants to leave marks there, bright purple blooms for all the world to see that you're his wife, and only he gets to pleasure you. But if you go to work with visible hickies your stupid coworkers will never let you hear the end of it, so he knows if he wants to leave marks, they’ll have to be lower.
He pulls the blanket down away from you as he goes, revealing you inch by inch to his lips, his hands, his teeth. Your skin prickles under him from the sensation as well as the chill, but at this rate you’ll be toasty in no time. He makes it to your breasts -his favorite part of your body- and sucks marks into the hills framing his face. Closing his eyes, his face softens with each kiss to the pillowy flesh, the creases above his cheeks disappearing entirely when he sucks a nipple into his hot wet mouth.
“Frankie…” the whisper of his name catches in the back of your throat on its escape, the weight of it tilting your head back, but only for a moment. Frankie sucking your tits is one of your favorite things to watch; his face serene, eyes closed, the crescent moon of his nose dimpling the fat each time he presses his face into you. The other breast of course is never left wanting, its tip rolled between two calloused fingertips in tandem with his mouth.
The thoughts that come during this moment are predictable, but still flush your body with heat. Eventually one of these times his seed will take, and your body will fill out all over, your breasts growing heavy with sweet milk for Frankie’s baby to grow big and strong on, but before they’re born someone will have to help you alleviate the pressure.
And you know exactly who that will be.
“I can’t wait for you to drink from me…”
Frankie’s eyes fly open at that, a swollen nipple caught between his lips. There’s a heat creeping across his cheeks, flushing his sun-bronze skin. It’s endearing when he looks up at you like this, so innocent and sweet, and you can’t help combing your fingers through his hair. He hums at the touch and pulls off your tit with a wet pop. “Fuck I can’t wait to taste you. Gonna be so sweet.”
“I got somethin’ for you to taste.” you tease with a wiggle of your trapped hips, grinding yourself on his sternum.
“I’m getting there.” Frankie steals one more kiss to your boob and finally shimmies down far enough to push himself between your legs, his own hanging off the bed. “Open up for me, baby.”
You hoist your legs up for him, using his shoulders as leverage and noticing for the first time that your socks don’t match. Frankie, oblivious to your sock conundrum, gets himself comfortable in front of your cunt, using his nose to nudge your mound; his way of demanding that you hold yourself open. Sliding your hands down between your legs, you take a moment to cup his cheek and make a smooching noise at him -a long distance kiss- and spread your folds out for him.
He rests his face on the backs of your knuckles and inhales. It’s obscene the way his back lifts with the swell of his lungs, and the strength of it makes you self conscious. The way your thighs tighten around his head in defense is involuntary, but Frankie is strong, and pushes them right back. “Oh no you don't, you smell too good.”
“You’re weird, Frank.”
“You like it.”
“Y-yeah-ah!” Your words are cut off quickly by the dart of his tongue, the nimble muscle flicking rudely at your clit.
“Hm? I didn’t -mlem- quite -mlem- catch -mlem- that?”
“Frankie!”
“Hehehe.” The villain stuffs himself back into your cunt, giggling like a naughty child. You sigh and let him work, his tongue and mouth perfectly adapted to bringing you to your first stop on the midnight pleasure train.
Eyes closed, you focus on how Frankie feels. The rounds of cheeks nudge the backs of your hands each time he presses into you, his beautiful nose bumping your sensitive pearl whenever he dives deeper, plunging the dexterous tip of his tongue into your soaked cunt to gather the arousal he’s earned and dragging back up to where you want it most. His bristly mustache tickles anywhere it touches, your hands, your lips, your inner thighs. It must be getting long, he should probably trim it a bit, otherwise when he kisses you you'll end up with a mouth full of hair.
Come to think of it, he hasn't had a hair cut in a while, and though his curls are to die for, they look silly sticking out from under his hat once it gets too long. Or maybe he could grow it out so long you could braid it. That would look funny, Frankie with braids.
Thinking about his hair makes you peep an eye open, and unexpectedly you have to try not to laugh. Frankie has bent his legs upwards so his weight is more centered on the bed, but from your vantage point it seems that he's grown a pair of Shrek ears out the top of his head. There's a hole in the toe of his left sock, one little piggy on the loose. Oh my god he needs new socks.
It's in the middle of this distraction that an orgasm makes its sudden climb. Maybe it was the lack of focus, or maybe there's some unaddressed secret fantasies you need to look into. Either way, your body seizes, every muscle from neck to calf going tighter than a guitar string. Frankie knows this is the signal to slurp, making delightfully disgusting noises as he draws out your climax.
"F-Fran-Frankie! Ah! Oh… oh… OUCH! Charlie horse!!!" Your orgasmic bliss is fucking demolished by a wickedly strong cramp in your hip muscle, making your leg go ramrod straight. Frankie grabs it immediately and guides it over his shoulder, holding it for you until the cramp passes.
"Did you take your magnesium today?" He asked over the curve of your stomach, his brow quirked accusingly.
"....no."
"You're supposed to take your magnesium-"
"Yes I know I know! Bite me- wait no- don't actually- HEY!"
Honestly you should know better, but if you can't remember to take your vitamins how can you be expected to remember Frankie loves to take you literally? His sharp canines sink greedily into the flesh of the inner thigh that wasn't cramped, certain to leave a mark of conquest. Your husband chuckles and sucks the spit off your skin before appraising your pussy. "Damn you're soaked, babygirl." He muses, pushing a long, rough finger into you to get a feel. "Feels like you need a good stretch. Which one do you want, blue or green?"
"Hmm…. Blue!"
"You got it." Frankie says with one more kiss to your cooch before hopping off the bed and going to the bathroom to wash off his face. When he returns, he finally tugs his shirt off -again completely missing the dirty clothes hamper- and crawls into bed next to you. Though its winter, his farmer's tan is still exceptionally visible.
On the nightstand among your collection of toys are two dildos - one blue and one green. The green one is longer and has a nice curve to it, but the blue one came from one of those monster cock websites people like to joke about, and the girth is wonderfully filling. However, it’s gonna need a shitload of lube, no matter how good Frankie eats you out.
"Is the lube warmed up yet?"
"Uh… I, uh, couldn't find the heating pad…"
You look around the room for all of three seconds. "You mean that heating pad? The one I can see in the closet?"
Frankie squirts a big glob of frosty lube on the end of the big bad blue and lines it up with your entrance, pushing it in before you can keep chastising him. The lube is freezing, and you can't help the girly squeal you make at first contact.
"Shush, it'll warm up." He says, gently pushing the toy deeper. It warms up quickly inside you, but that doesn't stop you from glaring at the man with the icicle dick. With a few careful thrusts, Frankie gets the toy situated inside you, then moves to adjust himself. With you on your back, he pulls you into the crook of his arm and tight against his chest. "Ready?"
"Almost, I need my vibe." Stretchy time is fun, but it's exhausting for both of you trying to get off from penetration alone, so Frankie grabs your wand vibe from his pile of treasures to hand to you. It's multifunctional, but truthfully you only ever use the intensity settings, ignoring the vibration pattern settings unless you hit the wrong button on accident, which happens frequently.
You take the vibe from him and nuzzle into the plush of his chest, taking a deep inhale of his armpit while you're there - if he can be gross, so can you. He smells like a hard working man, sweat and musk and long hours in the workshop. Somewhere hidden is the faint scent of wood smoke and pine. It's a little stinky, but familiar and safe. A primordial part of your brain has labeled this scent as ‘home’. Ah, true love. "Ok, ready!"
Frankie hums and dips his forehead to yours, a sweet gesture that not only connects him to the love of his life, but also distracts you from him grabbing the base of the dildo.
He wraps his strong fingers around it and slams home, pushing your whole body up the bed, held in place by his other arm. A growl reverberates low in his throat as he slides the toy back out, adoring the wet suck that comes with it. Lube splurts out of you when he thrusts in again and again, making a sinful symphony of slaps, squelches and squeals.
The ache is marvelous, but not enough, so you click your vibe on and press it to your clit while Frankie fucks you through it. The jolt of pleasure makes your back arch and tremble, your body threatening to squirm away, but surrounded by your loving fortress there's no escape.
"Ah! Ah! Yes! F-Frankie!" You whine and moan, panting breathlessly into the small space between you, fanning steam against his face. These sounds you make are performative, but not false. Alone, you're silent when you bring yourself pleasure, a vibrator lazily stuffed between your thighs, maybe making you grunt or huff at best. But now, enjoying pleasure in tandem, communication is key. You've trained Frankie's ears -whether he realizes it or not- to understand your needs. It's a flawless symbiosis: you get an orgasm, and he gets to hear you sing.
"That's it baby,” he purrs mindlessly, his actions more devout than his words. “Take me so well, don’t you?”
He’s not even hard, but the sounds he’s making do exactly for you what your moans do for him. It’s debauched, but it fucking works. Everything is so noisy: the vibrator, the slap of the dildo making a huge wet mess of your cunt, your mewling and his growling. You wonder how much of it the neighbors are hearing.
“Yes! Frankie yes!! Ah-almost! Keep… ah!....AH!!”
“BARK! BARK BARK BARK BARK!!”
Are you fucking kidding me.
“Daisy!” The two of you yell in unison right as you cum, again fucking up your orgasm for the second time. The force of your clench shoots the dildo out of you, landing in a wet puddle on the towels under your ass.
“Bar-rar-rar-rar! WOOF!” Daisy, your gigantic German shepherd, has come to rescue you from the onslaught of your evil husband, Captain Fartsalot! She heard your cries of agony and sprung into action, ready to bite the n’ere’-do-well on the keister! She’s in the doorway, butt in the air, front paws down, tail wagging; and though she’s seen her parents do this innumerable times, she still gets up in arms. “Bark!!”
“Daisy! Go lay down!” Frankie pants, trying to shoo the dog away as if she’s not ninety-eight pounds of pure stubbornness. Like her father. She barks once more and trots into the living room, defeated but not undeterred, and will probably destroy one of his shoes out of spite. Laughing and sweating, Frankie flops over on his back to catch his breath. “That damn dog, I swear.”
“She takes after her dad, you know.”
“Pfft, no, she’s her mama's girl. I know she ain’t all bark, there’s bite, too.”
Covered in lube and your own cum, you kick the dildo off the bed -fuck it- and roll onto your side. “Alright, big boy, if you say so. What can I do for you now?”
“You sure you don’t want another round? I still got the green one.”
“Nah, We’ll just get barked at again.”
“Yes ma’am, if you say so. Do you mind-?” He gestures down at his groin, underwear still in place. There’s the tiniest spec of a precum stain, but the exertion of getting you off required all the blood in his body, sparing none for Mr. Wiggler.
Your turn!
“Gonna have to take your chonies off, dorkus.” you sit up on your knees and start digging into the waistband of his shorts, but he’s quick to assist you before your velociraptor talons claw the delicate skin on his hips to ribbons. You wonder why you even have a dirty clothes bin in the bedroom, because once again Frankie’s clothes go flying into the unknown when he finally gets all the way naked.
Just like him staring at your boobs, this is a sight you’ll never not enjoy seeing. Frankie is manly, but not in the ways that Cosmo tells you a man should be. His chest and shoulders are broad and strong -like the rest of him, but his middle is soft and kissable. There’s a handful of silvery stretch marks running down his hips, made even more noticeable by the fact that this man flat out refuses to wear shorts, so he’s pale under his jeans -even with his heritage. His legs are strong and well muscled, but have little fat on them, and are dusted with dark, almost black hair that grows all the way down to his ankles. He still has his socks on, but you know once he takes those off you’ll be able to see the line his boots have worn into his skin, leaving him hairless from the ankle down.
Frankie is a patchwork of colors and textures, and not all of them are conventionally attractive, but to you they’re the most beautiful things you’ve ever laid eyes on. This scar right here was from when he slipped pushing your car out of a ditch, and this muscle line is from putting in long hours at the shop. And that right there? That little roll between his groin and his tummy? The one that divots under his belly button? He has that because someone loves him and makes sure he gets plenty to eat so he can be happy and healthy.
I wonder who that could be.
“What’er you starin’ at?” Frankie asks sheepishly, big doe eyes mixed with curiosity and shame. Self conscious.
“Just the most handsome man ever.” You say, leaning up to kiss his plush lips. He smiles under you and reaches up to cradle your jaw, a soft hum escaping his lips into yours. You let your kiss linger there a moment and then work your way down. A kiss to each cheek, his jaw, the curve of his Adam’s apple. That one you nibble on a bit, threatening just enough to make him shiver. His collarbone is next, then the plane of his chest, and each of his nipples for good measure.
A little whine escapes his throat at that, one that instantly flushes his cheeks and makes him divert his eyes. Unwilling to lose your audience, you lap at his sensitive bud again, his eyes swiveling back down to you. In his mind that’s his job, and though he’s shared your bed for years now, he still has a hard time coming to terms with the fact you’re always willing to reciprocate.
Down you continue, over his fuzzy tummy and past his naval, skirting his cock and balls for the moment. Where his pelvis dips is a tender, sensitive spot -one that he gets very defensive about, so of course you kiss there too. He convulses under you, nervous and skittish, but knowing you mean him no harm. This is all part of the game.
Propped up on your hands, you press a kiss to one hip, and then the other, lingering a while longer on the second kiss before moving over his cock. He needs a trim, the chestnut tuft at the base of his treasure trail curls in little spirals over his groin, his slightly-hard dick just barely peeking out.
Again Frankie gets self conscious, he’s read enough dirty romance novels to know he should be standing at full attention right now, but that’s not how bodies work, especially after using all his energy to make you squirt. That’s good for you though, now you get all the fun of making him hard.
His soft cock fits much more easily in your mouth, and Frankie groans loudly at the heat. Already you can feel his heartbeat pulse in his member, but that doesn’t stop you from sucking and kneading him with your tongue, massaging up his erection. As soon as he’s hard enough, you slip your tongue into his sheath, lapping at the extra-sensitive tip of an uncut man.
Frankie moans at the touch, bucking his hips into your eager mouth, but the sound he makes is cut off abruptly when you pull yourself off. “Wh- what’s wrong?”
“Lint.” You say, picking a piece off your tongue.
“Oh fuck I’m sor- ah! Shit you can stop if I-I’m dirt-dirt… oh… oh baby….”
A little lint’s not gonna stop you from getting your man hard, is it? No! You dive right back down, taking his half-mast into the cavern of your mouth, suckling and slurping with gusto. Frankie is in heaven, his legs squirm under you, hands fisting your hair, breath coming in ragged pants. The salty taste of precum sparks electrically in your mouth, and you fist the base of his dick to pull his sheath down slightly, exposing the flush red head. Shiny and wet with precum and spit, you lick it eagerly, turning Frankie into a whining, whimpering mess.
“Fuck I love your mouth, b-baby girl, y-you’re too good to…ah… to me.”
“Mmhmm.” You purr around a mouthful of cock, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks to get him to full hardness. A slight pressure on the back of your head encourages you all the way to his base, pushing your nose into his tuft of hair. The scent of him is strongest here, and you -ya nasty- inhale the musk of your man, letting it pool heat back in your cunt. Maybe it’s because you’re ovulating, but your hindbrain is screaming for him, crying out for your mate to breed you.
His cock throbs against the back of your throat, and just in time too, your jaw is starting to hurt -plus if he gets any deeper you’ll be looking at dinner again. You pull off of him with an obscenely wet suck, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth to wipe off the spit and precum that’d dribbled down your chin. Frankie’s member pulsates in time with his heartbeat, performing a mating dance just for you.
You lean back on your haunches and stretch, eyeing your prize. “Well, my love, where do you want me?”
Frankie looks at you in a mixture of awe and exhaustion from where he’s been waffle-ironed into the bed. “Can you get on top?”
“Of course.” You haul yourself up and kiss him while you reorient your body, swinging a leg over top of him and lining his cock up with your sloppy hole. Lips pressed to his, you slowly, carefully sink down, swallowing him inch by average inch. Wide open and stretchy, Frankie disappears inside you with ease, and though he doesn’t match up to your toys size-wise, the burning passion of your love blazes in the hearth of your body like coming home on a winter's day.
“H-hang on…” Frankie stammers, scooting his hips down the bed further and pulling the pillow out from under his head. Somehow that makes it in the clothes bin. Amazing. You move with him, holding his chest for support when you feel something rumble under your hands. It creeps from under your thighs and up his chest, and Frankie is only a split second quick enough to burp into his fist instead of your face. “Ok, I’m good.”
You’re not given a second to sass him before he digs his heels into the bed and thrusts, lifting you up with his hips. The force knocks you forward, sandwiching your chests together. He kisses you between thrusts, sloppy and wet, trying to focus on too many things at once. You hold yourself up over him and burrow your face into the crook of his neck, squishing him under you. Frankie’s broad hands scoop your asscheeks easily, holding you up and open for himself, so all you really have to do is not fall over. The slap slap slap of him filling you echoes in the bedroom, but isn’t loud enough to summon Daisy the Destroyer a second time.
It does, however, steadily start to slow down.
Slapslapslap slap..slap… slap… slap…
“Y’ok?”
Frankie belches again, this time directly in your ear. “Full of lasagna…”
You snort a laugh, “Well shit why didn’t you say so to begin with?”
“I didn’t wanna get up.”
“Pfft, you want me to get you some Tums, old man?”
“No, I can take something when we get back up.” He says, helping you up off him.
“Want me on my knees or back?”
“Back, my knees have been bothering me.”
“Ok, grandpa.” Before you manage to flop onto your back, Frankie swats you on the ass for that as he scoots into position, sinking easily to the hilt once he has you under him again.
“Respect your elders.” he scolds with a punishing thrust, bottoming out when his hips go flush with yours. He has good leverage like this, using his full weight to plow you into the bed, which incidentally also reminds you that you also had lasagna.
Something knocks against your thigh while Frankie goes to town, and you reach down to grab your vibrator with the intent to chuck it on the bedside table, only to find the table already occupied.
Elvis, the little perv, is just sitting there. Watching.
Cats are weird.
You spare Elvis having to share his spot and chuck the vibrator on the floor with the rest of the night accouterments, grabbing onto Frankie for all your worth. The sweat of his chest sticks to yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you in the perfect spot for his cock to kiss your cervix at every crescendo. Hot lasagna breath pants hard in your ear, teeth scraping your throat menacingly as he nears his own climax.
“Fuck-fuckin’ close, baby. Gonna… gonna f-fuck… fuck a baby into you. You want that? Tell me. Beg me. Beg me to f-”
- wrrrr… wrrrr… wrrrr… wrrrr…-
Son of a bitch. You can hear your vibrator going off somewhere in the room, loudly; and strangely enough it’s picked one of those patterns you don’t even use. You try to ignore it, but the sound is grating enough to get your adrenaline flowing in the wrong sort of way, because it doesn’t exactly sound like your toy.
It sounds like a phone.
“Are you shittin’ me?” Frankie barks as he looks over to the bedside table where Elvis is sitting on your phone. “Your phone’s ringin’”
“I don’t care-”
“It’s your mom.”
“FUCK.” You groan as you slap the table, scaring the cat off your phone and nearly dropping it on your face. Mom only calls in an emergency. “Hey mom, what’s up?”
“HI SWEETHEART, HOW ARE YOU?”
“I’m fine, what’s up why are you yelling?”
“I’M ON SPEAKERPHONE, ARE YOU BUSY?”
You glance up at your husband’s big brown eyes, sweat glistening in his furrowed brow, resisting with every fibre of his being not to plow you into the bed and pump you full of cum. “I’m in the bathroom, mom, are you ok?”
“DO YOU WANT ANYTHING FROM COSTCO? I’M HERE NOW.”
Are you fucking kidding me. Above you, Frankie huffs dejectedly and resumes seeking his own pleasure, gently sliding himself in and out of you. He bites his lower lip trying to keep quiet, but the bedsprings are already starting to squeak. Keep the conversation going. “Uh… no I think we’re good…”
“THEY HAVE THOSE YOGURTS YOU LIKE ON SALE.”
“You know what, yeah I’ll take some yogurts. And you know what, can you grab some of those socks Frankie likes? The long ones? His are getting holes in them.”
“YEAH I CAN GRAB HIM SOME SOCKS, WHAT’S HE UP TO TODAY? DOES HE HAVE THE DAY OFF?”
Frankies eyebrows swaggle into that cocky Dreamworks tilt, the one that says ‘go on, tell her what we’re up to,’ punctuating his mischief with a stronger thrust.
“Frankie quit it, Yeah he’s home today, he’s playing video games.”
“OH GOOD, WELL TELL HIM I SAID HI.”
“Hi, Ma.”
“OH HI FRANKIE, ARE YOU IN THE BATHROOM TOO?”
“Ok bye mom, thanks for the socks, love you!!” You miss the days when the phone could be hung up abruptly, the red sliding button just not cutting it anymore. It does make a pretty satisfying sound when you clunk it down on the table, though. “Frankie you turd! My mother doesn’t need to know we’re having sex right now!”
“What? She’s the one who keeps asking about grandbabies. Might as well be honest.”
“Oh my god, Francisco!” you chide with a laugh, swatting at the man with his dick still buried in your snatch. He laughs and deflects you, pinning your arms above your head and finally, finally giving you that good dickin’ down.
“That’s right, say my name, babygirl. Scream it, make the neighbors hear it.”
-scratch scratch scratch-
“ELVIS!”
“I said my name!”
It’s chaos. It’s messy and weird and there’s always some nonsense happening well beyond your control, but hey, that’s life.
“Harder, Frankie, come on, big boy, I know you can make me cum one more time.”
He knows he can, too, and though his knees are already starting to ache, he knows if he leans back perpendicular to your hips, he can hit your sweet spot and send you over the moon.
So he does.
Beefy arms wrap under your knees so he can slam home unhindered, determined to fill your belly before the next godforsaken interruption. The blunt head of his cock drags wonderfully over that sinful patch of nerves deep inside, charming out your final climax in time with his own.
He can feel it, the tingle spilling down his spine, the heat flushing his face. He’s close, and by the way your pussy has him in a death grip, so are you.
Your orgasm hits with a squelch, soaking Frankie’s entire groin right as he falls over the edge with you. His face is too pretty not to watch, eyes screwed shut, teeth bared, the furrow between his brow trying to carve into his brain; and then it all relaxes. Plush lips fall open in an ‘o’, pulling every wrinkle and crease flat across his gorgeous, sweat-streaked visage.
Getting to watch your husband sail into rapturous ecstasy is almost enough to distract you from the little spoot of cum that came with it.
Almost, but not quite.
You can feel it, your cunt hot and thobbing and fucking soaked, coiled around Frankie to milk him for all he’s got; but apparently all that effort got you maybe a teaspoon of fresh baby batter. You little shit.
“Frankie…”
“Yes my love?” He’s practically glowing, panting heavily, dripping with sweat. His dark chocolate locks stick to his brow, though you can see them bouncing ever so slightly from the strength of his heartbeat. He needs to take his blood pressure meds.
“Did you jerk off yesterday?”
Oh, those great big eyes of his, so wide you can see the whites all the way around. Caught. “No…” He lies, avoiding your glare, but in turning his head away you can see his ears turning flush. “...yes.”
“Francisc- mmph!” He cuts you off with a bruising kiss, laying his entire body over yours and letting his cock slip out of you, followed immediately by a gush of cum. Neither of you care about the mess, caught up in the post-orgamsic bliss that lingers in under your skin like a tangle of live wires, sparking electrically with every touch.
“I couldn’t help it, I missed you, and you were at work… and…oh…” His excuses are cut off by you dragging your nails gently down his ultra-sensitive back, resisting the urge to pick the bumps that catch under your nails. Later. “Fu-uck that feels…so… goood…” Getting his back scratched after he cums is almost better than the orgasm itself, and he lets you know that with a series of moans and groans you’ve only heard in pornos.
“You’re a naughty boy, Frank, but I love you anyway.”
“Love…you…mmph… ooh yeah that’s it riiiight there… Ahh!” You hit the perfect spot on his back and scratch the hell out of it, surely leaving bright red streaks in your wake. As soon as his post-sex itchyness goes away, he flops off of you and onto his back, giving you a much needed breath of fresh air.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Frankie rolls over to the last of his treasure pile and finds the squishy egg, popping it up into you quickly before any more cum can spill out. “There, that feel ok?” He smiles from ear to ear when you nod, the rounds of his cheeks squishing his eyes into beautiful crescents. “Good.” He rolls onto his side, dragging a broad palm over your tummy with loving reverence. The edges of his eyes go soft, unable to hide his adoration for you even in the slightest. “You’re going to be so beautiful all full of my baby.”
“Francisco…” Scalding heat flares across your face, the embarrassment creeping so deeply that it almost burns.
“I mean it, and I want it. I’m excited to be your baby daddy.” He scoops you to his chest, tangling his long arms and legs around you like a big sweaty octopus. “You’re gonna be so cute, with your belly all big and round. Waddlin’ around the house like a duck. Call you my little patito, quack quack quack!”
Ah, the post-sex sillies have set in. Fantastic. “You’re a goober.”
“Yup,” he chirps, pulling you impossibly closer. “But I’m your goober.”
“Yes you are, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” You smush a kiss to his sticky forehead as his breathing already starts to slow, the inevitable after-nut nap starting to drag him down. In about a half hour you’ll both unstick from each other, throw the cat off where he’s probably going to flop down on top of you, and stagger into the shower to wash the cum off.
You hope it takes, but even if it doesn’t, there’s always precious moments like this to have together. To have and to hold, as your vows swore, no matter what the universe throws at you, because you’ll always have the other to love and cherish. Life is messy and wild and batshit insane, but with someone at your side who you know without a doubt is always in your corner, you can tackle anything!
It’s obscene the way you huff in his scent. He’s rich and smokey, the dark curls capturing the salty sweat of his body and tickling your nose when you press harder into them. The musk of a man blows up in your synapses like fireworks, igniting a heat more consuming than the hunger of the beast: the hunger of a woman.
Summary: Only a fool would wander into your domain, but that's precisely what Pero has done, hunting for the fabled werewolf that lurks between the trees. Will the thrill of the hunt be enough to claim such an elusive bounty, or will another primal urge drive him more wild? [Ao3]
Rating: bruh
Word count: just under 6k
Reader Traits: Werewolf, described as monstrous, bigger than Pero, wolfish features (teeth, ears, paws and claws), covered in coarse gray hair. Has boobs and a vajayjay.
Content warnings: Dub-con, Predator/Prey dynamics, Monsterfucking, lots of biting, reader is a werewolf that eats sheep so animal death mention. Blood, Hurt/Comfort. Oral M receiving, scary blow jobs, werewolf transformations, rough monster sex, knotting, a/b/o but you're both alphas? Bonus dog jokes and bakery puns.
A/N: Who ordered the 'Reader is A Monster' Super Deluxe Double? Eat up babes, I got you covered ;) Again, on the dubcon side, monster side, y'know, that old DDDNE chestnut. It's fun you'll like it.
Awoo!
You're not alone tonight.
Usually the only company you kept was that of the night crawling creatures of the forest, or the occasional, unlucky sheep or chicken that found itself your dinner. But tonight the hushed rhythm of a heartbeat, strong and determined, thrums from somewhere else among the trees. Your ears – tall and tapered – listen for the beat of adrenaline-soaked blood, the huff of bated breath, the heavy, creeping press of boots in the soil, wary of snapping twigs and tripping branches.
Someone is hunting in these woods tonight.
Hunting for you.
The humans usually knew better than to stray so far into the woods, especially on a night like tonight, where the full moon hung bright and pregnant over the mist-shrouded trees; her luminescence reduced to a ghostly haze beneath gnarled branches. Under the watchful satellite you had transformed -as you do every full moon, into a beast, a monster.
A werewolf.
Your lovely features warped and elongated, your face becoming wolfish as your muzzle pulled your teeth forwards into sicklesharp fangs. Your eyes turned big and yellow, the white sclera succumbing to the inky black of the beast. Arms and legs grew longer, stronger, tapering into razor-sharp pointed claws; perfect to rend the flesh of the intruder your heightened senses were picking up.
Not a single wisp of wind ruffled the coarse gray fur that grew across your body in the stillness of the night, the forest itself seeming to hold its breath; yet somewhere in the translucent haze someone was breathing. Panting.
Hunting.
Your lips curl back in a snarl, brilliant fangs radiant in the moonlight, shining with hungry saliva. Some idiot, some fool had dared to cross into your domain, and by the stink of iron on him he had come with the intention of claiming your head as a trophy. Many had tried before, but none succeeded.
The woods were your home when you weren’t safe in your lonely cottage. You knew every oak and ash and thorn, where the path was littered with sticks and where the loam of dead leaves would muffle your already silent steps.
The hunter had no idea that he was the one being hunted.
You tilt your snout to the sky and inhale, a rush of information exploding like fireworks in your synapses. Male, armed with iron and steel, sweaty and dirty. Ate chicken hours ago, with bread and wine. And… something… sweet? You sniff again, something not registering. Honey? Or caramel? No.. something else.
-SNAP!-
A twig breaks somewhere to your right, the sound too heavy to belong to a deer, and you bolt for cover, favoring the element of surprise. From behind the stump of an ancient oak tree you watch, ears pinned back as not to be seen, for the intruder to come into sight.
The darkness does the man no favors, but to you it might as well be high noon as easily as you can see. Mist curls around the legs of the hunter as he comes into view, the slight swish of his tasset clearing the fog slightly, and your empty stomach drops a bit at his presence.
Big boy.
He’s head and shoulders above the last hunter that came through these woods, but still shorter than you with your monstrous limbs. His armor alludes to a life of killing, or maybe mercenary work. Basketweave leather stretches over his broad chest and shoulders, obscured partially by the chainmail tabard hanging down his front. In his battleworn hands he carries a broadsword –a poor choice for such close quarters– but he wields it almost effortlessly as his dark eyes search for his quarry.
You lurk through the night like a living shadow, creeping from tree to tree as the man moves through the woods, searching for the fabled beast he knows not pursues him. His pulse is racing, and though the moon shines her light coldly, he is sweating, a sheen of moisture making his dark curls stick to his forehead. The tang of that sweet scent wafts through your sinuses again, and delightfully you identify what it must be.
Fear.
The hunter is afraid.
The animal in you begs to play with your food, and who are you to deny it when such a savory feast is laid before you? You lick your chops, feeling your fangs catch on the meat of your tongue. Soon.
Silently you pad behind him, watching the weary turn of his gaze. He looks to the left, and you rend the bark from a tree to his right, vanishing before he can glimpse the claws that flayed the bark from an oak like a whip flays flesh.
But you see him. His posture tense, breathing strained, tiny human ears perked as high as they'll go. You see the flash of moonlight behind the curtain of bristles that is his mustache, his teeth bared just as you bare yours.
Perhaps you're not the only beast in these woods tonight.
"Where are you, diablo? I know you're out here!" The man barks, a thick accent to his chopped words. The locals tend to drawl their sentences, but this ones' are clipped and harsh, a staccato to them as sharp as the tip of his blade.
You do not answer him, instead you sneak to flank him from the other side, rattling a dry bush as you pass it.
"I hear you! Your sheep-eating days are over, beast! Come out and fight me like the man you once were!"
A smile cracks your wolfish lips, imagining what his face will look like when he sees your boobs, partially hidden by the plush mane growing between them. That always gets one last rise out of them before they fall.
His heart beats like thunder, a galloping cadence playing his own funeral ballad to the sole audience of his executioner. You feel your own heart quicken, the thrill of the kill electric in your veins. On all fours you slink towards him, getting close enough that you can see the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his primal instincts try desperately to warn him.
They fail.
You lunge, legs like coiled springs launching you through the mist, howling like a banshee at the armored man's back. He turns, though not fast enough, his eyes and teeth a flash of white as you overtake him. He roars, deep and guttural at the impact, your beastial mass taking him to the ground before he can swing his blade, sending the vengeful steel clattering to the ground.
He gropes for the sword, digging blunt nails into the loamy soil, but you're quicker, batting the blade away with a long-clawed paw. Unable to reach his weapon he swings a powerful fist, catching you hard in the jaw. You yip in pain, the shock enough to let the hunter snatch a knife from his belt and bury it in the meat of your thigh.
You howl in agony, but you are relentless, slashing viciously at his arm and shredding the flesh of his bicep before he can strike again. The metallic tang of blood stains the pristine night, first yours pouring through the fur on your leg, then his when you claw through the chainmail of his tabard, rending the flesh below.
It's not enough to kill him, but it is enough to make him bellow in pain and try to throw you off. You double down, throwing your legs around his hips and pinning him to the forest floor. He thrashes like a fish on a line, the whites of his eyes big around the dark brown of his irises, threads of red pulsing in them with desperation and fear.
Fear.
There it is again, sweet and succulent, drawing the beast in you out even further. You sink your dagger like claws into the man's shoulders, ignoring his futile attempts to punch and kick you off; though his attacks surely will leave bruises once your human flesh returns.
Enough of this.
You open wide, your maw stretching far enough to bite his face clean off, but you go for the killing blow, closing your jaws around his fluttering throat with a sickening -chomp!-
How easily you could puncture his windpipe, sever his jugular, snap his pitiful though surprisingly thick neck.
But you don't.
The moment the taste of his skin hits your tongue, you freeze. Under you he has gone limp and trembling, his life undoubtedly flashing before his eyes, but you're suddenly perplexed.
He doesn't just smell good, he tastes good too.
Human flesh is usually so… gamey. Greasy even. But this one is… different. The salt of his sweat is there, but also a spice you've never encountered. Sandalwood and clove, but also a sun warmed musk that strikes a nerve in you you thought long dead.
"Are you going to kill me or what, monster? Get it over with!"
"Grrrr…" you growl around a mouthful of him, adjusting your bite to keep your teeth on his pulse. He squirms, fight and flight responses battling for dominance, but you are the victor here.
You are the Alpha.
Without letting go of your prey, you lap at the bulge of his larynx, feeling him swallow his terror. The warm press of your tongue against his skin makes him squirm, making you nick him accidentally. Metallic heat dribbles into your mouth, and you feel the beast in you roar with demand, hungry for the interloper's very flesh.
But somewhere, buried under the muscle and fur, your human side pleads for you to restrain. To show mercy.
Like a bear trap you wrench your jaws from his throat, catching the glimmer of blood trickling down into the loam, and without a second thought you lick it up. Not with the hunger that you’d pinned him with but something more careful, nurturing.
He, however, doesn’t feel the same. “What are you doing?! Get off of me, creature!”
You -snap- your ferocious maw inches from his face, nearly taking his aquiline nose off in the process, and for the first time, you both really… look at each other.
You’re snarling, mouth stained with blood, eyes like two yellow coins shot through with inky black pinpricks. Below you the hunter stares back, his eyes are dark like tilled earth, the whites bright in the moonlight, blown wide with terror but their corners are wrinkled with stubborn determiniation. He’s scruffy, a rugged mustache hangs over his lips, and coarse bristles scatter along his boxy jaw, climbing up to the chopped curls he probably cuts himself.
And he is snarling, just like you.
“What do you want with me? Why haven’t you killed me yet? You like toying with your food or something?!” He barks, a deep canyon forming between his knitted brows. His gaze breaks from yours to take in the rest of you as well: from your toothy maw to your pointed ears. Where your human hair once was, a wild mane now grows, falling haphazardly down your shoulders to your chest. His eyes grow impossibly wider. “And what the hell are those?!”
A muzzle is useless for conveying emotion, but you hope the way you huff and pin your ears back says ‘they’re boobs, dumbass’.
Again you catch the scent of something peculiar. Not bad, but strange for the situation. Sweet like sugar, warm like honey. It calls to your imprisoned human heart like a siren, curiosity overpowering the ravenous beast.
-Sniff sniff-
The nose the moon blesses you with is so much stronger than a humans, able to pick up the scent of prey from miles away; but it’s also cold and wet and kind of adorable.The stranger doesn’t think so with you sniffing his face. His own nose crinkled in disgust. “Stop that!” Under you he tries to knee your thighs, but your legs are so much thicker and stronger than his, and anchor him to the ground like nothing more than a squirming child.
-Sniiiiiiiiifff-
It has to be coming from him, which makes no sense unless he’s hiding cookies in his pockets. Sure he smells like metal and blood, but something also something yummy… where is it coming from?!
You push your snout into his neck, and his first instinct is to snap at you, trying to bite you as if his pitiful bone stubs would do anything against your mighty fangs, which you bare right back at him before pushing your chilly snoot into the sensitive skin under his ear. Predictably he tries to writhe away from you, roaring insults and demands as if that would do anything to thwart you.
And then, he giggles.
It’s an ugly sound, almost a bark instead of a laugh, rough like sandpaper in the back of his throat. Instantly you feel him tense, angry and embarrassed at such a noise escaping his partially punctured throat. “This is bullshit! I will -pfft stoppit!- I will not be tickled to death by...by… ah! Aha ah! An enormous puppy! My ancestors are certainly going to mock me when -stoppit- I walk into the mists like this!”
You snarf him again, both to look for the scent as well as to try to make him laugh again. A strange desire for such a beast as you, but deep in your human soul you feel the tiniest ray of sunshine poke through the dark, calling to you with the summerwarmth of day. He snickers shamefully, the corners of his mouth flipping rapidly as he tries to retain his dignity.
It's… cute.
Gently you start to release his shoulders, growling a death threat when he starts to try to escape. Quickly you snare his wrists in one massive paw, your monstrous fingers curling all the way around both his beefy forearms and then some, their pointed tips pressing threateningly into the tough leather of his bracers. Pinned under you with his hands captured, he’s helpless to fight you, only able to glare menacingly with those big eyes and heavy brows.
As you move to search the rest of him, the sting of the knife in your thigh makes you whimper, and with a snarl you rip it from your flesh, tossing the offending weapon far into the bush. Blood courses through your fur for only a moment before your supernatural abilities close the wound.
“No wonder you’re such an expensive bounty.” The hunter groans, his head falling back into the soil. "You can't fucking be killed. That rat bastard sent me out here to die."
You ignore him, still sniffing for the treat evading your senses. He wiggles and squirms under your impressive weight, both from terror and from being tickled slightly as you sniff his neck, his throat, his stinky pits. Nope, not there. You stick your nose in the rips you put in his chainmail, finding his skin slightly scratched beneath, the buckskin brown of it splattered with red. The wound won’t kill him, but it’s also not what you’re looking for.
Nope, it's coming from further down.
It's gotta be his pockets? No, he doesn't have pockets. Belt pouch? No, just some jerky. The hunter attempts once more to throw you, but he's tired and burnt out from the adrenaline that's been flooding his veins since he crossed the forest threshold. The final act of defiance siphons the last of his strength, mustering one final squirm when you stick your snout in his groin.
Bingo.
"No, please, kill me before you bite that off! Mercy!" He pleads, his boots churning the earth under you in a pitiful attempt at escape. Using your muzzle you nudge the chainmail tabard out of the way, ignoring his desperate cries. His voice shoots up an octave when you press into his crotch, taking big greedy huffs of that alluring scent. Did he spill on his pants? Or is this where he hides his snacks? “Not my sweet rolls!”
Sweet rolls?! His trousers are laced closed over his crotch, but your fine motor skills went out the window with your humanity when the night started. With a sickening riiiip you tear the fly off his pants with your teeth, expecting a piñata of sweets to come flying out, only to find exactly what you should have expected.
Cold air mixed with terror has practically shriveled the hunters cock, well hidden by the dark tuft of hair growing around it, but it still jumps at the sudden reveal. "Beast! What are you fucking doing?! Is that really where you're going to start?!" His face is pale and streaked with sweat, a reasonable response to your snare-like jaws more inches from his ‘sweet rolls’. It would undoubtedly be a cruel way to kill him, biting his conchas off and letting him bleed to death, but now that the fabric guarding his secret family recipe has been torn away, the succulent aroma hits you unhindered.
It’s… him.
Dog mode takes over you and you stuff your face into his groin and inhale, making the hunter nearly scream, and you’re half tempted to join him.
He smells delicious.
It’s obscene the way you huff in his scent. He’s rich and smokey, the dark curls capturing the salty sweat of his body and tickling your nose when you press harder into them. The musk of a man blows up in your synapses like fireworks, igniting a heat more consuming than the hunger of the beast: the hunger of a woman.
“This has to be a dream, or a fucking nightmare.” the man wails, staring down at you with a molotov cocktail of emotions running across his face. You meet his terror-filled eyes, noticing that even with the long ugly scar running down over his left eye, he is rather handsome. Looks good, smells good…
-Mlem-
The strangled noise that rips from the hunter’s throat at the feel of your thick, wolfish tongue sliding out to lick his member sounds more like an animal than a man. His body goes tense, every instinct in his hindbrain screaming bloody murder to escape, but no carnal desire runs deeper than that of seeking pleasure. His hips buck forward, causing the rough leather protecting his thighs to rub against your nipples and earn a tiny whine of desire from you as well.
You drag your tongue over his wrinkled flesh, feeling it twitch and shudder involuntarily with excitement. Small, soft and scared, his cock fits easily in the roll of your tongue, and slips almost petitely into your mouth. The pocket between your lips and teeth holds him gently, protecting his little churro from the cold of the night. He moans at your lips wrapping around him, shivering when his tip bumps against your fangs, reminding him just how easily you could remove it from his body.
The threat is idle, because to your excitement he tastes good all over. Desire burns like molten metal in your belly, the sting of the moonlit air crackling electrically against where the heat pools between your legs. Not even your fur is enough to hide your need from the cool night, the flames only licking higher when you feel him start to harden in your mouth. He’s helpless against the warm wet heat of your lips and tongue, his already-thundering heart sending blood pulsing quickly to his shaft. Your hands are big enough to keep both of his hostage in only one of yours, so you dig the other under his ass and scoop him into you, your broad palm taking a big, greedy cup full of his ass.
“Dios Mio, th-this is…this isn’t happening…” he stammers, craning his neck to watch himself disappear into your muzzle. A warm flush spreads incriminatingly across his cheeks, and the sweat on his brow glitters like dewdrops in the moonlight. You suckle his cock in response, dipping your tongue into his sheathe to lap at his head. A beastial moan splits the night, followed by the soft thump of his head hitting the soil as he throws it back. “Oh fuck this is happening. Why is this happening?!”
How unappreciative. You snort and swirl your tongue around him, drawing him further into your murder maw. Your incisors are sharp, but not as sharp as your canines, and only scrape him gently. The fear mixed with arousal has him hardening quickly, filling your long jaws and weighing heavily on your broad tongue; though he’s nowhere near the back of your throat in this form. Salty precum spills from his slit, and you suck it back eagerly, mixing it with your spit to coat your pointy teeth, easing his passage.
In your claw you feel his arms go slack, giving up the ghost of resistance. You squeeze his armored wrists, clawing right through the leather as you let him go; a warning he shouldn't heed lightly.
His arms flop heavily beside his head, blunt fingers tangling through his own curls until he's pulling at his hair, lost in the throes of such guilty pleasure. You slip your free paw under his butt, cupping both his cheeks through his linen trousers. Your serpentious tongue swirls around his thick length, curling and curling around him, making him throb and convulse with need.
As tempting as it is to close your eyes and indulge, you remember this man was sent to kill you. To say you wouldn't trust him as far as you could throw him would be folly, since you would have no issue putting his ass on the moon that transformed you. So you watch, keen eyes fixed on his chest, his face, but especially his hands; watching and waiting for a secret blade to appear, for him to make a move against your life.
His hands fidget, and you stop your sucking, your ears perking and swiveling forward, fixed on him. His hands come closer to you, and you growl around his cock, showing off your ivory blades.
"Easy…" he rasps, recoiling his hands slightly.
"Grrrr…-mlem-"
He shows his palms defensively. "Yes I see you have my cock, please do not bite it off." His hands come closer, moving slowly as you snarl and press your teeth threateningly into his skin. "Not going to hurt you, cariño, just… need to make sure I'm not dreaming."
Warm, dry palms brush the sides of your muzzle –where your cheeks should be, and cradles your face gently. It takes every ounce of your inner human to resist clamping down, but you meet his pleasing eyes over the plane of his torso, and know he speaks the truth.
-scritch scritch-
It's your turn to groan now, relaxing your jaws and lapping sweetly at his flushed cock while he drags calloused fingertips through the fur on your face. You didn't even know this was an option, nobody's ever lived long enough to pet the mythical murder puppy before. He sits up slightly, struggling against the weight of you making his legs go numb, but his touch is soft and gentle, scratching an itch you never knew you needed scratched.
"Is this all it takes to soothe the savage beast? Some attention?" He brushes your face, trailing up to stroke your ears. A ragged whine escapes your throat, your neck muscles going slack and dropping your head all the way into his lap, swallowing his hardened member. It throbs against your molars, dribbling its juices right down your throat. "You want more? Touch you the way you really need? I can do that..."
He twitches questioningly, asking in more ways than one if he can feel your other wet heat. You grumble and lap at him again, but if you had a tail it would be wagging. His rock hard shaft slips from your maw with a wet schlup, bobbing nervously in front of your face. Once more you drag your tongue all the way up his length, flicking the tip just below the ridge of his head as a way of accepting his offer.
The hunter starts to rise, but a quick fuck does not a confidante make, and you loom over him with supernatural speed.
"Wait! I thought- ah~! You shewolf!" The words are punched from his gut as you sink down on his cock, whining at the stretch of him inside you. Though you tower over the human, he still fills you so fully you can feel his heartbeat from within. Immediately you plant your massive claws on his chest, blind to the wounds you'd put there, and push him into the dirt while lifting your ass.
-Thud!-
You both howl –though in very different ways– as you slam down on him. The curve of his cock scrapes your nerve patch perfectly, and the hunger for more overwhelms you. You try to rise again, but the bounty hunter gropes for your tree-trunk thighs, rooting you on his shaft.
"Gods–fuck, slow down!" He pleads, his eyes somehow more puppy-like than yours. "You could have at least let me finger you!"
You snarl down at the man trapped between your legs, but buried to the hilt in your cunt the intimidation doesn't go nearly as far.
"No, bad girl," the hunter barks, "no growling at the man who's going to pleasure you."
Your fangs flash brightly, but your growl is cut off abruptly by a rough thumb pad being jammed under you, finding your swollen clit with wicked precision. He rubs tender circles around your sensitive nub, making your eyes roll and your legs quake, sapping the strength from your body and pitching you forward; your snout buried in his neck.
Mindlessly you lick at his throat, whimpering and nipping while you rock your hips against his hand. He tastes of sweat and blood, the nick on his throat not yet healed. You can feel your cunt flutter and squeeze around him, flooding with slick juices and easing him deeper in you.
"That's better. Does that feel good, sweet thing?" You want to snarl at the audacity, but he runs you just right, and all you can do is whine in his ear. "Go ahead, fuck yourself on my finger until you cum, then I'll fuck that needy cunt wide open."
You can't help but obey, cockdumb and ravenous, you chase your high. You nearly faceplant in the dirt tilting forward, keeping the tip of his cock right up against that sinfully special spot; but that puts your tits right in his face. Eagerly he buries his crescent-moon nose in the plush of your mane, torn between needing air and wanting to suffocate in their softness.
The rough callousness of his hand and the stretch of his cock have you whining, howling as you cum around his shaft, soaking him and staining his armor.
"Good girl, cariño." He purrs against your sternum, kissing your breasts and nuzzling sweetly into the velvety softness of your fur. You reward him with a slobbery lick, following the line of his scar. "Pbth, hey! No licking!"
Something like a laugh bursts out your throat, but it's more reminiscent of a hyena's than a human's. -mlem mlem mlem-
"Naughty!" He scolds, wrapping his strong arms around your hips and throwing your weight off him, putting you under him and making you yip in surprise. "That's better. Time to tame the wild beast!"
His declaration should sound silly with how much smaller he is than you, framed between your thick thighs, his hands barely able to reach your tits, but you're too strong out on pleasure to care. You arch for him, encouraging him to fuck you proper. The hunter adjusts his knees and thrusts, stuffing you full.
"Fuck-ing stars!" He grates, panting heavily. "Y'm-you...feel… so… good!"
You want to tell him he does too, but the moon keeps your words hostage for the night, the very moon that frames him in a ghostly, ethereal halo that glitters on all the metal studding his armor; as well as sparkling faintly on the side of his neck.
Cold moonlight draws your eyes to the tiny dribble of blood trickling from the small puncture you'd put there.
The one you'd made with your teeth.
Oh shitballs.
"Fuck...fuck!" He snaps, his hips grinding into you with reckless abandon. "F-feel… fucking amazing. S-such a good girl." He wraps his arms around your middle and doubles over, kissing and licking at your tits, unhindered by their fuzz. "Fuck… feels… feels t-too good…"
Under the small of your back his grip tightens, thick, muscular arms entrapping you while he takes his pleasure. Between your breasts hes panting, snarling into your fluff, and all too late you realize he's not just fucking you like an animal.
He's becoming one.
"Hermosa…" the man growls, tearing himself from your chest and rising into the moonlight caressing him in it's phantasmal glow. In the light you see him, see him change with every thrust into your soaking wet cunt.
It starts with his eyes, those dark lust swirled pools of fertile earth are consumed by darkness, both of them going entirely black before the irises ignite in crimson hellfire, burning just as yours do. His already-bared teeth catch the pale light as his lips curl back further, allowing his teeth to stretch into murderous points. Dark hair sprouts between the patchy spots in his beard until it consumes his beastly face, joining with the jet black mane rolling down his spine until it covers his swelling shoulder. The leather of his armor creaks in protest as the beast grows bigger and more muscular, the fabric straining to contain him. Limbs and fingers and claws overtake you until you're entirely consumed by the growling, snarling monster both inside and out.
The watchful moon misses not a single inch of the once-man, from the tip of his pointed snout to his throbbing, swollen cock jammed in your aching cunt, a thick knot threatening to breach your entrance. You cry out and try to squirm away, but the wolfman barks a warning, his devastating jaws snapping inches from your face, splattering you with saliva.
You refuse to be dominated –even if this new werewolf is literally swelling with alpha energy– and snap at him right back, digging your claws through his armor into the meat of his back. Rage fills the monster's eyes, a blood curdling roar splitting the night before he sinks his teeth into your shoulder with none of the mercy you spared him.
Sharp, jagged fangs pierce you all the way to the bone, pinning you to the ground like an insect on display while the monster ruts you into the dirt. The wet slap of skin on wet fur would be obscene if you could hear it over the growling, snarling, yowling and barking the pair of you are making.
Your legs churn the earth as you struggle to break free, but he's bigger and heavier than you, completely unrelenting while he stakes his claim on your body. The taste of blood has him salivating, walking a dangerously thin line between fucking you and feeding on you. It drives him wild, making him thrust into you rabidly, his cock punching the air right out of you as he greedily chases his peak.
The beast's hips stutter, his massive man meat slamming home again and again until in a final act of savagery he shreds the tattered remains of his armor, throws his head back and- “Ah… argh! ARGH!! AH~ AH~ AWOOOOOO!!!!”
The mighty beast howls his pleasure, nearly splitting you open as his knot lodges as deeply in the cradle of your body as it will go, making you see more stars than there are in the sky when you tumble over the edge of ecstasy with him. Your combined arousal soaks the fur where your bodies are joined, his hot spunk painting your walls in the same pearlescent shimmer as the moonlight that turned you.
Or… had turned you.
A heavy, sticky weight collapses on top of you, skin to fevered skin. Ragged breath pants in your ear, a blunt, human chin gridining into the fresh bite wound on your shoulder. The world comes back into view as you come down from your high: a hazy night sky, a canopy of trees, and the side of a man’s curly haired head, sans pointed ears and shaggy mane.
“H-hello?” your voice comes out ragged and hoarse, as if today was the first you’d ever used it. It startles you, hearing yourself speak before you’d inevitably passed out covered in sheep guts outside your house.
“Uhm… hi?” A deep-timbred voice rasps in your ear, saturated in exhaustion. With shaky arms he lifts himself above you, meeting your eyes -your human eyes. “Oh, um, lo siento, I.. uh…” Where once he wore a snarl across his weathered face, a deep flush now creeped, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears at the sight of your beautifully naked body laid out beneath his own. “Ahem… Hello, m-my name is Pero.”
You couldn’t help the way your brows quirked at him, a sly smile creasing your cheeks when you told him your name as well. “Are you still going to kill me, Pero?”
“I- no! Of course not!” He says as he tries to peel his chest from yours, which even in his human form is dusted with thick dark hair. “I was sent out here to kill a monster, not a woman. But uh, what… what happened to me? Where are my clothes?” he tried to back up and pull himself free of the wonderful heat of your cunt, only to find himself stuck. “And what the fuck is that?!”His knot is still there, keeping him locked to you until it eventually deflates, and his frantic tugging makes you both keen from overstimulation.
“Stop wiggling! I don’t know what it is, but I know what you are! You’re a werewolf!” Pero’s brows nearly fly into orbit, making his scar crinkle in a surprisingly adorable way. He’s about to argue when you cut him off. “I bit you, remember?” you say, running your normal fingers over the mark on his neck. “If you don’t die from the bite, you turn.”
“So… so what does that mean?! I’m going to start turning into a monster and eating sheep!?” He struggles to pull himself free, trying to grit through the firestorm of nerves crackling through his body.
Fed up, you hook your arms under his armpits and roll, flipping him under you. “I said stop!”
Shockingly, he obeys, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You’re strong…” he whispers, baffled. “And… pretty”
“Uh, thanks. You’re not so bad lookin’ yourself.”
Pero grins up at your sheepishness, running his broad palms soothingly over your spread thighs. “Does this kind of thing happen every night, or just during the full moon?”
“The beast comes out during the full moon, but, this…” you muse, lifting yourself off his cock just as the first light of dawn begins to peek over the trees. He slips from you with a sucking wet pop, a flood of cum drenching his strange new member. Though he looks confused and a little scared at first, his mustache twists up in a cheeky grin when he realizes it’s bigger than it used to be. You lean over him, eyeing his pillowy pink lips.
Pero sees your devious gaze and lifts his chin, encouraging you to take what you want; so you do, pressing a lingering kiss to his chapped lips in the first true act of tenderness between you. A dreamy sigh escapes you both, giving in to the gentle surprise of knowing each other’s taste. The kiss is quick, but meaningful; a fleeting promise of more to come.
“This… can happen as many nights as you want it to.”
Bargaining with Beskar (The Mandalorian x f!reader)
“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?”
Rating : Explicit
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings: canon-typical violence (bounty capture) smut: captured bounty sex, rough play (soft choke), fingering, pent up sex.
Summary: You’re an ex bounty hunter just trying to escape the guilds radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite?
Authors note: I wrote this in a fury in the middle of the night so it’s messy and very very self indulgent. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so if I need to tag something tell me!
Edit: This fic started on another blog of mine but I moved it here to keep it consistent for when I add more chapters.
Next->
You’d had a good run.
It was a hard opportunity to pass up, the high profile bounty you had been charged to bring in had been able to contact their family shortly before you had captured them and the family offered to pay you handsomely for their return, easily triple what the guild was going to pay for this bail jumper. You’d taken the deal, but that meant you would be returning to the guild empty handed. Maybe if you laid low for a while they’d forget.
Of course that was a stupid thought, within weeks you had noticed rookie hunters on your tail. Word had gotten out that the bounty was walking free and a sloppy bounty hunter was a liability to the guild. After evading all of the green-horns for a time the more experienced hunters began tracking you, and your only choice with them was kill or be killed. They should have known you wouldn’t go down quietly.
Months passed before you saw another hunter, hoping against hope that they had given up. It wasn’t until you had gotten somewhat comfortable on Tatooine that the last one came.
You were far outside of Mos Eisly, the sandy city was barely a smudge on the horizon from where you were laying low doing repair work on a moisture extractor when he arrived. The machines engine was so loud in your ear you never heard him coming up over the dune, though through the scope of the pulse riffle he carried you wouldn’t have heard him anyway. You cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt,
I know i haven't been active on this blog in a very very long time but the recent @pedroscouts activity has really increased my notes which got my attention! I'm going to try to reblog a handful of my fics with Badges included on them, idk if that helps anyone but it kinda sounds fun :)
Hey Keri, hope you're having a nice day! So long story short, Tmblr is an *ss and I cannot find one nsfw multichap MandoxReader fic I've bookmarked. I remember in one chapter they were cuddling,Din fell asleep and reader's back got cold so she went to look for her "bantha wool blankie" and put on Mando's socks by accident bcs it was dark 🤣
“May I please you, hermosa?” he panted against your neck, nibbling his way up to your ear and growling when you nodded. “Gracias, princesa. I will keep my word, no human man will ever satisfy you as well as I am about to.”
Summary: The woods have always been full of myths, but you never expected one to just show up at your doorstep. You promise them a night in your barn, but one of them takes your generosity as an invitation for more.
Rating: Explicitly delicious
Word count: 9.5k
Content warnings: Centaur fucking, horse cocks, size kink, oral f receiving, double fisted hand jobs, cum inflation, creme pie, so much fucking cum. Nonsexual: food mention and eating, horse puns, lots of swearing, Tovar being a dick but also being so soft.
A/N: I wrote this pretty quickly so it's kind of a hot mess but over all its just fun and sexy, with some quirky sillyness thrown in. Centaur!Tovar has been on my mind since before I saw the movie, I even did a little art of him and have been meaning to do a fic ever since.
The sound of distant thunder drew your attention away from where you were harvesting vegetables from your garden to look up at the clear, beautifully blue sky, and your brow creased in confusion. There were a few faint wisps of fluffy little clouds skirting along the horizon, preparing a nice comfortable bed for the sun to rest, but aside from that there was nothing to block the first few stars opening their eyes in the eastern sky.
And yet the rumbling continued.
As the sound grew louder you realized it wasn’t coming from the sky, it was coming from the nearby woods, and your heart sank at the familiarity of the cadenceless drums.
Horses.
A stampede of horses, surely, by the sound of so many hooves crashing through the forest, bearing their riders straight to your lonely little neck of the woods. You dropped your basket of vegetables, scrambling out of the fresh-turned earth towards your cabin. The log-and-mortar home of yours was just outside of town, but far enough away that you would never make it to the safety of the village before the raiders burst from the trees.
You had to make your stand here.
Being a farmer you didn’t have much in the way of weapons, but you had a heavy cast iron pan that had been the last sight of many a coon getting into your chicken coop. It would have to do.
You barricaded the door and backed yourself against the thickest wall right as the riders burst from the treeline. There were only two of them that you could see out the window, but they weren’t whooping and hollering like the last raid had. No, they were quiet aside from their horses feet, but that wasn’t the only thing amiss.
Their horses did not have heads.
Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping like raw ice through your veins and blurring your vision, but you swore that neither of the beasts had heads, and, now that you were looking more closely at the incoming bandits, you realized the riders also didn’t have any legs.
Wait, yes they did, they had four.
Are those... centaurs!?
The galloping creatures slowed their pace to a canter, then to a soft trot as they approached your home. They were well-armored and bristling with weapons, but they spoke easily to each other as they approached the door.
-Knock knock knock!-
“Hello in there!” spoke the voice of a man clearly from the High North, where tales of vikings and giants often drifted down from. “We mean no harm, we’re just looking for lodging for the night, can you help us?”
“Hermano, perhaps they do not speak English. Let me try. ¿Hola? Abre, por favor.” The one that spoke now had a much deeper voice than the other, gruff and rugged around the edges and lacking all of the bedside manner of his companion. “Open up before I kick this door in!”
“Pero! Have some manners!” You heard the clip-clop of hooves shuffling on your patio as the men argued. “Forgive my brash friend here, he was raised in a barn!”
“So were you, amigo!” the rude one said with a snort.
When you didn’t answer, hoping they would just go away, the nicer of the pair stated: “I don’t think there’s anyone here, hopefully they won’t mind us bunking down in the barn for the night then.” You tightened your grip on the cast iron pan, listening to the beast-men outside the door. There was the faintest clinkle of a bag of gold being set on the rocking chair, then the sound of hooves leaving the wooden porch and starting off towards the barn.
As much as you wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that the monsters were leaving, you couldn’t relax knowing that’s where your own horses were kept. Where your mares were kept.
Oh hell no.
Monsters or not, they weren’t touching your girls, and you burst out the door and into the warm twilight. “Hey!” You shouted, drawing the attention of the two half-men. Their sudden gazes sapped all the blood from your legs as fear curdled in your veins. They really were centaurs! And big ones at that, making them exponentially more terrifying without the heavy oak door to protect you. “You can sleep in the barn, but if you touch my mares I’ll turn you both into glue!”
The men looked quizzically at each other, then burst into laughter. “Mares?!” sputtered the one with the lighter complexion, blond hair, and russet fur; his blue eyes disappearing behind his cheeks. “We’re not animals, my lady! Well, I’m not. My companion here however I wouldn’t trust near a goat.”
“¡Hijo de puta!” barked the other, slugging the first one in the shoulder. This one was bulkier than the other, his broad human torso easily seen even under all his chainmail and armor. His face seemed to have a perpetual scowl, wrinkling the jagged scar that ran from his thick black locks almost to the corner of his lip as it passed over his eye; how the eye had managed to stay intact you would never know. There were numerous scars on his horse body as well, battle wounds running from shoulder to flank, interrupting his jet-black fur with streaks of pale white.
“If you promise not to touch my horses you can bed down in the barn for the night, but just one night! Got it?!” You raised your valiant cookware at them, and though they weren’t actually intimidated by you in the slightest, they agreed.
“Thank you, kind lady.” Said the blond, doing a mans’ bow with his top half and a slight bend in his forelegs in thanks. “My name is William Garin, and this jolly fellow is my companion, Pero Tovar.” The second centaur did not bow or flourish as the first, merely nodded his head with a snort. “You’ll see not hide nor hair of us until the morrow when we take our leave. And I promise we will not lay a hand or hoof on any of your horses.”
William thanked you again and turned away, dragging Pero with him towards the barn. The second beast’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than you thought appropriate, sparking with a faint grin as they walked towards your barn.
You watched them go, letting your pan drop and your shoulders finally relax, and it was then that you realized you were shaking just a bit. The man-beasts seemed gentle, though their weapons and armor told you that might just be a farce. Stranger yet was that they only seemed bothered with clothing their human halves, their horse bodies unarmored.
And unclothed.
And… completely naked.
You were used to horse butts, hell, your barn was chock full’a horse butt, but watching those flanks saunter towards the barn behind the bickering men made your face hotter than the iron pan usually got.
Maybe it was because neither of them were gelded.
Night came fast this time of year, though it was barely past supper, the sky was already dark sapphire blue, haloed with a slight edge of gold where the sun had gone to rest. You sat in your warm cabin, the blaze from the fire pit emblazoning in every reflective surface of your pots and pans, glittering like lost stars on the iron nails that held the wooden boards together. Herbs dried over the fireplace, basil and oregano, rosemary and thyme. A handful of cinnamon sticks sat in a jar on the mantle, a rare spice in your part of the world, but you only needed a few to entice the cozy aroma from them.
The vegetable stew in your mug should have brought you comfort and ease, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your somewhat-unwelcome guests. You slightly wondered if you’d imagined it, the woods playing tricks on your mind. But the occasional barrel-chested laugh wandered through the night air to your ears, sprinkled intermittently with rough-barked curses.
Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the nagging thought that you weren’t being a very good host, but either way something had you rising from your seat and packing up the stew pot and some utensils - do centaurs use utensils? You brought them anyway, half tempted to grab one of the extra feed bags you used for the horses as well, but decided against it.
The cool evening air made your cheeks prickle the moment you stepped out into it, the steam of the stew pot immediately visible. In a cloud of tasty-smelling fog you hustled to the barn, trying not to talk yourself out of being a good host. Or maybe you were just going to check on the mares, yea that’s it - though your only weapon of defense was a hot pot of stew. Look out, here comes a ~mighty warrior~.
You rapped on the barn door with your foot, feeling a little silly since it was, in fact, your goddamn barn, but thought it best not to be rude. A shuffling of hooves came from the other side before the barn door swung open to reveal the one called Pero. “¿Si?” he rasped, glaring down at you with hooded eyes, that seemingly-perpetual scowl digging furrows into the sides of his scruffy cheeks. Were it not for his stompy hooves and swishy tail you might have found him handsome, even if he did seem like a jerk.
“Do you eat people food or is the hay enough?” you said, hoisting the stewpot higher so he could see.
His torso bent where the horse’s neck would’ve been, making him tower over you even more than he already did. He took a handful of deep inhales, sniffing the pot curiously, then nodded with a grunt. “Not poisoned, is it?”
“I’m not that bad of a cook!” You barked back, making Pero chuckle just a bit, almost secretly. He stepped aside then, gesturing for you to come in with a wave of his broad palm and a swish of his tail.
“My lady!” called William as soon as he spotted you from where he was sitting on a pile of hay. Laying… sitting? His hooves were under him, tucked comfortably so his human half was upright, you weren’t sure what to call it but he looked happy. You glanced from him to where your own horses were milling about in their stalls on the other side of the barn, safe and untouched. “You didn’t have to bring us supper, but we are certainly appreciative, isn’t that right, Pero?” The dark horseman grunted as a form of response, but was circling you almost menacingly. You instinctively clutched the soup pot tighter, but William was already to the rescue. “Don’t mind him, fair maiden, he may be impolite but I’ve known that old dog long enough to know when he’s hungry and likes what’s on the menu.”
You glared at Pero, who clicked his tongue and trotted away, his intimidating demeanor thwarted by his companion. Setting the pot and bowls down on one of the tack tables, you made to take your leave, but as soon as you backed up you ran into a wall of fur and meat.
“Lo siento,” the sudden centaur huffed, pushing around you to get to the soup. “Hungry.” Pero pointed at the stew pot with one broad, calloused finger, stomping his hoof demandingly.
You pushed the ladle into his hand. “Here, help yourself. I’m not your servant.”
Pero, very good at ignoring people it would seem, dug heartily into the simmering broth, spooning it directly into his mouth.
“Tovar. Use a bowl!” William barked, ripping the ladle away and making himself a serving like a human person. “Be civilized for once in your life.”
“‘S’good.” he said, grabbing for the spoon, which William whacked him with before making him a bowl. Pero took it greedily, gulping it down in one go and immediately holding his empty bowl out for more.
“Good heavens Pero, you’re going to eat this poor woman out of house and home, she hasn’t even gotten a bowl for herself yet!”
“I ate already, these are leftovers.” You half mumbled, watching Pero bolster in for another serving. “Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so excited to eat my cooking before.”
Both of them looked at you surprised, though William was decidedly more confused than Pero, whose gruffness had been replaced with excitement. “She cooks and she curses? A shame you don’t have more legs, I would make you my wife.”
“A shame you don’t smell better, maybe I’d take you up on that offer, but I like my nose right where it is and would hate to have to cut it off.” Your retaliation made William nearly topple with laughter, and Pero grunt and stomp like an unruly stallion.
“Hmph! See if I compliment your cooking again then, señorita.”
“See if I cook for you again, ponyboy! At least that one is polite enough to use a bowl. He can eat people food, but you, I hope you like oats for breakfast because that’s all you’re getting!”
“How do you know I don’t like to eat people?” Pero snarled, standing up to his full height which put you barely at his human sternum. You didn’t know enough about centaurs to know if he was bluffing, so you stuck your tongue out at him and stormed out of the barn, slamming the door behind you.
As you plowed back to your cabin you could hear the two of them arguing in the barn, William disgusted with Pero for being so rude, and Pero utterly flummoxed about what he did wrong.
Morning came briskly, leaving spiderwebs of frost along the window panes, turning to crystal clear streams as the sun peeked over the horizon. You wrapped yourself up in your soft doeskin breeches, thick wool tunic, and a heavy fur cloak before you made to head outside for your morning chores. You usually made breakfast with fresh eggs from the coop after you let the chickens out, and you wondered if you would have enough today to make breakfast for your guests as well.
You made to let yourself out, but dropped your empty egg basket as soon as the door swung wide, finding yourself face-to-fist with one of the centaurs. Pero recoiled his hand from where he was about to knock, doing a little shuffle that the mares usually did when they were startled.
“Hermosa, erm, good morning.” he said sheepishly, carding a broad palm nervously through his hair. “What’s for breakfast?”
Wow. “Nothing for you, you threatened to eat me!” You barked, jabbing your finger into his armored man-gut since that was the closest thing you could reach. “William gets to have eggs and toast, if he wants. You get oats.”
“I don’t want oats, I want eggs!”
“You want eggs? You can get them yourself!” You pointed at the chicken coop, one hand on your hip in defiance. His wide-eyed surprise made you bold, “If you were my husband you would have to get your own eggs, and help around the farm if you wanted to eat, so go on, practice!”
Pero scowled and harrumphed, turning on his many legs and trotting towards the coop with basket in hand. You watched, befuddled that he had just… done what’d he’d been told, but were soon even more disappointed with him than you already were.
He trotted around the low wooden building, inspecting the small windows and the closed door. He tilted his head, listening to the chickens inside clucking excitedly, waiting to be let out to greet the day. Eventually he figured out to fucking open the door, jumping back when all your fat hens rushed out, looking for their breakfast. The birds didn’t seem too bothered by the horse man, but were quickly agitated that he didn’t seem to have anything for them to eat.
Pero ignored the hungry hens and bent down to look in the coop door. It was graceless to say the least. His horse butt stuck up in the air, his forelegs half-bent so he could get his human head and arms into the hole; but it wasn’t built for large men, only chickens; and certainly not horses. At one point he attempted to use the egg basket as a scoop, which also didn’t work. You struggled to stifle your laughter while the centaur reached and struggled to get to the eggs, cursing in a foreign tongue that he couldn’t fulfill his quest.
“It’d be easier if you opened the egg door there, brainiac.”
“I know that!” no you don’t. Pero fixed you with a glare and finally noticed the angled slope of the roof had hinges on one side. That opened into the coop so that he could easily reach in to get the eggs, and pulled them out like he’d won a prize. “See? Good husband material, no?”
“Mm.. no.” You cocked a brow playfully at him and held your hand out, demanding the eggs. Pero, miffed by your disagreement, trotted up to you with the basket full of breakfast, but when you reached out to take it from him he caught your hand instead. “Pero! What are you-”
“Hermosa.” He purred against the back of your hand, dragging the bristles of his scruffy lip over the sensitive skin and planting a lingering kiss there, his amberdark eyes never breaking from yours. “What must I do to earn a breakfast that is more than just oats?”
Stunned, you fought the tide of goosebumps coursing over every inch of your skin to pull your hand back from the overly-confident centaur. “Stop that! Fine, I’ll make you breakfast too-” You looked away from his kicked-puppy expression to the wagon at the corner of the yard, half-sunk into the mud after one of the wheels broke. “If you go pull my cart out of the bog.”
The kicked puppy was replaced with a snarling junkyard dog. “Do I look like a draft horse to you?”
“Yeah, actually.” you said over crossed arms. “And draft horses love oats.”
For just a moment you were almost sad that you’d only offered the centaurs one night in your barn, because bossing Pero around like this was a real treat. He chuffed and grumbled as he went, and as promised, you set about making more than enough breakfast for three… five? Does the horse body count as extra people? Better not overthink it, you’ve only got a dozen eggs.
As you moved about the kitchen, making a huge pot of scrambled eggs and toasting two whole loaves of bread, watching out the window over the sink that gave you a perfect view of your helper. For such a big beast he stepped carefully through the mud, looking for the best leverage to pull out the wagon. It would probably be easier if he asked William for help, but something told you this was now a matter of pride.
Pero found the front of the cart and wrapped the muddy ropes around his broad hands, pulling it over his shoulder as he strained against the swampy suction. Muscle stood out on every inch of his body, from his onyx flanks to his rugged arms, his bristly mouth turned in a snarl as he dragged the wagon from its mucky grave.
The smell of slightly-burnt eggs stole your devious gaze away from the brute in the yard, earning a slew of curses from you when you saw the edges of your scrambled eggs had gone brown; though you doubted the men would mind. You got all the food around - including some toasted oats just to be a dick - and a bottle of mead packed in a basket and made for the barn.
Pero was there with William when you arrived, though he was covered head to hoof in sticky dark mud. He didn’t seem bothered by it though, or bothered by the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, making his dark curls stick. William was all smiles, polite as ever. “Good morning, fair. lady! See you’re already putting this one to work, about time he did something useful.”
“¡Silencio! I have earned my breakfast, unlike you, culo vago!”
“Is he always like this?” You asked Will playfully, handing him the basket of breakfast. The northerner nodded, fighting to keep the basket away from Pero. “Hey, save some for me!”
“You heard the lady, Pero! You need to learn how to share!”
“First she makes me work, and then she makes me share?! Nevermind, I don’t wanna marry you anymore.”
“Oh no, woe is me.” you pressed the back of your hand to your forehead mockingly, “However will I live without your naked horse ass tracking mud all over my barn?”
Pero growled and snatched a plate of eggs and the entire bottle of mead, then stormed out of the barn to go eat outside. William might be the giggliest creature you’d ever met, because he couldn’t stop laughing at Pero’s tantrum. “I’ve never seen him like that, I think he likes you.”
You finished a polite, civilized breakfast with William before going to find Pero. He wasn’t hard to locate, the big beast taking up a sizable portion of your fence where he was leaning, using the wooden railtop as a table while he stuffed scrambled eggs into his piehole sans fork. The mud had started to dry, covering him in big patches of crumbling earth, matting his fur and probably making him uncomfortable; but if he was he didn’t show it.
“How’s the eggs?” You asked, leaning on the fence with him. He was still considerably taller than you, so you climbed up the fence and sat on top of it, putting you almost at eye level with the scowling creature.
He huffed and stomped his hooves a bit, but soon relented. “S’good. You cook good, hermosa. I wish I could stay longer and eat more of your food.” he said around a mouthful of eggs.
“You’d eat me out of house and home, big guy. Would have to earn your keep.” You were joking, there was no way you could continue to feed a centaur, let alone two, but the quick glance in Pero’s dark eyes belied his hidden excitement. It was a fleeting look, but you still caught it, and tried to bury it swiftly. “There’s lots of work to be done on the farm, especially since I’m out here by myself. Wood’ll need to be brought in for the winter, and the chicken coop needs shoring up. Not to mention the spring plowing and sowing.” You side-eyed the scars that pockmarked his body from countless battles. “It’s… boring. You wouldn’t like it.”
“Not boring.” he stated coldly, quaffing half the bottle of mead. “But like you said, I am too big, and I would track mud everywhere. You would not like me here.”
That wasn’t something you were ready to give too much thought to, but the muddy part you could do something about. “Thank you, by the way, for pulling the cart out of the mud. It’s been there since the summer rains and it’s been hell without it.”
“De nada.”
“There’s a creek not too far from here, I can show you if you want to get washed up? Might even have some horse brushes you could borrow.”
Tovar laughed like you’d said something ridiculous. “It has been ages since I’ve had a good wash.” He chugged the rest of the mead with a belch, dragging the scarred back of his hand over his beard and mustache. “Si, hermosa, please lead the way.”
You were not at all surprised that the big stinky animal hadn’t had a bath in a while, and William had a good laugh when you told him where you were going while you grabbed some brushes from the barn. Though you didn’t entirely trust either of them, you thought it would be smart for Will to know where you and Tovar were off to, in case he came back with a full belly but without you. The chestnut centaur smiled and winked as you left, but didn’t say anything insinuating besides ‘don’t get into too much trouble you two!’
The creek was nearly a river at this time of year, its banks swollen with the last of the fall rains that would soon recede and freeze in the coming winter. For now though it was cool, almost too cold, but you were a hardy woodswoman and had handled worse. You weren’t planning on getting in, but as soon as Pero saw it he was ripping off his armor and galloping towards it, splashing you with ice cold spray.
“Don’t get me wet, Pero! I’m trying to stay dry!” You hollered, though you’d already failed that task, nearly soaked from the playful pony. You wiped water out of your eyes to glare at him, but quickly averted your gaze from the now entierly-naked beast.
“What’s wrong, hermosa? Don’t like what you see?” He boasted, splashing more water at you so you had to defend yourself, uncovering your eyes.
“No! I mean- yeah- I mean, fuck, you’re naked!”
“I’m hardly more naked than I was before I got in, don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my cock. How is my chest worse to look at?”
The ice water nearly boiled off of your hot face, but he was right. It wasn’t like he could wear pants anyway. You couldn’t help looking at him now since he was so generously presenting himself, his human half streaked with water as it coursed over his body, making the hairline that dusted his human belly stick to his skin. There were even more scars on his torso than there were on his flank, long jagged ones, big circular gashes, and even one on his shoulder that looked like a bite mark from something impossibly bigger than he was.
And motherfucker was he big, unfairly so. Heavy muscle crisscrossed under his marred flesh with just the perfect amount of softness to cushion him. The fur on his body thinned abruptly where man met beast, but the dark fur stayed connected as it went up his belly and chest, begging for someone to run their hand through it.
Tovar noticed you staring at his mythical body, a slight pout creasing his plush lips. “Here, I have an idea.” He said, turning away from you and giving you a delicious glimpse of his back and shoulder muscles. As he waded further into the water, the bottom half of him disappeared under the waves until all that was equine of him was hidden from view, and you were left with only a half naked man, which was somehow worse. “Better? Come, join me.”
He was clearly being flirtatious, but the way he scrubbed at himself trying to get the mud off was anything but. “No, Pero, it’s too cold! And I already told you I don’t want to get wet.”
“I will keep you warm, come. I can’t reach the mud on my back. Which is your fault, by the way. Please, hermosa?” Tovar was playing every angle at once, flirting and guilting and pleading. One of them must have worked, because you were groaning to the heavens with slumped shoulders before kicking your boots and pants off. Unlike the centaur, you took a hot second to actually hang your clothes up to keep them clean, laying everything on a low tree branch.
You could feel Pero’s eyes boring through your spine as you undressed, and he didn’t bother averting them when you turned and faced him, naked as the day you were born. Quickly you covered yourself with your arms and dashed for the water, your eagerness to be modest blown to shit by the freezing cold water. “Fuck!” You screamed, flailing while your brain shorted out trying to decide if you should go deeper or jump out.
Neither of those were what you ended up with though. Instead you felt two tree-trunk like arms wrap around your middle, pulling you into a searingly hot embrace. “You’re alright, cariño, I’ve got you.” A man’s baritone rasped in your ear, his words hugged by the most secretive smile. “Can you not swim?”
“I c-c-can s-swim f-f-fine!” you chattered, half frozen. You kicked your legs to make a point, trying not to let your fear show when you couldn’t feel the bottom.
“Oh ok.” Tovar let you go, and though you could swim on a good day, the cold water made your muscles cramp, threatening to sink you. It was with no small annoyance that, as you were frantically treading water, you realized he was just fucking standing up. Stupid horse. “Are you sure?” he asked bemusedly, a lopsided smile crinkling his cheeks.
You couldn’t even say no, instead you just reached for him, and let him scoop you back into his arms. He hugged you to his chest, letting his heat seep into your body, making every muscle slowly relax; from your pebbled nipples to your tense shoulders, down your tight back and finally your free-swimming legs. As the warmth rejuvenated you, you let your legs kick forward slightly, brushing against where his forelegs were firmly planted in the riverbed.
The illusion he was putting on for you - hiding his beastliness below the water - worked well enough for you, at least for now, giving you a chance to only focus on the man. It pissed you off that he was even more handsome up close, even with his frown lines and his jagged scar. His eyes, hooded by a heavy brow, were so deep and dark you were afraid that if you looked into them for too long you would drown in their melted caramel depths just like you had nearly done in the river.
He did not give you long to stare into his eyes though, closing them as he leaned down, pressing the softest kiss imaginable to your lips. If he wasn’t so handsome, or so toasty warm, you might have smacked him for being so forward. But you’d undressed and ran naked into the water of your own volition, and sought him out to warm you of your own free will. So it was with your own free will as well that you kissed him back.
There was the tiniest gasp of surprise from the big warrior, slightly shocked that you’d melt against him so willingly, but he didn’t question it. Those big beefy arms tightened around your waist, one long forearm stretching up your back to bury strong fingers in your hair, letting him kiss you deeper. For such a rugged beast, his lips were more plush than the finest downy pillow, silky and sweet as they moved over your own. His scruffy chin nudged yours, and you felt his inquisitive tongue peep out to brush your bottom lip, careful and poilite. You rewarded him with a lap of your own, nipping his lip between your teeth and making him inhale sharply.
“Hermosa…” He growled into the cup of your mouth, returning your bite with one twice as strong. “How many wagons must I pull from the muck to be kissed like this again?”
“That was my only wagon, but I’m sure I can find more chores for you to earn your keep with.”
“To taste your lips, and your cooking, I would pull a thousand wagons.”
“Oh I see how it is, you just want to eat all my food!”
“Untrue!” He roared, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, leaving little kitten nibbles along the column of your throat. “I also want to eat all of you.” You eeped and squirmed in his grasp, but the beast was too strong, joyfully running his mouth over every inch he could reach; sucking, biting, kissing, leaving a trail of his claims that turned the water around you molten with desire. “I could satisfy you like no human man ever could, princesa. What do you say, eh? Say yes, and let me see if you taste as good as the food you make.”
It was tempting to be sure, this gorgeous hunk of chevaline offering to please you, but it wasn’t enough to distract from his use of the word ‘human’. Water nearly steamed off of your cheeks at what he was promising you, having already seen what he was packing even completely flaccid. And was it even right to fuck a centaur? They already said they weren't truly animals. Even so, you weren’t entirely sure if his cock would even fit in you.
Pero could sense your hesitancy without you uttering a single word. “That is alright, hermosa, perhaps I need to do a few more chores around the farm to earn your love.” You half-heartedly agreed, bashful at his use of the L word. “I will prove myself good husband material!”
Again with this! “Pero-!” You started to refute him, but those strong arms dove under water and found the rest of you, hauling you bridal-style out of the cold water you’d grown used to and into the even colder air. “Shit fuck that’s cold!”
“I am clean now, let’s get out of the chilly water.” Pero, seemingly unaffected by the cold, hugged you to his broad, warm chest as he walked out of the creek. Water cascaded off of him as he stepped onto the shore, his jet-black fur even darker now that it was wet. He set you on your feet gently and took a few steps away, shaking himself like a big wet dog and throwing water everywhere, including your dry clothes. Fucksake.
He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d soaked your clothes, instead he trotted happily over to a dry, sunny patch of grass and immediately laid down, sprawling out in the warm sun. The way he moved wasn’t quite like a horse, but not quite like a man either, somehow meeting both in the middle; the strength and agility of a stallion with the intelligence and assuredness of a man. He rolled onto his back and stretched, showing off the most touchable tummy ever. Forget his stupid dick, you wanna get that belleh.
“Pero, can I, um…” You stuttered, trying not to shiver as your skin dried in the cool midmorning breeze. The stallion eyed you curiously, not so much lustfully as just plain… intrigued, wondering what was running through your mind. “Can… can I brush you?”
“You don’t even have to ask, pretty girl. Come, join me in the sun.” He rolled off of his back and onto his side, tucking his hooves under him and resting his human half on his elbow. “It would be an honor to be brushed by such a beautiful lady.”
The sunlight felt amazing on your bare body as you joined him in the patch of celestial gold, crackling heated pathways along your skin and drying you faster than being in the shade of the trees did. As Pero dried as well, the brackish smell of the creekwater faded, and you were able to smell his real scent. You were used to the horsey-ness of the barn, so you were noseblind to that, but the scent of warm body and a faint spice you didn’t recognize pooled blessed heat into your chest.
He didn’t budge as you approached him, only his tail swishing wetly while you kneeled in the warm grass beside him. The old, wooden boar-hair brush you used for your own horses almost looked like an insult compared to the mighty beast laying in the sun, but he seemed to enjoy it all the same as you started dragging the bristles through his fur. Water beaded along the edge of the brush as you went, falling in streams across his body, leaving his coat shiny and clean.
“I wish you were like me, hermosa, so that I could return the favor to you.” Tovar hummed, stretching a foreleg out so you could brush his shoulder. “Nobody has ever done this for me. It is… very nice.”
“Well, I mean you could brush my hair, but not with this brush. It’s too rough.”
“You would let me?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to see you better. You shrugged after a moment and nodded, making a bright grin split Tovar’s face from ear to ear. “When you are my wife, I will brush your hair every day.”
“Stop saying that!” you snapped, swatting him with the brush hard enough to make him jump. “Why do you think I’m going to marry you? You’re a centaur! What would the townspeople think if I walked into town… rode into town with you? On you? How would that even work? And, I barely know you! You’ve been in my barn for one night, which, by the way, is all you paid for.”
“I care not what the townsfolk think of me, and should they wish to challenge me I will cut them down with my blades, or stomp them to death under my hooves.” Pero waved off the imaginary hasslers with a grunt. “And I would gladly pay for another night in the barn if it meant the chance to earn your heart.”
“You’re a strange one, Pero Tovar.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” he said, cocking a bisected brow at you and watching as you picked the brush back up to resume your task.
“What do you even like about me anyway? We’re only half similar. Isn’t there a centaur out there that you like?” You didn’t meet his eyes as you continued to brush, but you could feel those warm depths on you, hunting your face for what troubled you.
“There have been many, but none have ever spoken to me so brashly as you. You do not need as many legs as I have for me to see how beautiful and strong you are.” He reached for your hand, twisting his upper body in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. “These hands have had a hard life, and deserve someone to make it easier.”
“And that’s you?”
He shrugged. “Could be.”
You pretended to mull it over, giving him a mischievous smirk. “I’ll… think about it. Let me finish brushing you.” Tovar snorted his approval, seemingly content with your answer and laying back down in the grass. He was almost entirely dry on this side, so you patted his flank asking him to roll over.
Instead of rolling onto his tummy, he rolled onto his back, stretching as long as he could and putting that super soft belly on display for you. You took your offering greedily, running the brush from between his forelegs and down his ribs, laughing when he twitched from the slight tickle of it. His vulnerable underbelly was especially sensitive, and he hissed and cursed at you while you brushed it, torn between enjoying the sensation and being tickled to death.
You managed to ignore his enormous-even-when-soft horsecock when he rolled over, letting you brush the other side of him clean and dry. Your mares would never let you touch their bellies, and would probably kick your head clean off if you even tried, but the centaur was smart enough not to do that. When you finished with his other side, you brushed your way up to where his human half grew. “If I had a softer brush I would brush your hair as well.” You said softly, tousling his damp locks.
“Your hands are fine, mi amor.” He said, nuzzling into your palm, demanding that you keep playing with his hair. Running your fingers through his hair squeegeed the water out so it ran down the back of his neck, but maybe the chill water wasn’t the only reason that he shuddered. Just for fun, you rolled his curls around your fingers, making little curly-q’s stand up from his furrowed brow.
Deciding that was enough silly time, Tovar dragged you into the grass with him,wrapping his broad arms around you and rolling you against his chest. He moved you effortlessly, pushing you onto your back and pinning you beneath him, his expansive chest blotting out the fact that there was a half-ton more of him you couldn’t see. Wet grass licked at your bare back, but you were too distracted by Pero caging you in for another kiss to notice.
It was a good thing you were a little bit of a nasty farm girl with no shame, because the way you instinctively wrapped your legs around his middle would have made a nun faint. His human ‘hips’, horse shoulders, whatever, were the perfect size for you to lock your legs around, though the closest thing he could do to ‘rut’ against you like this was to push his forelegs under your thighs to hold you to him.
“May I please you, hermosa?” he panted against your neck, nibbling his way up to your ear and growling when you nodded. “Gracias, princesa. I will keep my word, no human man will ever satisfy you as well as I am about to.” He stole one more bruising kiss before making his way down your throat, adding fresh marks to the quiltwork of blooms he had already left there.
Laving his tongue against the dip of your collarbone made you keen for him, arching your back up under his impressive weight. A dark chuckle boomed deep in his throat, excited at your neediness before he’d even begun. From your throat he wandered over to your breast, sucking marks into the pillowy flesh and taking your nipple between his teeth. Maybe he really was going to eat you.
His bite was soft and lustful, the broad hook of his nose dimpling the fat of your breast every time he pushed his face into you, the creases of his face smoothed away in his pleasure. Your other tit wasn’t left wanting, his heavy palm coming up to rest under it, gripping the flesh and greedily toying with its hardened bud.
Tovar unlatched from your nipple with a loud, wet smack, a lust-drunk look in his wide-blown pupils. “Feel good, no? And that was just the appetizer.” He shuffled down your body - an impressive feat for one so big - searing a trail of lingering kisses down your sternum and tummy; leaving a particularly slow one just below your naval.
Then he moved down to your mound, dragging his palms over the inside of your spread thighs, his callouses catching on the delicate skin. You were expecting his mouth right away, but he wanted to take his time, savoring every moment of his feast. The beast buried his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs, inhaling your scent almost obscenely deep. He hummed his approval and squished his face down further, making you squirm in his grip, your back arching almost painfully when his tongue found your clit.
“Better than breakfast.” He mumbled against you, dragging his tongue through your folds, flicking at your pearl with each pass. His tongue must have been bigger than a human man’s, because you could feel it part your lips and press its way into you, lapping deeply into your core.
His big appetite was truly to your favor, because the stallion licked and lapped at your blooming heat until your own arousal dripped down your thighs, mixed with his saliva and pooling under you before you’d even cum. Pero could feel you -taste you- getting close, locking his arms under your knees, burrowing his face in your cunt like a man starved until you gave him what he wanted, cumming hard into his open mouth. He drank every drop, sucking at your bud and making you cry out from the overstimulation. It wasn’t until you yanked him by his hair that he finally stopped eating you out.
Smiling and shining, Pero looked like he’d won an award, and was wearing his medal plainly on his face. “And here I thought your food was good, now I know that it is you that makes everything taste so sweet.”
You were too boneless to tell him that you weren’t cumming in the cookware, though you knew that’s not what he meant. He pulled himself out from your dripping cunt, carefully moving over you on his hands and whatever that fucking joint is called on his forelegs. Wrists? Elbows?
Anatomy be damned, his kisses were like fire and tasted of your passion, his lips puffy and slick from indulging on you. “Now, hermosa, it is my turn to seek pleasure.” Tovar pulled himself from your lips and rose, his body quickly towering over you as he found all four footings and revealing his fifth leg.
Oh fuck that’s a big boy.
Pero’s cock hung below him, swaying gently with his movements. There was nothing human about it, size or shape or otherwise. It was probably as long as your fucking arm, probably as thick, too; even thicker where he flared at the head. The base of him was as black as the fur it grew from, but as it continued -a long, long way- to his head his colors piebalded from black to pink, ending in the flush, dark purple head that wept with his arousal.
“P-pero…” you squeaked, your face draining of blood. “That thing is not going to fit!!”
“I can make it fit.”
“Pero!” You scolded, receiving a laugh for your blush. “It’s not gonna fit, at least, not like this.” You rolled over onto your knees, pushing your ass high in the air for him. “I can take it better like this, but you have to go slow, and if I tell you to stop, you stop. Got it?”
“Si, mi amor.” Tovar couldn’t reach you with his upper torso, so it was up to you to guide him. On your knees you were considerably lower than where one of his own species would be, but that would probably save you from being speared on his cock. The beefy thing nudged your ass, leaving big, wet kiss marks from its drooling tip. You reached back and grabbed it, instantly made nervous by him stomping his massive hooves so close to your head, but he was doing it in pleasure, not in fear. “¡Dios mío, por favor hermosa…!” He begged, and oh how you wished you could see his face.
“Go slow.” you reminded, lining him up with your dripping entrance. He huffed in affirmation and gently started pushing forward, and already you were worried that anatomy could not be damned as you had thought. Tovar’s horsecock split you like a log, the monstrosity making you wail into the soft grass. It ached, and for a moment you thought your insides were going to be ripped wide open, but once your cunt had stretched to accommodate him the ache was more pleasure than pain.
Along your spine you could feel Pero’s oversized lungs heaving, his body straining not to just fuck you into the ground. “Feels too good, cariño. C-can I move? I-I don’t want to hurt you.”
You took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, then verbally affirmed you could take it since he couldn’t see you. His cock slid back through your channel, the wide, flared head keeping him from dropping out before he thrust back in, bottoming out so hard you felt all your guts shift.
“Fuck.. fucking shit hermosa…” he grated through clenched teeth, his words stuttered by his monster cock pounding into you. “Need to get you s-something to s-stand on. Too low.” His forelegs spread as wide as he could, his human torso dropping between his equine shoulders in what had to be the strangest contortionary trick you’d ever seen. Face to upside-down face now, he was holding himself up on his hands, watching you take his cock. “Look at you, fucking gorgeous.”
You winked at the upside down man and leaned forwards to kiss him. He could almost reach, but it was awkward; your lips not quite meant to kiss this way.
“Pero, c-can you get on your back? Might be easier…”
“Anything for you, querida.” Tovar stole one more sloppy kiss and stood fully upright, allowing himself one more gut-scrambling thrust into you before pulling out. The head of him caught as it went, pulling you backwards and drawing a cry from your throat at the loss. You wouldn’t be left wanting for long though if the meaty thud of the beast hitting the ground was anything to go by. “I would never let anyone else ride me, but you? You may ride me to your heart's content.”
He sprawled on his back, his hindlegs curled up slightly to protect the enormous spire jutting from his groin. You paused to appreciate it, taking his cock between your hands and running up and down his length. The velvet skin was slick with his and your arousals, thick veins pulsing under the flesh, running hot with need. Tovar squirmed like he had when you were brushing his belly, but this time it was more with urgency than disapproval. Warm precum practically gushed from his tip, shiny in the meadow sun.
“Please, beautiful, I want to fill your cunt, not your hands.”
“I’m working on it!” You barked playfully, reaching up to use his foreleg as leverage to straddle his wide chest. Propping yourself up on your knees, you scooched your backside down until you felt him nudge your cunt, and this time he slipped into you with ease. You could watch him from your vantage point now, even if he was farther away than you would have liked; but oh how beautiful he was.
As his cock slipped through your silken walls his brow furrowed and creased, eyes going wide, lips parted in a desperate gasp. With him beneath you, you were fully in control, and you were going to use that to the fullest advantage. Slowly you rocked your hips back, fucking yourself on his enormous length, earning a needy whine every time the head of him bottomed out; though you were nowhere near the base of him.
The stretch of him had you seeing stars every time he found the end of you, his hips rocking up in time with your thrusts, demanding that you go faster or let him fuck you himself; but if he was so commited to proving himself worthy, he knew that he had to let you take the reins.
And you were happy to oblige.
You found a rhythm with him, taking him further and further into you, letting yourself get lost in the pleasurable ache of him filling you fuller than any human man could ever hope. You threw your head back, closed your eyes, and rode that pony, deaf to your own cries of pleasure as you chased your high.
“Hermosa…”
Tovar’s whine fell on deaf ears, too lost in your own bliss, in the thickness of him almost popping your hips out of their sockets.
“Hermosa!”
That got your attention, your eyes snapping open and fixing him with a confused glare. “What, Pero? Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”
“I was going to ask you that. Look!” He pointed at you from where he was laying in the grass, unable to reach you in his mythical anatomy. You followed his finger to your belly, a soft gasp escaping your lips when you could clearly see a bulge where Tovar’s cock was pushing through you. “Doesn’t that hurt?!”
You rubbed the strange new lump, making Pero convulse underneath you. “No, actually. Well, kinda, but not in a bad way.” You looked behind you to see how much of him was left, and found yourself firmly rooted at his base.
He looked up at you with star-struck eyes, as if you were the mythical creature here and not him. “Estrellas, I knew you were the one.”
“Shut up, Tovar.”
“Si, mi pequeña esposa.” Pero squeezed his forelegs against you as best he could, using his bestial strength to fuck you harder. With every thrust you watched your tummy, the bulge appearing and disappearing in time with him. You felt your own climax building, maybe more from the debauchery of being swelled by him than from being fucked on his cock, but either way you reached down to rub tight circles against your clit and bring yourself over the edge one more time.
Pero lost it at the sight of you touching yourself on his shaft, and fell over the edge with you when you came, your tight walls milking him for all he was worth. Molten seed poured into you as the stud came, pumping you full… fuller… fullest! His thick meat gave his cum nowhere to go but in, and in it did, swelling where his cock bulged your belly until you were round with him.
Both of you stared at the new roundness, panting heavily as you came down from your highs. You couldn’t help but drag your palm over it, feeling a strange heat build in your chest. Not one that came from arousal or passion, but one that came from love and adoration; and for a moment you wondered if you really could love this stranger.
“Can I feel it too?” He asked sheepishly, unable to reach you with his human hands and reluctant to try petting you with his hoof lest he hurt you. You nodded and clambered forward, feeling his softening length work its way out of you, but the moment the head of him left your swollen lips, so did his cum.
It gushed out of you, drenching you and the centaur in what had to be gallons of milky white seed. You were surprised to say the least, maybe a little disgusted as well, but more shocked than anything that all of that cum had even managed to fit in you. Shaky and sticky, you dismounted your stallion, wobbling foal-legged to where Pero was propping himself up, getting into a ‘sitting’ position so he could properly embrace you as you flopped into the grass.
“Gracias, mi amor.” he purred, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then your lips with languid reverence. His hands tangled in your hair, brushing it away from your sticky brow so he could kiss there too. “So, what do you say? Did I prove myself worthy of you?”
You kissed him back, savoring the sweet taste of his lips, giggling when his mustache tickled your nose. “Perhaps…” you mused coyly, splaying your palms over his broad chest, drawing little circles with your finger. Ignoring the butthurt look on his face, you followed the treasure trail of dark hair to his human tummy, following it with your eyes where your hands couldn’t reach down his equine keel towards his messy middle. “But first, you’re going to need another bath.”
Pero followed your gaze to the ridiculous amount of cum oozing over his belly, the string of it dangling from his cock catching the light as he laughed. “That is all I must do to earn your love now, cara mia?”
“Yeah ok, sure.”
He beamed with pride, excitement dawning on him like the new day. “Then I will be the cleanest centaur you have ever laid eyes upon!” He kicked his legs until he was on his hooves with you in his arms, trotting eagerly towards the water.
“Hey! Put me down!”
“No, hermosa, you must now earn my love in the same way!” Wind rushed around you as Pero full on galloped back to the stream, charging headlong into the icy water and chucking you in as well. You surfaced quickly and threw water at him, cursing up a storm for being subjected to the freeze again, though all your anger was false. “See? Now we can both be clean, and I will also get to be brushed again!”
The townspeople speak of a woman.
They’ve known her since she was a girl, but something about her always seemed off. Not wrong, just… off. She’s pretty yet unwed, works hard and keeps her farm running smoothly by herself.
Or, at least she used to.
She wears a ring on her finger, though no one has ever seen her husband. Some people say he is a great horseman, and takes his steed out into the woods to hunt, or ride to far away lands; which must be why no one has ever seen him. The villagers know he must live there though, as the woman buys more than enough food for two when she comes to market, bringing vegetables and hides to trade. Some have seen her riding with her husband on a very strange horse, though no one has gotten close enough to see why the horse appears to be missing it’s head.
She does well for herself, and she is healthy, happy, and loved; by a recluse, but loved nonetheless. It’s easy to tell by the smile on her face, the song in her heart, and the way her hair has been lovingly brushed every single day.
Instead of picking up the pastry and eating it like a normal human being, the stranger plunged his finger into the dead center of the tart, making peach cream ooze up around his weathered digit. Like a little kid playing with his food, he swirled the filling around a bit before bringing a sizable glob up to his bristly mouth and sucking it between the plushest pair of lips you had ever seen.
And oh for fucks sake, he’s looking right at you.
Summary: A love of food has put you in a prestigious position as the head chef at the Wall, but the evidence of that love shows in more ways than one, and catches the eye of one very hungry stranger.
Rating: deliciously explicit
Word count: 9.6k
Reader traits: Thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, internalized fat phobia represented by 'nagging voices', secure in her food but insecure in her body.
Content warnings: Food food food, feeder/eater situations, food play, oral body worship, fingering, piv, a bit of cum play, food jokes. Reader insecurities, loose adherence to canon
A/N: Reader is a fat woman that knows how to cook, Tovar is a chubby chaser with an appetite. Enjoy~
An army marches on its stomach, they say, but what you never hear about is who exactly it is that feeds them. With a fortress so vast as the Great Wall itself, surely there must be an entire battalion of chefs and cooks and bakers on hand to fill the empty tummies of the legendary defenders, but who leads that vast army? Who raises their spatula and leads the charge against the daily war on hunger? Arms themselves with heavy skillets and razor-sharp butcher’s knives to lead the siege of the blazing kitchen inferno day in and day out?
Why, you do, of course!
“Hot food, coming through!” You bellowed as you wove between the masses of soldiers coming in for lunch, who of course parted for you like a colorful river around the solid boulder of a woman that you are, and they knew better than to stand in your way. Not that they would have, anyway, not even just to be funny. Though the legions of soldiers that made up the Nameless Order were all intimidating warriors, with their tightly muscled bodies and perfectly fitted armor, they held you in high regard since you were where their meals came from.
You, on the other hand, were no warrior; though you certainly could hold your own. Feeding so many people required a top-tier chef, one that could take charge of the wait staff as well as handle the mile-long list of dietary requirements for such a population as the Wall. Food was demolished nearly as quickly as it came in from the supply caravans, and one of your most important duties was to ensure that none of it was below-standard for your tables (read:poisoned).
This also meant you were sampling dozens of ingredients and finished meals a day, and… it showed.
It showed on your hips, your thighs, your dumptruck ass. Your boobs could give you matching black eyes if you decided to go for a jog without tying them down first, and the difficulty of finding a comfortable enough corset alone was enough to push the idea of exercise out of your mind. Evidence of a life well-fed clung to your ribs and hung from your arms, arms that were currently loaded down with an entire serving tray of rotisserie chicken.
Sure, you were heavy and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, but you were also built like a brick shit house from carrying yourself for so long. Pros and cons.
“Thank you, ma’am!” piped an entire table of Tiger Warriors, all smiles as you set down their lunch. You smiled politely, averting your eyes from the skimpy armor the weapons specialist wore, their sweat-glistened chests only protected by criss-crossing leather halters. Years of service to the wall, working your hands to the bone day in and day out keeping hundreds of soldiers fed each and every day, was not nearly as monumental a task as keeping your eyes off the swarms of chiseled pecs and perfectly sculpted glutes.
The Nameless Order’s warriors didn’t struggle with that the same way you did, though they were kind and respectful towards you to a tee, not a single one of them looked at the sway of your hips or the generous curve of your ass with even a hint of desire; warriors simply preferred warriors, muscular and lean and thin. You didn’t mind, it helped to keep their sweaty mitts off your skirts, but it did make things rather lonely at times, even surrounded by a sea of brightly painted armor and radiant, respectful smiles.
One plate down, four hundred to-
The front doors to the mess hall swung open wide, revealing a pair of men you’d never laid eyes on before. They wore armor, but it was more practical and way less colorful than the highly-decorated plates the Nameless were famous for. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the sea of soldiers erupted in a cacophony of cheering and clapping, the noise deafening even in the large, wideopen space. Instinctively you started clapping along, perplexed by the newcomers and wondering what they had done to earn a standing ovation.
“Who are they?” you asked one of the blue-armored Crane warriors. They were always the most friendly towards you, even if they were also the most lightly-built of all the Nameless. And the prettiest, too.
“You didn’t hear?” she asked, her claps slowing a bit. “The Tao Tei have returned early, and their scouts attacked the wall this morning! Those two men fought and killed two of them, and say that they killed another on their own out in the badlands! How did you not hear about it?”
Because I live in the kitchen, Mei-mei. “Just busy I guess. I can’t believe the Tao Tei are already coming! I thought we had more time before the next sixty year mark. Are the warriors prepared enough?”
“We’ve been training for this day our whole lives, ma’am, and with those two on our side, we can’t lose!” Mei-meis’ generous optimism was almost grating, how could she be so undisturbed about those monsters? You hadn’t been here the last time the Tao Tei came, hell, you hadn’t even been born yet, but you knew all about the beasts. They were the whole reason the Wall had been built.
Thousands of them would come, giant green dog-like beasts with eyes on their shoulders, set there so as not to obstruct their enormous jaws. The more they ate, the more they spawned, feeding their Queen all their kills as well as their own dead. If they ever made it past the Wall, the entirety of humanity would be threatened with extinction.
These dudes must really be something.
When the cheering finally died down, and the warriors all sat down again, the pair of newcomers approached the table at the head of the mess hall where the commanders sat with General Shao in all their peacock-colored glory. From where you were watching the pair looked like night and day. One of them was light skinned, almost pale where he hadn’t been burned by the badlands’ sun, though his hair was almost the same color as sunshine. The other looked like the sun had fallen in love with him, their affair leaving his skin radiant and bronzed. His already-dark eyes were made darker by the shadowy circles around them, as well as the mop of onyx curls on his head and choppy scruff on his jaw.
Both of them looked tired. And hungry.
Commander Lin addressed them first, but you were too far away to really hear what was said. After a moment of conversation, Commander Shen of the Eagle troop strode forward in all his crimson-armored glory, thrusting a primitive looking bow into the hands of the blue-eyed man, along giving a quiver of arrows to the grouchy one. Something was said between them that made the nearest tables laugh, though it sounded mocking from where you were standing.
Then an order came from General Shao, a demand to “Let him show us!” that had everyone back on their feet, cheering and clapping and moving the fucking tables?! Confused, you were squished backwards as the table of Cranes was suddenly lifted and scootched, trapping you momentarily while the newcomers were given space. What the fuck is going on!?
Blondie said something hushed, but demanding to his partner, making the gruffer looking man grumble and pop his hip like whatever he was being asked to do was a major inconvenience. The dark-eyed one huffed finally in agreement at his comrade, then turned to the nearest table where a battalion of Crane warriors sat and stole a bowl of soup from right in front of Mei-mei. Before you or her could stop him, he tilted the bowl back, quaffing the entirety of its contents in one swig, but as he did so, his eyes met yours from over the rim of the bowl; and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
His amber-colored eyes seemed to smolder as he took you in over the three whole seconds it took him to down the soup, but that was more than enough to scorch your insides and sear your cheeks from the inside out. The bowl dropped from his lips, and he wiped at his mustache with one bracered arm, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally turned back to his partner, bringing the bowl with him.
You couldn’t focus, even though the entirety of the mess hall was watching the blond man with their breaths collectively held, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the other. He wasn’t watching you now, thankfully, too engrossed with whatever trick they were about to-
“Pull!”
The blond yelled, and the brunet chucked the empty bowl high into the air, immediately veering out of the way as the blond spun around, bow notched and arrows loosed lightning fast.
-fwip!-
-fwip!-
-fwip!-
An arrow struck the bowl, sending it careening towards one of the support pillars, followed by two more arrows that left the bowl sitting pretty on a shelf made of fletching, all in the span of a bowstring’s snap.
And the crowd went wild.
The Nameless Order were certainly excitable today, though the bowl-chucker looked like he’d rather watch paint dry, his feelings clearly proclaimed with a jaw-popping yawn. He strode over to his companion in two large steps, thrusting the quiver of arrows into the blond’s chest and loudly announcing that he was hungry.
You found your legs working again, albeit all on their own and hellbent on carrying you back to your kitchen. Every table was already well laden with food, but you had a feeling these men had traveled far, and would need more than noon rations to get them fed.
The Great Wall’s kitchen was just as formidable as its defenses, with line cooks and servers husting to and fro, also well gifted in the art of staying out of your way. Usually as one skittered past you, you would eyeball whatever it was they were carrying to ensure proper quality, but you could focus on nothing else but the way the sweltering-hot kitchen felt cold on your burning flesh.
Oh stars, am I sweating?! You wiped your moist palms hurriedly over your apron, first in a panic, then in confusion. You work in the kitchen, you’re always sweaty.
Why do you suddenly care now?
‘Because you shouldn’t be sweating’ an ugly voice you hadn’t heard in a long time whispered, ‘the others aren’t sweating, you’re only sweating because you’re fat.’
Shut the up your fuck, I don’t listen to you anymore!
‘You’re sweating because that handsome man looked at you, and you know he didn’t look at you because he wants you, he looked at you because you’re disgusting. Because you’re fat.’
“Blow me.” you hissed to no one in particular, shaking the devil from your thoughts as though the unseen creature hadn’t just planted the seeds of doubt in your skull. “I’ve got work to do.”
Back to the grind, you loaded up a pair of plates with chicken, dumplings, a plop of rice, some fried shrimp, and a peach cream tart each. Those you had made this morning, apparently while the Wall was under attack. Whoops.
When you tore back into the mess hall, trying to not look like too much of a mess yourself, you noticed that the newcomers were at separate ends of the room. Blondie was seated across from Commander Lin Mae -the leader of the Crane Warriors, and the other man was seated at a mostly empty table with only Sir Ballard for company.
Great.
Ballard could be a real dick sometimes, though that sort of came with the territory of being trapped at the Wall for twenty-five years, forbidden to return to Europe lest he take forbidden secrets with him. He was probably going to have to break it to the newcomers that they would also be forbidden to leave, just like him, and just like you.
A caravan with a broken wheel, a sick camel, and a very kind-hearted Bear warrior was all it took for you to have ended up in exactly the same boat. Whoops #2
You didn’t mind, the Wall was safe and well stocked with food and literature, and you were kept busy in the kitchen. You didn’t long to return to the dusty roads that lead to lands unknown, rich with foods and spices beyond your wildest dreams, made by people with stories you’d never heard. No, of course you didn’t mind.
Ballard’s eyes darted up to meet yours briefly before returning to conversation with the dark-haired man, who was hunched like a wild animal over his plate. His armored shoulders eclipsed a fair portion of the table in front of him, heavy muscles twitching and jerking as he stuffed his face like it was his last day alive, and by the look of the damage to his tasset and chainmail he’d had a lot of ‘last days alive’.
You said nothing as you bent to take his plate, which was nothing but bones at this point- an entire chicken obliterated by a single man- but almost dropped the fresh plate you had in your hand when the stranger grabbed your wrist. “Hey!”
“Don’t take my food!” he roared, snarling at you until he realized who he was talking to. “Oh, lo siento.” he said as he released your wrist, his eyes suddenly going soft until he noticed the plate in your other hand. “Is that more food?” He took it before you could answer, snatching it greedily and immediately shoveling half the rice into his face. “You make this?” he asked around a full mouth, a few pieces of rice escaping to land in his beard.
“Yessir.” Oh boy, here it comes. He’s going to taunt me. Of course the fat girl made it. You averted your eyes and bowed your head, ready for the inevitable.
The foreigner chewed thoughtfully, the muscles in his jaw standing out like they’d never had to do that before. “Is good.” came a muffled reply, costing him a couple more bits of rice. Gross. “You make this one too?” He swallowed back the rice and pointed a thick finger at the peach treat, to which you nodded.
Instead of picking up the pastry and eating it like a normal human being, the stranger plunged his finger into the dead center of the tart, making peach cream ooze up around his weathered digit. Like a little kid playing with his food, he swirled the filling around a bit before bringing a sizable glob up to his bristly mouth and sucking it between the plushest pair of lips you had ever seen.
And oh for fucks sake, he’s looking right at you.
“Tasty.” he purred, pulling his finger out of his mouth with a wet pop. His dark eyes raked over your face, dragging slowly down your front, taking in how well your stained apron curved out, and the flair of your wide skirts before they snapped back to meet your gaze, a quizzical tilt to his brow. “I want another.”
“Ye-yessir!” you stuttered, suddenly flustered and completely ignoring the fact that he hadn’t even eaten the first tart before you scurried back to the kitchen, nearly dumping the plate of bones on the floor instead of the trash.
What the fuck is wrong with you?!
Or, better question, what the fuck is wrong with him?!
‘He just wants you to give him all the cookies so you won’t eat them, you fat cow.’
“Or, or, consider, maybe he just.. I don’t know, likes my baking?! I thought I told you I wasn’t talking to you.
‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, chunkers.’
You ignored the voice, loading up with three more tarts for the stranger. “Regardless, he is a guest of the Wall, and if he wants more tarts he can have more tarts.”
When you returned to the mess hall you almost tripped over your own feet when you noticed those brown eyes coming from over the stranger's shoulder as he looked back at you, his chewing coming to an abrupt halt before picking up again. His thick brows rose expectantly, eager for his wish to be fulfilled.
“Here you are, sir. I baked them fresh this morning.”
“I don’t like being called sir,” he barked, taking the plate from you with slightly more decorum than he stole the previous one with. “My name is Tovar. You will call me Tovar, si?”
“Uh, yes sir- I mean Tovar sir. Yes I see, Tovar. Yep.” Oh my fucking stars shut UP!
“Tovar, stop bothering the scullery maid,” Ballard sneered, waving you off with one bony hand. “You and I have more pressing matters than cookies.”
“I doubt that.” Tovar spat, stuffing an entire peach tart in his mouth. “Th’‘re goo’ coo’ies.”
“Sorry to bother you, Sir Ballard,” you scoffed in your most fake-polite voice. “I’ll let you get back to business.”
“Top off my wine before you go.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, mine too!” Tovar piped up, wiggling his goblet at you. ”I am… so very thirsty.”
“Yes s- Tovar.” you said, pouring the wine in his cup and trying to ignore the way his words seemed to drip more than your pitcher did. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“Of course, princesa, you can count on it.”
Back in the kitchen and well away from Sir Dickhole and his handsome friend, you covered your face and groaned, trying to claw the scorch of embarrassment from your cheeks. This is a nightmare. What did Tovar mean by that? Fuck, it almost sounded like he was flirting.
But that can’t be right, why would he flirt with you of all people when there’s twenty or so Cranes he could go after instead? With their narrow waists and perfect, perky tits. Their physique never really bothered you before, they were practically your family, and it wasn’t like you were competing with them for any of the men; they just simply… weren’t interested in a girl like you.
‘Aren’t you jealous?’
“Aren’t you going to shut up?” you hissed, startling one of the cooks as she walked past you. “Sorry, not you.”
“You ok, hun? You look more stressed than usual.”
“Yeah just, a busy lunch is all.”
“Did you get to see the warriors? That blond one is so handsome! I think his name is William.”
Yeah, the blond. “Yeah, I saw, I gotta make sure we have enough eggs on hand for breakfast tomorrow. They look like they could eat a whole horse each.” Is that what you’re calling yourself now?
“Well don’t stay in here all day! Commander Lin is going to make William do the Crane Walk off the side of the Wall, I’m sure he’ll scream all the way down, it’ll be hilarious!”
You waved as she left, promising you’d join on top of the Wall as soon as you could, but in reality you had no intention of leaving the kitchen for the foreseeable future. Actually if they could just wall you in that would be even better, because if you had to look at Tovar one more time you might just combust.
The day seemed to drag on, and you felt like you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world sped around you. You kept to yourself in the kitchen, organizing inventory and checking on all the dinner items that eventually went out. You didn’t once step out into the mess hall lest Tovar decided to make eyes at you again, you didn’t need anyone else to chastise you besides your inner demons.
Try as you might to scrub the voice away with the dirty dish water, it continued to rasp in the back of your mind, pointing out every little flaw that you’d long since grown accustomed to. Ugly little sneers chided you whenever your hips knocked into the counters –like they always did– leaving bruises on your thighs that implied you were getting more action than you really were.
It made fun of the way your legs rubbed together, making you chafe in the steaming kitchen, which of course was making you sweat like a pig. Oink oink. More than once you walked past the tray of fruit tarts that were left over from dinner, almost entirely picked clean by now, and usually you had no issue with polishing off something that would go to waste; but if you so much as glanced at them for even a second gravity seemed to increase under your feet, weighing you down even more than you already were.
And, to add insult to injury, they made you think of Tovar.
The evil brain demon half wished he would just fucking die the next time the Tao Tie attacked, and your rational self knew that wasn’t very nice of you, but you didn’t have the spoons to be rational right now. You were mad at so many things. At Tovar and his friend William, at Sir Ballard for being a fuckstick like usual, though now it ground on your nerves even more than it used to. You were even irritated at the Cranes, though they had done nothing to you besides be their regular sweet -skinny- selves.
But most of all you were mad at yourself. Mad for not standing up to Ballard and mad at not saying anything more to Tovar. Mad that you had chosen to hide in the kitchen rather than go take care of the troops, feeding them and talking to them, bonding like family.
Most, most of all though, you were mad at yourself for being fat.
‘You should be.’
“I am.”
‘Good, now hurry up and eat yourself to death so they can be rid of you, you fat, ugly, disgusting worthless piece of-’
“¿Hermosa?”
A rugged voice snapped you out of your mental death spiral, startling you to whip around and look for the source. “Oh, Tovar! Um, hello.”
“Hola, princessa. I didn’t see you at dinner? Where were you?” he asked, crossing the threshold from the darkened doorway and into the kitchen proper. Your kitchen.
“I’m very busy, this kitchen doesn’t run itself, you know.” That wasn’t a lie, but it still felt like it. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“I… wanted more of those peach creams, from lunch.”
Somehow that sounded like a lie. “Oh, I have extra. Please, help yourself, I’m not going to eat them and I’d hate for them to go to waste.”
“You don’t like them? Why?” he asked as he strode up to the counter island that separated you from him, the plate of pastries between you. Light came down from an open grate overhead, though by the deep orange color it was nearing sunset. The sunshine painted across his face like an unfair divinity was trying to show you a sign, highlighting the arch of his brow and the bold curve of his nose. He had a scar running across his left eye that looked like it had been pretty nasty when he’d gotten it –from what you couldn’t imagine– but now it sort of shimmered in the golden light, drawing your eyes directly to his and making you realize he’d asked you a question.
“No, I’ve had enough, I know they’re good and I don’t need to eat any more. You eat them.”
“Hm, how do I know they’re not poisoned?”
“Excuse me?”
“You like them but you won’t eat them? Sounds suspicious to me.” Tovar crossed his arms accusingly, but his bushy lip was quirked in a playful way like he was teasing you. It was hard to take your eyes off his face, but his thick, muscular arms made for serious competition. “Eat one, and I will eat the rest.”
“I shouldn’t, I don’t need to-”
“What? You don’t need to eat? Everyone needs to eat, bonita, even chefs.” Tovar leaned over the counter and swiped a tart from the plate. “Here, this one looks good. Eat.”
You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to snap at him. It felt like he was making fun of you. Eat up little piggy, oink oink whispered the darkness, but you ignored it and reached for the tart. If your guest wants you to eat, you should eat, right?
Tovar recoiled the offering, tutting like he’d caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. "Tsk, nah-ah, mi bonita, no hands.”
“What?! How am I supposed to eat it without my hands?”
“Open.” he commanded, glancing down at your lips, his eyes hooded with something devious.
You felt trapped, the kitchen seeming to close in on you, the weight of the entire Wall threatening to come down on your head. He had to be mocking you, but you couldn’t offend your guest, so you were just going to have to take the abuse.
Embarrassed and dejected, you opened your mouth just a tad, leaning cautiously towards the offering. Tovar mimicked you, his own pillowy pink lips falling open slightly. As his hands approached your face you were torn between looking at his expression or gawking at his massive hands. They’d clearly seen more battles than you’d seen cookies, as pocked and weathered with scars as they were. But they looked strong, his fingers thick and calloused, and your mind couldn’t help but conjure up the idea of just how well they would fill something other than your mouth.
-nom-
You bit the tart, pulling back to try and take it from Tovar, but he didn’t let it go. “I can hold it, please, eat, señorita.”
Your gulp was almost audible, and you hadn’t even bitten a piece off yet. So you did, biting carefully though the middle of the tart and making peach cream gush scandalously into your mouth. Of course they were delicious, you had made them yourself, but with the added bonus of the stranger’s hands being inches from your face, they suddenly tasted heaven sent.
“That’s it, sí, eat up. Is good, yes? Not poisoned?” Tovar took the other half of the pastry back and popped it in his mouth, wolfing it down. “Mmmmm… so sweet, I could eat these all day. Give me another.”
“The plate is right-”
“No, I said give me another.” Tovar leaned forward on his elbows and opened his mouth expectantly with an -aaah-, and you about fell over backwards. He wants you to feed him?! What’s he getting at?!
“Uhm, ok.” Can’t offend your guests, now can you? Even if they are being fucking weird. So you did as you were told, picking up another peachy creme and putting it in his mouth, withdrawing your hand so fast you almost threw it at him. “There you go.”
Tovar chewed on it delightedly, making exaggerated mmm-mmm’s and even going so far as to close his eyes. No, not close, flutter, his fucking gigantic puppy-dog eyes fluttered closed. “Mmmmm… That one was even better than the last one,” he said when his mouth was empty. “But I wonder, are these the only treats you have for me, hermosa?”
“I, um, I don’t have anything else right now. I can make you something if you-”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?!” you snapped, irritated at whatever game Tovar was playing to mess with you, but the anger left you as fast as your words did, immediately replaced with shame. “I-I’m sorry, mister Tovar, sir, I didn’t mean-”
“Oh, you’re a fiery one then, eh?” Tovar mused as he started to round the island, dragging his broad palms on the countertop, a mischievous glint in his eye. You gulped, fear rooting you to the ground. He’s going to punish you for your insolence.
“I’m sorry Tovar, sir, it won’t happen again.”
“No? Hmmph.” he grumbled with mock annoyance. “That’s a shame, I like a woman that bites back.”
“You… what now?”
“I said.” Tovar repeated, closing the distance to you with slowly swaggering steps. “I like the spice of a woman with some fire in her. Makes her taste that much better.”
“Buh-whu huh now?”
“I am starting to worry about your hearing.” Tovar said with a laugh, his deep-timbred voice making you shiver. He was so close to you now that you could feel the heat of his body on your back and shoulder, and you fought the urge to turn and look at him. “How about now, princesa,” he growled in your ear, making your skin crawl. “Can you hear me now?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” Tovar’s breath was hot against your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. He reached around you, his broad chest bumping your shoulder as he did and making you realize just how much bigger than you this man was; regardless of your weight, Tovar was a beast. He snagged another tart off the table –one of the last couple remaining– and brought it to your lips. “Open.”
You did as you were told, allowing him to push the soft tart into your mouth, and you didn’t even scold him for holding it for you while you chewed the first bite. After you swallowed and opened wide for the second, Tovar’s other hand curled around your hip, his enormous hand holding you in place and pulling your body back closer to his so he could feed you.
Fucking stars when did it get so hot in here.
Trapped against his body, there was nowhere for you to flee to while his fingers cupped your jaw and his thumb swiped your lips, catching any stray crumbs. “Very good, mi bonita,” he purred into the hollow of your throat, nipping little kitten kisses up your neck that were so gentle they made you quiver. “Now, one for me.”
If he was playing games with you, you were certainly losing. Heat pooled demandingly in your lower belly, making your core throb and your back arch every time Tovar’s chainmail scraped your spine, your hips betraying your need. You picked up the second to last tart and pretended to consider it while Tovar’s roaming hands gripped your hips and made you sway ever so slightly against him, intentionally dragging your voluptuous ass across his crotch.
"This one?"
"Sí, give it to me, I want it." Tovar emphasized his desire with a demanding squeeze of your plush sides. His neck craned over your shoulder, letting him drag his rough stubble across your sensitive skin and summoning fresh goosebumps to course over your body. "I want to taste your sweet, juicy peaches," -squeeze- "savor your succulent flavors," -grope- "and after I've had my fill, I want to give you something thick and meaty to wrap those pretty lips around and lick clean."
You couldn't take it, this criminally handsome mercenary was clearly toying with you, making you out to be the fat-assed end of some sick and twisted joke. Embarrassed and shamefully aroused, you stuffed the pastry into Tovars' slobbery gob, making him choke. "There! Have you gotten your fill now?! Can't you leave me alone?!"
Behind you the outlander sputtered and coughed while he tried not to choke to death on your pastry, but his grasp on your waist never let up. "Wh-aht?! You're -ach- you're not having a good time?!"
"No!" You barked, spinning around in his arms and tearing his hands from your waist. The look of surprise and confusion on his face nearly made you reconsider, but just because he's a guest of the Wall doesn't mean he can bully you. "You're making fun of me!"
"I am?! How?!"
"Don't play coy with me! You might be a big tough warrior, but that doesn't mean you can intimidate me into eating more sweets! I KNOW I'm fat! You don't have to rub it in!"
Tovar looked down at you like you had just slapped him, a rosey flush creeping to his cheeks. "Is… is that what you think I'm doing? Mocking you?" You crossed your arms and nodded, anger giving way to sadness and threatening to spill out your eyes. Tovar saw the change immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "No no no, hermosa, I am sorry, it's been a long time since I've tried to court a lady as beautiful as you…"
Now it was your turn to look slapped, your eyes going big and your mouth falling open; not even your inner demon had any snide remarks for that one. "You… you think I'm beautiful?"
"Yes! ¡Sí! How can anyone not?" Those dark eyes of his trailed appreciatively up and down your body, roaming over every hill and valley so he could lovingly map the shape of you under your clothes. "You do not know this?"
"I… I mean.. well. Nobody around here has ever said that to me, nobodys ever… wanted me…"
"Hermosa…" he snarled, bearing his sharp canines just inches from your face. "Does this not show you that I want you?" He snatched your hand, tearing it away from the safety of your bosom and stuffing it under his chainmail tabard. You gasped at the hot, thick length of him throbbing with need from behind where it was trapped by his pants, the swell of it easily filling your palm and making your core scream with desire. "You feel how badly I want you? How much I want to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you can't remember any name but mine? Tell me you see that now."
Blood pounded in your ears, trying to contain too many emotions at once. Almost instinctively you squeezed and stroked him through the rough-knit fabric, your cunt clenching around nothing when he groaned. "But.. why me? All those Cranes are so much… prettier than me…"
"I would break them," Tovar moaned more than growled, his hips bucking against your hand, his cock desperate for friction. "I like a woman with some meat on her bones, one that looks like she would survive the winter, and maybe keep me warm through the cold nights as well." He pressed himself against you, caging you in with his thick, muscular arms and running the tip of his nose up your throat. "What do you say, hermosa? Do you want to show me just how spicy you can be?"
"Tovar! Where are you?" A voice you wish you didn't recognize called from the mess hall loud enough to reverberate in the kitchen, startling you both.
"Fucking Ballard." You both hissed in unison, making you giggle like devious schoolkids.
"Another time, mi amor, no interruptions, sí?" Tovar asked in a whisper, flashing you a dazzling smile when you nodded excitedly. "Good, andale pues…"
When his lips crashed into yours it was like the Wall itself had come down on your head. He tasted delightfully like peaches and cream, though he smelled like battleworn leather and a day spent too long in the sun. You melted into him, kissing him back quickly before he tore away, adjusting himself through his pants before vanishing out the kitchen door.
You stood, immobile, leaning hard against the counter while you caught your breath, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating hard between your legs lest it drag you to the floor. As soon as your soul came back to your body, you were flying around the kitchen, looking for your dessert recipe books.
Let's show him just how spicy you can be.
Morning came and went, entire racks of baked bread and heaping portions of scrambled eggs went out the door without a hitch; the kitchen staff functioning as normal regardless of the impending invasion. By lunch time though a couple of the line cooks had noticed that you weren't your usual observative self, allowing them free range over the day's meals while you focused on your 'project'.
"I'm working on a secret recipe!" You said when someone finally asked why you were loaded down with more spices than should fit in a cabinet. "To give the warriors an edge over the Tao Tie!" You brushed off any more questions, demanding that they let you focus and that you trusted them to handle the menu, just for today.
Lunch passed uneventfully since fried fish and rice with dumplings usually made even the most ornery Stag warrior happy. By this point your staff were picking up on whatever it was you were making in the little side kitchen where you made smaller portioned meals for people with allergies or upset stomachs. Warm cinnamon, vibrant cardamom, and rich, smokey clove had curious cooks poking their heads around the doorframe trying to get a whiff of whatever it was you were making.
Dinner was an affair. Six whole hogs had been roasted in underground pits since yesterday, but half the staff were too scared to go out and get them, worried the Tao Tie would attack them even though the pits were inside the barrier. Bear warriors gladly offered to stand watch as long as they got first dibs on dinner. The pork paired amazingly with crunchy wheat rolls, steamed veggies, and roasted potatoes, finished off with baked apples that were just a tad short on cinnamon.
Tovar had never eaten so well in his entire life, and though the constant supply of food was more than enough to keep him content while Willam and Ballard were busy, he couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't seen you all day.
He milled around the mess hall after breakfast and lunch, picking plates clean before the wait staff could bus them; they of course were thrilled with his 'help' and left him to it. Finally after dinner came and went and you were still nowhere to be seen, Tovar couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong; or worse, scared you away. Eventually, when nobody was left in the hall, Tovar made his way back to the kitchen.
"Sir, you can't be back here, is there something you need help with?"
"No no, I uh, want to pay my compliments to the chef, today's meals were very good."
"Well, you'll have a lot of people to thank for that, the head chef has been busy with something all day. We've barely seen her."
"Oh? Is she alright?” the terrifying mercenary asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“She’s fine, but if you want to find her, just follow your nose!” the tired cook laughed and tossed her rag over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t let anyone try what she’s making, but smells are free.”
Tovar was no more enlightened than he was when he first walked in the kitchen, but now that someone had mentioned it, there was something… sweet hanging in the air. He huffed, that big nose of his coming in extra handy right now, leading him though the long stone room, past the gigantic ovens and rows of cooking pots, and past the island counter he had originally made his move on. Soon he came to a closed wooden door, and he could hear a rattling and clanging coming from the other side. He snurffed again, convinced that this was where the sugary scent was coming from.
Right as he raised his fist to knock, the door flew open, revealing you in all your flour-covered glory. “Oh! Tovar! Hi!” you sputtered, “I was just… I was gonna… fucksake.” You glared down at your soiled apron, too distracted with your own poor appearance to notice Tovar grin. “I was gonna go get a fresh change of clothes before I came and got you…”
“I think you look fine as you are, hermosa. What’s going on in there, eh? Making a mess?” Tovar snickered, leaning heavily on the doorframe and trapping you in a cage of your own making.
“Yeah, you could call it that.”
“What kind of mess? I want to see!” Tovar tried to peek around you to see what you were going to ‘invite’ him to, trying to dodge you as you followed him, blocking the scene with your body.
“I wasn’t ready for you! It’s a mess!”
“I like messes, and I like whatever that smell is. Are you baking? Is it cookies?!” He managed to push past you, ignoring your protests. In the smaller room a table and two chairs had been set up a few feet away from the little oven. There was no table cloth or napkins, or even silverware; just a bare table with a large wooden tray in the middle, loaded down with spongy-looking treats slathered in white icing. “What are those? Are they for me?”
“Mmhmm. I was, uh, going to invite you for dessert, but I really wanted to get cleaned up first.” Warm embarrassment creeped across your cheeks while you tried to straighten your hair and dust the flour off your apron. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what? Working hard? Making delicious treats, for me?!” Tovar shook his head, using the pad of his thumb to brush batter off of your cheek. “You slay me, hermosa, but I think you’re beautiful just like this.”
“Lying dog, you just want a sweet roll!” You teased, putting your hands on your hips mockingly.
“Ah, you caught me. I do want sweet rolls. I want this one right here!” Tovar scooped you in his arms, kissing your neck and making you squeal. “Mmm, you smell like cinnamon, you taste like it too?” he purred into the crook of your neck, answering his own question with curious nibbles. “oh sí, you do taste like cinnamon! Does everywhere taste so good?!”
“Tovar! It’s from the rolls!” You tried to say while you squirmed in his grip, his loving assault more ticklish than anything. “Why don’t you try one first?”
“But-”
“Before they get cold?”
“Hmph. Fine, but I am not done with you.” Tovar broke away unwillingly and took his seat at the table, grabbing the nearest treat and popping it in his mouth with no regard for the icing getting all over his fingers. His first instinct to just wolf down anything he ate was slapped from his mind when the taste of your baking hit his tongue. For a moment his jaw stopped and his eyes went wide, giving himself a moment for the taste to soak into his tongue. “H’ly sh’t”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?”
Tovar looked at you like you were the sunrise breaking on the ocean after a night of storms. “They’re delicious!” Tovar hollered when his mouth was empty-ish; though he filled it right back up with another roll.
“You like them?!” You beamed, giggling when Tovar nodded so furiously his curls bounced.
“Eat! Eat one, por favor! You must try them!”
“But I made them for you-”
“And I want to share!” He scootched back in his chair so hard that the legs squeaked, making ample room for him to pat his lap. “Sit.”
“Tovar I’m too-”
“Sit!”
“Bossy boots! Fine! But if I break your knees don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gently, you perched your doublewide booty on Tovar’s knee, wrapping your arm around his sturdy neck while his muscular arm encircled your waist, holding you fast to him. “Are you sure this is ok?”
“Shh, here, try.” Tovar shushed you with one icing-covered finger, then grabbed a treat for you. “Open.”
You opened your mouth without argument, letting the mercenary pop the cinnamon-y sweet in. Of course you knew they were delicious, you’d been sampling the batter all afternoon, but with the added taste of Tovar’s rugged fingers, they suddenly tasted even more divine.
He traced the rough pad of his thumb across your sugary lips, collecting a stray bit of frosting to push in your mouth, which you licked from his skin with seductive leisure. Those dark brown eyes of his watched your lips wrap around him, the flutter of his long lashes giving away his imaginings of you wrapping your mouth around a different part of him.
“Your turn,” you hummed, selecting another sweet from the pile. Tovar held his mouth open expectantly, his bristly maw taking the entire roll from you and then some, sucking on your finger just as you had. The warm tip of his tongue lapped sweetly at your fingertip while he hummed his pleasure, luring you into a false sense of security before nipping at the hand that fed him; gentle enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make a heat hotter than an oven begin to kindle in your belly. “Naughty!”
“Naughty?!” He squeezed you tight, laughing darkly at your squeak of protest. “I’ll show you naughty…” Tovar buried his scruffy face in the soft skin under your chin, kissing and biting at your throat. He was close enough to hear your heartbeat thunder at his touch, your chest revealing your need to him. “You like this, don’t you, my little cream puff?”
“Mmmmaybee….” you mused coyly, leaning more into his broad chest. A rough hand dragged its way up your arm, feeling the goosebumps that gave you away.
“Good.” Tovar growled against your collar bone, using his scruffy chin to scratch the swells of your breasts. “Am thirsty now.” He looked up at you with those gigantic puppy dog eyes of his, asking wordlessly for permission; but the moment you nodded the sweet puppy act disappeared, replaced by the ravenous wolf you suspected him to be.
The cord holding your bodice closed barely survived his assault, almost whipping through the grommets as the devious Spaniard tore through your clothes. As soon as he found the collar of your shirt it was game over. He tugged the fabric down -nearly ripping it- to expose your fat, heavy tits to his hungry maw. The hot wetness of his mouth had you arching your back and pressing harder into his face.
“Tovar~!” you whined, squirming at the feel of his tongue circling your nipple between greedy sucks. A dark, villainous chuckle reverberated against your plush breast, the scoundrel determined to discover just how many of your buttons would make you cry out his name again.
You felt him shift forward, and heard the sound of a wooden plate being shoved out of the way. It was all the warning you had before Tovar was taking big, greedy handfuls of your ass and tossing you on the table; making it creak under the sudden added weight. You weren’t given a second to ask him what he was doing before he was on you, lapping hungrily at the hardened tips of your tits as if he might actually get a drink from them.
“You taste divine, hermosa,” he snarled into the pillowy flesh, breathing hard and fast as his own need started to overtake him. “I want to try something, if you’ll allow it?” he asked, reaching behind you to grab one of the fresh sweet rolls. You nodded, willing to let him try anything, but you weren’t expecting him to use the sweet like a paint brush, slathering your tits in icing. Coated in sugary sweetness, your breasts glistened in the low firelight coming from the oven, drawing Tovar’s eyes like a moth to a flame.
“Well? You gonna eat up, big boy?” you teased, squishing your voluptuous tits together and smearing icing over yourself. Tovar was practically drooling while he watched you play with yourself, but he was never a man to deny himself pleasure, and quickly dove in. His broad tongue dragged wetly over your hot skin, cleaning the icing from your breasts and sucking marks wherever he was finished. Before he even had it all licked off, he was squeezing your breasts around his head, burying his rugged face in your bosom and getting icing in his beard.
The Spaniard made his way up your throat, kissing his way to your lips while pushing against your chest until you were laying back fully on the table. One hand cupped your jaw while the other kneaded your breast, pinning you to the table. “The outside is so sweet, is the inside sweet, too?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
“And you said I am the naughty one.” Tovar snickered and pushed two thick fingers in your mouth, demanding you suck them clean. You did so gladly, tracing scars and creases with your tongue, feeling the weight of him in your mouth, the strength of his hands inspiring your imagination. He pulled his fingers free once you’d sucked all the sugar from them, wasting no time and stuffing them up under your skirts to find you already dripping for him. “No panties? Cochina!”
He didn’t let you ask him what that meant. Your mouth fell open as Tovar traced your soaked folds, gathering your arousal to slick himself even more than your spit would so he could stuff his thick digits inside you. The stretch of him nearly had you seeing stars right then and there, his rough calluses delightfully abrasive against your walls, rubbing your breath right out of you.
“That’s it, sí hermosa, look how well you take me.” he purred, making you squelch. “Open you nice and wide to take my cock.”
“Yes, fuck yes!” you howled, clenching around him when he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers into you so hard you felt the table wobble, but you didn’t care. You were consumed by him, the warrior encompassing everything; all your senses devoted to him alone. Chainmail rings caught under your nails where you grappled his shoulders, holding on for dear life while he fingerfucked you within an inch of your life. “T-Tovar… I’m… gonna…”
“Gonna what, bonita? You going to cum? Then cum.”
So you did.
The sound of it was obscene, and for one whole second you were glad you were still wearing dirty clothes. You soaked Tovar’s entire hand, as well as your skirts and his bracer; though he didn’t seem to mind. His brutish face was the picture of pride, all smug smiles and rosey cheeks. “That’s my good girl. Now, let's see…” He tugged his soaked hand from between your honeysweet thighs, bringing it out into the light where it glistened briefly with your juices before he popped his fingers in his mouth. “Mmmm… fuck, hermosa, you’re going to rot my teeth.”
When his lips crashed into yours again you could taste yourself on his breath, as well as the lingering sweetness of cinnamon and vanilla; contrasting sharply with the way he was trying to eat your face. His devious hands clawed at your skirts, rucking them up and exposing your molten core to the relative chill of the open air. “Stars above, look at you….” His eyes raked over your bare legs and dripping cunt, his pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Only a fool would pass this up willingly. You’re sure I’m not denying anyone your company?”
“I’m all yours, Tovar.”
“Then I will take you gladly.” He wasted no time shucking off his armor and freeing himself, almost ripping the laces out of his trousers in the process. His shirt barely made it out of the way when his cock sprang free, eager and throbbing, a bead of pearly precum beading at the tip. “You like what you see, pretty girl?” he rumbled, stroking himself slowly, watching your eyes follow his hand. You managed a whimper in response, your cunt fluttering with need, practically drooling for him. He watched your wet slit with rapt attention, squeezing himself at the base to keep himself from cumming at the sight of you alone. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Tovar lined the blunt head of his cock up with your cunt, watching your face go slack as you took him inch by agonizing inch. His dark hooded eyes never left yours, even as they rolled back in your head from the stretch of him filling you to the brim. Both of you groaned like animals when he was fully seated inside you, his racing heartbeat pulsing against the gates of your womb.
“M-move… please, Tovar…” you begged, wiggling your hips and squeezing your plush thighs around his skinny waist. He fit between your legs like a key to a lock, the two of you discovering a treasure only the other could give.
“H-hang on, cariño, you f-feel too good.” The Spaniard shifted his weight, finding better leverage to thrust himself into you, making the table scoot on the floor.
“Oh fuck yes, that’s it, big boy.” You dug your hands into the meat of his biceps, marking his flesh with tiny red crescents even through his linen shirt. “You really must have liked my baking.”
“So much…” he snarled, nipping at your jaw when his eyes caught the plate of sweet rolls still within reach. He snatched one and put it between his teeth, his hips never halting as he leaned over you, the pastry the only thing between his lips and yours.
You craned your neck, biting into the spongy cake, scraping your teeth accidentally against his. He didn’t care, instead he bit back, fighting you over crumbs and drops of cream. Icing coated your lips and stuck to your cheeks, and you were pretty sure some got on your nose as well. Tovar was on it like a bear on a beehive, moaning and groaning at the sweet, succulent taste of your sugar-coated skin; his licking, sucking and biting making you mewel and whine. Your cries spurred him on, broken and needy between trying to kiss his swollen lips and gasping for air, the merciless drive of his cock punching the breath from your lungs.
“Ge-getting… close…” he stuttered, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. You felt his hands under you, over you, digging into your soft, squishy flesh and rolling you over onto your front as easily as flipping a pancake. Tovar’s sword-swinging hands took eager, greedy handfuls of your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks to reveal your puffy pussy. Your swollen lips quivered, your empty hole begged to be filled back up; and its wish was quickly granted.
Tovar slammed home, mounting you like the stallion takes the mare. He hit something hidden at this angle, his cock rubbing deliciously against a sinful patch of nerves that took the strength right out of your legs, leaving you boneless on the table.
“That’s it, hermosa, take it, take it all.” Tovar growled through clenched teeth, fighting the ever-building tide that threatened to spill. “Think you can cum for me again? I bet you can.” He leaned his whole weight forward, crushing you under him with his wide chest, forcing you to support his weight while his hand dug under the swell of your belly, searching for a pearl more precious than gold.
The skilled hunter found it with ease, his strong fingers parting your plush folds and drawing devious circles against your clit that nearly short out your circuits. Your body tightened, curling you against the table and leaving you helpless to escape Tovar’s touch. He fucked you slowly, drawing out his own pleasure just to feel you clench on his cock instead of just his fingers.
He felt you throb around him and doubled down, rocking his hips in short, shallow thrusts until your clit pulsed and your cunt clenched around him, his other hand flying up to cover your mouth right as you screamed his name. You weren’t given a moment to recover, as soon as you fell silent the Spaniard grabbed your hips and fucked you like a man posessed, his boney pelvis certain to leave bruises on your plush behind.
“I want… can… can I…?”
“Please.” you begged, bearing down on him and trapping him in your deliciously wet heat. “Please, sweet boy… cum…”
Fingers dug like claws into your sides, hot breath ragged in your ear, and the weight of a warrior pinned to you to the table as he chased his high. His hips stuttered once, twice, three times the charm, a whispered prayer of your name falling from his lips as he came, painting your walls in thick ropes of his spend. You clenched and soaked him back, drenching the dark hair at his base with your own special frosting.
Desperate breaths echoed in the small kitchen while the two of you caught your breath. One by one he pried his fingers from your hips, gently circling the marks he’d made on them with loving devotion. His hands wandered down to the heavy globes of your ass, cupping and dropping your cheeks, the jiggle making him shudder in delight.
“Estrellas, you are a sight.” he sighed contentedly, holding your cheeks apart while he pulled his softening cock free with a wet pop. "Maybe we see if you are not the only one who can put buns in an oven, no? Make a pretty mamacita out of you? Big and full and round, hehe."
"Scoundrel!"
"What? I want milk to go with your sweets, cariño." His thick seed dribbled out of you, running down your thighs a bit before he used his thumb to push it back into your still fluttering cunt. “Your sweet rolls were delicious, mi amore, but I think I like this dessert the best.”
“And what dessert would that be?”
“It’s not obvious?” he asked, punctuating the question by pushing a second finger into your soaking wet hole. Your mixed arousals squelched sinfully around his thick digits, pouring out of you and splattering on the floor below. The suck of your pussy was almost shameful when he pulled his fingers back out, a devilish laugh rumbling along the small of your back as your lover moved down to his knees behind you, his hot mouth inches from the mess he just made. “My favorite dessert, cara mia, is the icing on the cake.”
AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist
Howdy folks!
Here's a list of fics I've read where either the Pedro boy, the reader, or everyone involved is a monster of some sort.
Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.
Pedro boys currently included are: Joel Miller, Ezra, Din Djarin, Dave York, Marcus Pike, Dieter Bravo, Jack Daniels, Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell, Max Phillips, and Tim Rockford.
updated 2/27/2024
Demon
Met the Devil Last Night
Joel one shot by @pedgito
I made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered Joel even if he was deep in the trenches of hell and...well, yeah. This is pure filth and nothing else. Porn with minuscule plot, if you will
fem!reader, demon!joel, no specific age gap since dude is a literal demon, but reader is early 20s and I picture Joel to be his younger self (around 36), mentions of su*cidal ideations, this all a completely made up concept pls don't come for me about rituals, ect i will cry. virgin!reader, reader's father is a priest and horrible (just a total douche)/mother isn't alive, spitting, oral, unprotected piv, blood drinking, competency kink, innocence kink, mutual masturbation
In Every Lifetime
Ezra series by @xdaddysprincessxx
It’s fall of 1974 in your quiet small town of Chesterfield when everything falls apart. Or is it the beginning?
Reader is mid to late 20s, witchcraft, tarot, yes the witchy things depicted in this is real witchcraft things, use of Latin
Common Courtesies
Din one shot by @juletheghoul
Pride and Prejudice vibes but Mr. Darcy is a sex demon
**pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father
Solum
Dave York one shot by @ezrasbirdie
Are you lost?" Your heart seizes with fear at the deep rumbling voice, head jerking to look in the direction it came from. It’s too dark. You can’t see anything. "Who’s—who’s there?" You ask, hoping you sound braver than you feel. "You didn’t answer my question,” it said. “Are you lost?' You swallow. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve never stepped foot in this building before today. You have no business here. But lost? No. You’re exactly where you set out to be.
SMUT, dubious consent [reader wants to be with him, but he's a demon so you know—it's a little influenced]—dead dove, this is horror and Dave York is an actual demon who kills people, graphic violence, body horror, a dash of blood kink, oral sex
Sell My Soul For You
Marcus P one shot by @absurdthirst
During girls night out, you accidentally dial your boyfriend, Marcus Pike. He hears you complain about how vanilla your sex life is and that you need to him to be more dominant. Marcus proves he’s willing to do anything to please you, even if the cost is his soul.
religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.
Dream Within a Dream
Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Your dreams have become the escape from your draining life. When you discover you are not alone in your dreamworld, will all the aspects lacking in your waking life be fulfilled by your handsome companion?
dream fucking, loss of virginity, depictions and deviations of supernatural lore, erotic gore
Mothman
Mothman Fever
Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters
You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.
Smut, canon divergence, semi-public sex, alcohol, no outbreak, pet names (luna), oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, sex pollen, dubcon, monsterfucking
Eldritch Horror
Oh, Honey
Joel series by @lincolndjarin
you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!
Soulmates AU, eventual smut, teratophilia, graphic descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of menstruation, graphic descriptions of the mortuary process, horror, depictions of extreme fear, body horror, graphic depictions of death, eldritch horror. this is a monster fucker fic, proceed accordingly
Tentacles
MDKT Sex Pollen
Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings
Your patrol with Joel goes a little sideways
Dead Dove Do Not Eat/DDDNI, noncon/heavy dubcon, body horror, tentacles, mouth r*pe, double/triple penetration, bondage, non-consensual bondage, choking, deep throating, pheromones, sex pollen, tentacles, mind fuck/mind break, brainwashing, guilt, trauma, trauma bonding. Let me know if I missed anything.
Taungsdays, am I right?
Din one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings
You awaken to find yourself and Din in an alien position.
You are taken from you village by a dragon, and he has an obscene proposition for you.
Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucking, initial dubcon (sort of a damned if you do damned if you don't deal), dragon fucks reader, Breeding, Oviposition, Stomach Bulge, PIV Sex, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, dragon!ezra is really good with his tongue, Squirting, All's well that ends well though, seriously I don't know how to warn for this fic guys, dragon biology is weird, DON'T LOOK AT ME! Light Bondage, drugging, pet names
Werewolf
Bad Moon Rising
Jack series by @wardenparker
When a handsome stranger called Jack shows up on your struggling ranch looking for work, you’re more than happy to take him in - and into your bed, as well.Death of a parent, loss of a spouse, general family drama.
Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy is basically a life motto here, Gunshot wound, first aid things, blood mention, raw meat mention. Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, so much cum, size kink, squirting, anal play/ass eating, monster fucking.
Shifter
SNAFU
Frankie series by @theywhowriteandknowthings
You’ve done this thousands of times, brought new teams to heel, be it in Britain, Japan, Korea, yet the States are always the hardest to wrangle, the mixture of over-hyped masculinity, the general military bravado, whatever it was, you always ran into trouble. But nothing has ever come close to the new Shifter Charlie Team, and boy, are you in for the biggest challenge of your life.
Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shifter AU, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, eventual Frankie x reader, former Jason x Reader, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Military, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Pack Dynamics, Pack Cuddles, Pack Building, Strong Female Characters, strong female lead
Alien
Kudzu
Ezra one shot by @beskarberry
a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?
NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending
As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.
mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting
Vampire
Sated
Joel one shot by @softlyspector
Joel just wants you to eat well
love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.
Attraction Spell
Joel one shot by @jksprincess10
Vampire Joel finds witchy reader in her shop asks her for a love spell
DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, stalking, blood play, using blood as lube, ambiguous ending, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, choking, pain kink, rough sex, minimal editing.
Bleed for me
Din series by @saradika
When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.
You meet a handsome stranger on a night out with friends. The last thing you're expecting is to be chained up in his basement.Smut, age gap, alcohol, drugging and kidnapping, chains/restraints, blood and its consumption, oral sex (female receiving), period cunnilingus, dubcon, held in captivity, reader can menstruate, male masturbation, vampire!Joel, alternate universe, dark!Joel
Only Lovers Left Alive
Joel Series by @atinylittlepain
He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?
Smut, dubcon, gore, blood and bloodplay, dark themes, cowboy!vampire!Joel, set in the past, alternate universe
vamp but it's you
Everyone at this party's a vampire
Dieter one shot by @idolatrybarbie
"you look so pretty like this."
briefly discussed necrophilia, innuendo, heavy petting
vamp but it's everyone
a court of fangs and foxgloves
Oberyn/Max P one shot @psychedelic-ink
After you left the court and hence Oberyn, no one is eager to forgive you for your betrayal. Especially those closest to you.
Max Phillips is seemingly always in command, always domineering, always on top… except when he’s with you.
Dom!Reader, Bratty Sub!Max, pegging… duh. This is technically monsterfucking also lmao. Aftercare is implied because I'm implying it here, I didn't write that in. Oh also vamp!reader if you want but I don't really make that explicit
Red Right Hand
one shot by me
You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle.
Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n.
vamp but it's max phillips
With Cherries on Top
series by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa
After countless late nights and giving up important things in your life for a job and a man that refuses to promote you, your family begs you to quit when you break it to them that you have to miss your grandmother’s 85th birthday. Max Phillips may have left the country an American citizen but he came back an undead vampire, meaning his status in the States is no longer valid. In order to not get deported to Romania, he tells immigration that the two of you are getting married and he strikes a deal to make it worth your while.
Smut, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation
A Little Lipstick Never Hurts
Reader/Max/Dieter series by @max--phillips
Max tries to skip his morning inspection, but gets caught breaking one of the rules you set for him anyway. A punishment is in order. / Max realizes a fantasy, and you enlist Dieter Bravo to help you deliver. / You receive a very hot video from your boyfriends while you are at work. The making of said video requires Max to break some rules you'd previously set out for him. He and Dieter make it up to you very easily.
Forced Feminization, but it's consensual, Femdom, Chastity Device 24/7, D/s dynamic, Sex Toys, BDSM, reader referred to as Mistress and Ma'am, Impact Play, Riding Crop, Bondage, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Butt Plugs, Degradation, Deepthroating, face fucking, gagging, spit, ruined orgasm, Nipple Clamps, Cum Play, Cum Eating, Oral Sex, Aftercare, there is NO misgendering, Max's ass does get referred to as his pussy and his dick his clit, but that's as far as that goes, MMF, threesome, PIV, double penetration, cock cages, ball gag, choking, max is a vampire, blow jobs, sex tapes, cum swapping, rule negotiations, fluff
Reflective
series by @prolix-yuy
His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you’re partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?
horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore. mirror shenanigans, fingering (f-receiving), oral sex (f-receiving), PiV sex (don’t be a fool wrap your tool), playing fast and loose with vampire lore.
Lust for a vampire
one shot by @idolatrybarbie
A lot of oddballs and strange characters visit a vampire strip club in a tourist town on the border. Max Phillips is unlike any of them.
Smut, mentioned drug use, background sex work, dubcon, supernatural stalking, blood, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, spit, physical altercation, vaginal fingering, pet names (sweet thing, honey, sweetheart)
The Impaler
Tim Rockford/Max/Reader one shot by @kiwisbell
Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.
vampires, gothic architecture, slightly dubious consent, implied mind alteration/control, murder, death, blood, threesome, lots of biting, spanking, spitroasting, masturbation, DVP, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap ur vampire dicks pls), wife sharing, free use kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), exchanging fluids, spitting, disgusting and filthy, max using cringey nicknames for reader’s pussy but it’s charming bc it’s max, handcuffs, light bondage, hair pulling
I cannot get you close enough
one shot by @leslie-lyman
“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.” Oh. Right. Vampire. “Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”
A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does
All Mouth
one shot by @idolatrybarbie
max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." with a twist!
reader is not American/not an "American vampire", porn with mild plot, pet names (honey, baby, sweetie, Maxxie), all the usual vampire genre warnings, including but not limited to - graphic blood and gore, cannibalism, mention of scars, horror themes, love as consumption, smut - mommy kink, degradation (max gets called a slut), cock slapping, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, handjob, alcohol mention, fluff.
You’re an ex-bounty hunter just trying to escape the Guild’s radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite? [Ao3]
{Book One}
Bargaining with Beskar
Silver and Steel
Krayt’s Teeth
Valkyrie
Devil’s Advocate
Oathsworn
{Book Two}
The Most Dangerous Game
Ghosts of the River Styx
Garden of Ishtar
Bilgerat
Star-crossed
The Roar of Thunder
★Fanworks★
Lovely works written by lovely people
My Sweet, Sweet Mesh'la [Bargaining w/ Beskar] @cmart009sfwdraws
North Star [Bargaining w/ Beskar] @novemberrain221
