cw: monster fucking, breeding, oviposition, belly bulge and body horror ig
Upper body sturdy with slim but tight muscles, long lower half of a Malayan krait, Sero isn’t as scary as the other nagas around nor tries to pose as a threatening creature, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have potent poison in those pointy fangs disguised in his big smile.
He’s sneaky too, quietly so, finds his way in to your backyard when you were distracted. He needed a safe place for his eggs and you looked so lonely in your little cottage, baking pies, reading books. You’re already so motherly, he oughta give you something more to take care of, right? Sero doesn’t pounce on you, not yet- he makes his presence know by purposely bumping his tail on some forniture, raises almost to the roof of your home when you whip around at the sound and visibly shrink at his size, shaking.
Again, he’s not scary or forceful like others and doesn’t meaningly try to intimidate you. Entertains small talk, says he got lost and wondered his way into your house, says your pie smells nice even though he doesn’t eat human food. He’s just so charming, so well spoken, that you can’t help but relax around him and talk openly, even admire his slender physic- and maybe the loneliness was getting to you when you clenched your thighs together.
And Sero notices, smiles wider and lays the charm down harder.
“It’s a shame we’re different kinds. I’d love to have someone like you as a partner-“ he’s sliding closer now that you don’t flinch from him, and it’s like your hypnotized by the way he moves, how his tail curled and swayed, “we’d build a nest we could come home to, maybe even raise a couple of kids for some extra company. What a life, right?”
You shakily gasp at a clawed hand carefully tracing your cheek as if you were fine chinaware, eyes never breaking away from his hooded dark ones.
“It really, really is a shame.”
And it slips out of you before you thought it through, the breathy question of if that really can’t happen and Sero finds it so cute how you clamp your lips shut in burning embarrassment.
He also finds it cute how you beg for his eggs, no trace of venom in your system spurring the lewd roll of your hips on his between your legs, now on top of your dining table where he placed you, peeled your clothes off layer by agonizing layer.
“You sure? You don’t mind?” He asks sweetly, pushes his tail firmer on your bare count and slowly drags up, hears you whine and sees you arch from it, grinding your clit even harder on his scales, already glistening with your arousal.
“I want them so bad, Sero! Please~, ngh... please put it in...”
His slimy cock was already out and it twitches at all the little pitches of your voice. Sero has to swallow because venom was pooling in his mouth, craving to bite you yet to reluctant to damage your perfect skin. He part your legs by your ankles, spreads them wide as they’d go and slithered his long body closer, rubs the wiggly appendage on your slit before letting it find its way in.
You moan at the stretch, cum pathetically to the fullness in your cunt, all the way to the very top. Then you squeal when he bulged at the base and the bulge traveled in to you, feeling it spread your walls and spreed your cervix open to push a gooey egg with a wet “blop!”. More follow and your world crosses at all the eggs filling you up, expanding your tummy, your incoherent babbling and tightness making Sero moan.
“Hm, your so good to me, letting me put my eggs in you.” He thrusts one of the bulges his eggs made in and your head rolled back along with your eyes. “Knew you were perfect. Fuck, I’m so lucky I met you.”
He burns the image of your enlarged belly in his mind as he deposits the last egg, sees their outline move on your skin, and finally splutters the liquid to fertilize them, your legs quaking violently in his grip with every throbbing squirt, your own body squirting clear liquid back at him.
Sero back out with a breathy laugh, letting your legs limply drop while he rubs soothing circles on your hips, pecks sweet kisses on your neck when you laid on the table brain dead and unresponsive, only slurring broken words of love and adoration.
He has to carry you to your bed, your body too weak to carry yourself now that your tummy dropped on your thighs. He tucks you in all nice and warm and promises to visit every day to check up on you, and later, bring food for your hatchlings.
From one monster fucker to another I absolutely love you and our small community. Lemme spin this thought to you right quick:
Imagjne babygirl having a tentacle kink and moves into a house by a lake where all the Sero, Kiri, and Bakugo dwell. They constantly surface and watches her all of the time. She has a weird feeling that she's being watched but.....she revels in it so she decides to put ona show wearing different sets of lingerie and making herself cum every night. It drives the guys crazy. She decides to kick it up a notch and swim naked in the lake one night and they finally show themselves. How would they respond when they finally have her?
No pls why did I love why I love this idea so much. Deadass beautiful, phenomenal, outstanding. And with THREE tentacle bois? Lawd
Kirishima, Sero and Bakugou see your car pull up at the cabin that has been vacant for so long. Share curious gazes, still submerged to half of their faces before moving a little closer to watch you unpack.
You’re happy to peacefully live by yourself in such a beautiful house, with pretty lake right in front of it too. You’re free to do whatever your heart desires, which also includes late night one on one sessions with yourself, bringing yourself to orgasm since you haven’t had any decent ones for awhile.
However, you do feel like you’re being watched, but there’s no one else living close to your cabin and you brushed it off as a trick of the mind every time you caught a glimpse of three heads poking out of the water, gone the moment you double take. No matter, the feeling of extra eyes on you made you friskier, brought out your finest sets of lingerie at night and different toys to get yourself off- with your favorite being the tentacle shaped dildo you bought on your birthday.
And one night, when the weather is warm and the water is cool, too late for another soul to be around and see you naked. But maybe you’ll finally entice your Peeping Tom out of hiding.
You strip at the pier and slide into the water, shivering at first before finally relaxing all your muscles, slight wading through the water because your feet just barely managed to touch the lakes bottom. You get your heart shocked up to your throat when you felt something brush on your leg, thinking it’s a catfish, only for more things to slider up your calves and thighs, slimy and sticky even underwater until finally lifting to the surface… in the form of red and black tentacles.
“You really kept us waiting too long, pretty girl. We were starting to go crazy.” A man came out of the water, black hair sticking to his face and lazy grin wide on his lips, another one with red hair emerging next to him.
“Damn, her body feels so soft.” He says, the red tentacles that probably belong to him massaging your bare chest, suction cups popping just above your nips. You shiver at how the sensation went right between your legs instead of piling in fear of these octopus men, reflexively backing away from their sultry touch. Your back hits a sturdy chest, shivering again when a warm big grip your waist and even more tentacles cling and curl around your body, brushing up on your core.
“Though you could tease us with that sorry excuse of a mock up, ehn?” The third man whispers in your ear, makes you whimper to the roughness of his voice, to all of their tentacles now starting to rub on your cunt. “We’ll show what real fucking tentacles can do.”
You never felt so full before, tree different sets of tentacles shoved deep In your pussy, another two in your ass, and one more in your mouth, water splashing from all the thrusts and ruts overstimming your body, the rest of them wrapped in an incoherent mess keeping you afloat, all while the three men coo and purr lewd praises of how you take them so well, on how you were a tease every night, on how they’ll turn you into their personal little toy to prod and roughen up a bit.
“You’re squeezing so tight, bet ya want us to fucking fill with our seed.”
“I wouldn’t want it anywhere else than inside you, fuck.”
“You’ll look so perfect all round and heavy with our kids.”
You dumbly squeal as you squirt your fourth orgasm, eyes rolling back and breaths becoming choked around the tentacle still rocking into your throat. The others in your holes moved quicker and rougher before burying themselves as deep as they could go, your pussy spasming around them, their outline on your tummy disappearing when it started to grow from the absurd of amount of eggs and cum pumped into you.
After they were done, they sat you back on the pier and you drunkenly thanked them for the time of your life, barely able to sit straight and stop shivering, drenched, covered in marks of suction cups, legs spreed open to accommodate your big belly and letting them see their cum spill out of you as your body squirted the excess.
Oh, they were gonna have tons of fun with you from now on.
For people who are wondering, it comes from the book Going Postal, one of the Discworld series.
The book features 'the Clacks' a sort of primitive telegraph system run from high towers that Terry Pratchett descibed as "sort of what the internet would be, if all you had was a lot of bits of string" (I'm paraphrasing here from what I remember from the intro to the film). Messages are sent from one tower to another using flashing lights in morse code, until they reach a tower within walking distance of the people they are meant for.
The people who own the business are so set on providing The Best (and most expensive) Service, that they refuse to stop the machinery so as to allow time for maintenance or proper breaks for the workers, leading to multiple people falling to their deaths due to exhaustion/poorly maintained towers. The actual plot of the book is about an ex-conman trying to rebuild the historic city post-office, so as to destroy the Clacks company's monopoly on long distance communication.
Thing is, whenever a Clacks worker dies on the job, the Clacksmen (and women) have a tradition called 'sending home', where the person's name is sent through all the towers, ending at the one closest to their home. The exception is John Dearheart, the son of the man who invented the Clacks system originally (and then had it stolen from under his nose), whose death is rumoured to have been a murder at the hands of his employers.
His name is sent around along with the code 'GNU', which is a signal to the Clacksworkers recieving it that they are meant to always send it on to the next tower, whatever happens. The idea is that, since a person is said to only truly die the last time their name is spoken, if John Dearheart's name is constantly being 'spoken' by the Clacks Tower mechanisms, then he's not really dead.
After Sir Terry's death, fans picked up the idea. GNU Terry Pratchett essentially just means 'remember Terry Pratchett'. You're meant reply with the same, so as to ensure that the name never stops being spoken, and so he lives on.
One arm in the air this baby is fierce!!! #happyfamilyday #familyfirst (at Syracuse, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/BvK58PrgUQn/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=fzlrdcxdtbfn
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