I'm 🇭🇺 and 🏴, I speak Hungarian, English, Romanian, bit of Russian, Japanese, Indonesian and Spanish.
I'm a artist (I don't take comssions) and a beginning writer
I really like anime, art, kpop and SEApop music, Nintendo games, fantasy novels, magical girls etc...
I'm pansexual and nonbinary women using she/her and they/them pronouns.
If you have any questions etc, please don't be afraid to comment on this post and I will reply, but PLEASE don't message me if I haven't asked to do so, Thank you (⌒‿⌒)
What are your thoughts on a centaur working at a daycare?
Hi anon! I chuckled at this ask because it's just so specific. Here some lil blurb:
Centaur!daycare-teacher who is so soft with the kids he spends half of his day sitting on the ground just so they can sit on him. Centaur who is big as a tower but so very careful with the babies, no matter the species. Some parents are worried, but he's always the first to arrive and the last to go, making sure each one of the kids has the best care possible.
Centaur!daycare-teacher who runs around the patio with with a dozen kids on his back, galloping to make them laugh, and maybe catch the eye of a certain human mother who enjoys watching him more than she should.
Centaur!daycare-teacher who can't stop falling in love with you because he thinks you are the prettiest human in existence. He courts you with flowers, family recipes and takes extra good care of your tiny human baby. He's mesmerized by how incredibly tiny the human baby is, and even more amazed that he came out of you... Centaur who can't wait to fuck you senseless and breed you until you are full of babies... this time centaur/human babies.
You were there when your father yanked the baby centaur out of his mother. She screamed, her lower body giving one last shudder before she fell limp on the hay.
Birth was a common business amongst the human women and centaur females in the village of Stonecrest, which meant your parents had their hands full. Your mother and father were called for at all hours, and you had to either tag along to various houses and stables, or remain alone in the ramshackle cabin you called home.
Your mother rubbed the bloody baby centaur dry, using brisk motions until he opened his eyes and squalled. His eyes were black as coal and you thought he was scary until your mother called you over. She needed to get him warm and she wanted you to hold him. Little as you were, you went and sat in the hay with the slick-skinned newborn. His mother lifted her head and asked if her baby was alright, and said she had a name for him.
Call him Setai. It means "strength" in my language, she said before she heaved a breath and went still.
You were too young to think much of it, but later you would learn that she had died. Oh, how you raged when your mother explained that the baby centaur would have to be sent away to another village where a pregnant centauress could nurse him.
But why, you had asked her, doesn't Mrs. Annie have milk too? Can't she feed him?
No, human women can't feed centaur babies.
Later you came to understand that it had little to do with whether it would actually work. The problem was that nobody wanted to. Centaurs were different from humans, considered to be lesser beings. No woman would degrade herself by nursing a half-beast, and so Setai had to be sent away for him to survive.
Years have passed since then, and the memory of the first centaur birth you witnessed is tucked away in the pages of time. Your parents have made a decent living for themselves and are now working for the rich families. You have followed in a similar path and though people like to pretend you're not as good as your parents, you know yourself and your skill.
Today is an auction day. There is a new batch of centaurs in town, all set to be sold. You are in the stables behind the auction house with your father to inspect them and determine their general health and anything else that might alter their selling price.
You work your way through the stalls until you come to one holding a male centaur in all manner of restraints. His hands are cuffed in front of him and he even has a metal bar in his mouth, forced between his clenched teeth.
"What is the matter with this one?" You ask one of the stablehands.
"Well, Miss, he bites. It's best you leave him as is," the stablehand says before walking away.
The centaur glares at you through a curtain of black hair, a baleful look in his eye. You arch an eyebrow.
"I'm not skipping you just because you are moody," you tell him.
He scrapes his hoof on the floor in response. You put on some gloves and set about to examining him, checking his legs for any lameness and measuring his pulse. It's high, but you can't blame him for that, since an auction is hardly a favorable situation to be in. You check his underbelly and sheath, frowning at the silver hoop you find pierced through his foreskin.
"Your previous owner really didn't care much for you, did they? Well at least it has healed..."
He huffs against his gag and you briefly consider removing it in case he wants to speak but you don't want to be hasty. You give him a pat on his flank that is meant to ease his nerves but only seems to irritate him further. He dances away on graceful legs, tossing his head defiantly. As his hair shifts over his shoulder, you spot an unmistakable birthmark on his skin.
"Setai?!" You gasp, the name flying to your tongue in a heartbeat.
The centaur pauses and eyes you, tilting his head. You stare up at him, taken aback. He's fully grown now. You would not have recognized him if not for the mark.
"It's really you..."
Setai snorts and corners you in the stall, his gaze filled with suspicion. You know he doesn't know who you are.
"I knew you when you were a baby," you tell him. "I was only a little girl myself, but I remember you."
He suddenly rears up violently, his forelegs crashing against the slats of his stall as he pretends to mount you. You stumble and bump into the wall, and his lips twist in cruel satisfaction. He drops to the ground, his hooves clicking as he backs away. Just in time too, because your father appears at the door of his stall.
"What happened?" He asks.
"I got distracted and he cornered me," you say. "Nothing more."
"You know better than that," your father says, but he pats you on the shoulder gently. "Why don't you look in on the centauress in the stall opposite? She seems to be a gentle soul."
"Thank you, father." You escape to safer ground, taking note of how shaken up you feel.
Setai is back in Stonecrest, and he has grown into an unrecognizable bastard.
Same anon here! You made me feel better about that now thank you🤭 I had another thought but im not sure what to call it, it’s a hybrid like King Kong and then those skull crawlers. I can’t imagine being on that island (skull island) and having to evade all those hybrids who immediately start seeking out the little human who came ashore
In The Arms of a Monster (hybrid ape monster × human fem reader)
Wow, anon, okay, you really delivered on that request. I'm happy you're back wth this idea! It hooked me and I wanted to write something that would put us right there on that island and then... SMUT!
Hope you like this! It took some time to write it but I enjoyed it so much! As for me, it definitely scratched that kinky monster itch 🫶🏼 Best of luck with your monster writing!
Lots of monster hugs to all my friends here!
TW: NSFW, size diff, dubious at first but then fully consensual, P in V, fingering, primal, creampie, scenting, gentle giant (but feral).
The air on Skull Island was thick and wet with the rot of jungle and the distant sounds of things you can't name.
You've been running for what feels like hours, your lungs burning, every shadow making you fear it was a predator.
The island was a mix of hybrid monsters. Twisted fusions of ape and lizard. Creatures all power and scales and who knew what else.
You felt something watching you. Tracking you since you washed ashore. You thought you could evade them, slip through the cracks of this nightmare, but you were wrong.
Then, the ground trembles.
A heavy thud.
Then another.
The birds went silent.
The insects stopped their buzz.
He came out from the gloom.
Massive, tall, but it's not just the size that steals your air—it's the way he moves. A hybrid of the great ape. You've heard legends about him. His body was filled with muscle and fur, interspersed with patches of dark scales, especially along his spine and his arms.
An apelike face, with pronounced brows and intelligent eyes that gleam amber. His snout is longer and when he opens his mouth, you see rows of blunt teeth.
He faces you, nostrils flaring.
Scenting…
You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you were invisible and anywhere but here.
But you feel his gaze is like a caress.
A low, rumbling growl vibrates through the earth, up through your spine, settling in your core.
When you open your eyes, he's closer, his eyes on yours.
There's no rage, no animal hunger.
More like… curiosity. He reaches down with a hand the size of your torso, fingers tipped with black claws, and gently, impossibly gently, touches you. There it was. You were a goner.
"Don't," you whisper.
He tilts his head, a gesture so human it makes your skin prickle. He makes a sound, a huff before his other hand sweeps down, scooping you up. You scream, but the sound is swallowed by the jungle. His hold is warm, calloused, and you're pressed against the rough texture of his skin and scales. He lifts you to his face, studying you like a curious child with a new bug.
You're trembling, tears trickling down your cheeks. "Please..."
He rumbles again, but this time it's softer. The sound did something to you. He squeezes you closer, and you can smell him—earth, musk, rain. So good. His breath is hot on your skin as he sniffs along your shoulder, your neck. As if he is fascinated.
When his nose grazes your collarbone, a shiver goes through you, one you can't control.
He notices. His eyes flicker to yours and there's a spark of something knowing in them.
He doesn't put you down.
Instead, he settles back on his haunches, cradling you against his chest and begins to explore. A claw tip traces the line of your jaw, your throat. You don’t dare move. It's sharp enough to draw blood, but he's careful. You moan, and that sound seems to fascinate him. He does it again, running that dangerous tip down between your breasts, catching on the fabric of your T-shirt.
"Wh-what are you doing?" you stammer, but your body is betraying you. Your nipples peak under your bra, and your pulse is no longer just fear.
No answer.
He pulls at the fabric, a rip, and your shirt is gone. Your bra too, until your skin is bare to the humid air and him. He makes a sound, a deep groan, and his gaze rakes over you. His thumb, with its scaled pad, brushes over your nipple. The sensation is electric. You arch into it before you can stop yourself, another moan escaping your lips.
His eyes flare.
He lowers his head, and you feel his tongue. It's not like a human tongue, it's long, broad, and textured, warm and wet. The appendage drags up from your sternum to your throat. The sensation is overwhelming and has you gripping his arms for balance. Such strong arms...
You're panting now, caught between terror and a raw arousal that's pooling hot and heavy in your belly.
"You're... you're not going to eat me?" you manage to whisper.
Again, he only rumbles and shakes his head.
No, not eat. Something else.
His other hand moves, and you feel his fingers at your waist, slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You should stop him, but your body won't listen.
You're wet, embarrassingly so, and when his claw tip accidentally grazes your pussy through, you jolt, a cry leaving your lips. He freezes, then deliberately does it again, watching your reaction with intense focus.
"Ah...!" You can't help it. Your hips buck against his hand.
He growls and gently shreds the rest of your clothes away, leaving you naked in his palm. The air is cool on your flushed skin, but his body heat radiates around you. He brings you closer to his massive form so you’re straddling him and as you glance down you see it… his cock.
It's monstrous, proportionate to his size, emerging from a thicket of fur and scales. The shaft is bulky and veined, flushed a deep, angry red, the head bulbous and slick with fluid.
Your eyes widen.
He notices where you're looking, and lets another rumbling chuckle vibrates through him. You were growing fond of the sounds he made. He shifts you up, positioning you against the tip of it. The heat from it is incredible, and you can feel the pulse of blood through the thick veins. He rubs the tip of it against your inner thigh, smearing the fluid on your skin.
"Too big," you whisper, but it comes out breathy, wanting.
He shakes his head again.
He's careful.
He uses his thumb to part your pussy lips and you whimper at the sensation of his rough pad against your sensitive flesh. You're soaked. He presses the very tip of his cock against your entrance, just nudging, testing. The size is staggering… just the head is as wide as your fist but your body is desperate, clenching around nothing.
This is crazy, this is impossible and yet you were doing it.
Lowering you, he pushes further, just a little, and you feel the stretch, the pressure that makes you cry out. He stops immediately, waiting. You're panting, your forehead pressed against his warm chest.
"More," you gasp. "Please, more."
Down you go. The head pops in with a squelch. Huge hands grab your waist as he gives more to you, your boding taking him in, inch by inch. He fills you completely, stretching you in ways you've never been stretched.
The sensation is pain and pleasure tangled so tight you can't tell them apart. You're impaled on him, his massive hand holding you steady as he begins to shift you up and down on his cock.
The motion is not fast. It's deep, grinding thrusts that hit places inside you that make stars burst behind your eyes. The sounds are filthy, wet, slick noises of his girth moving inside you, your juices, broken moans and his grunts.
All the while, he’s watching you, his amber eyes half-lidded, as if drinking in your reactions. When you clench around him, he growls ferally. When you cry out and clutch his shoulders, he finally speaks.
"Kong,” he rumbles. “Speak.” And he adjusts the angle, and suddenly he's pressing against that spot, that sweet spot inside you, and you scream, your nails digging into his fur.
"Kong… aghhh….yes, there, don't stop—hgnnn!"
You're babbling, lost to the sensations.
He doesn't stop.
His strong arms guide you as he keeps the rhythm, and you feel the coil in your belly tightening, burning. He leans down, his hot breath on your ear, and he makes a sound—a word?—in his own guttural language. It doesn't matter.
You don’t understand but you understand how your body feels. What your body says. That's what matters.
The orgasm that rips through you is like a tidal wave. You clench around him so hard you see white, your body convulsing. He roars, a deafening sound that shakes the trees and you feel him pulse inside you, hot jets flooding your depths. So much of it that it spills out around him, dripping down the jungle soil. He keeps jerking you up and down through his climax, milking every last spasm from your body, until you're a limp, satisfied mess in his embrace.
And you stay like that. For a long times.
He holds you against his chest, traces your back while you surrender. Your ear presses to where his heart is beating fast. He's still inside you, and you can feel him, still massive and hard, but he doesn't pull away.
You're exhausted, sore, and blissed-out.
You don't know what happens next.
But for now, in this moment, you're safe in the arms of a monster.
Centaur!boyfriend who is so nervous asking you to marry him that he drops the ring into the grass and you have to spend half an hour looking for it after you accept (and make out for a long time).
Centaur!fiancée who would be super into wedding planning, making sure everything is perfect and everything is adapted to all kinds of species attending the wedding. He would make sure the bathrooms are centaur-friendly, the chairs are monster-sized and there's enough food to feed a whole army. He turns into groomzilla as you watch him with warm eyes and soft smiles, his excitement meeting yours as you two together prepare the perfect event.
Centaur!fiancée who is so into tradition that he refuses to see you a week before the wedding, leaving your shared house and staying with his family until the day comes. He's so excited he's crying even before you arrive. But the second he sees you? His heart might be stopping as he watches you walking down the aisle looking so perfect he can't even breathe. He spends half the ceremony so enraptured by your beauty that he misses half the words out of the person officiating, not that he cares, because he hears your vows well enough (and he sobs at them).
Centur!husband who would look so happy when you walk out of the ceremony galloping on his back with everyone cheering around you. He would take you to your own house, spending at least an hour memorizing every single inch of your body on the special day before taking you back to enjoy the feast with all your guests.
Content - Just a really fluffy short, minor hurt/comfort
AN - I know I have requests I’m working on, but enjoy this cute piece I just wrote. My Secret Santa did seem to forget about me, but writing this made me feel better about it lol.
In which your Secret Santa forgets about you, but the orc you work with refuses to let you go giftless this year.
You tried not to make a big deal out of it, you really did. It was just some stupid Secret Santa event your work held every year. Gift giving was one of your favorite parts of the holidays, you loved watching people’s excitement as they opened their gifts. Your work did a week-long Secret Santa. Smaller, cheaper gifts every day up until Friday. Then you would receive a nicer gift on the last day, and try to figure out who your gifter was.
The catch?
Your Secret Santa seemed to forget you existed.
It was three days into the event, and each day passed without a gift on your desk.
You’d forced the initial confusion into the back of your mind and chose instead to focus distantly on your chosen coworker. Sandra, an older lady that had been working at the office longer than you were alive. She loved caramels and socks, so you put together a bunch of little gifts of different caramels and fuzzy socks.
The third day turned your confusion into a bit of hurt. Had you been forgotten about? Did your Secret Santa pick your name and change their mind about the event?
Your shift had consisted mostly of overthinking the entire event, worrying your lower lip between your teeth until it was raw.
It wasn’t until Torig — the orc who sat in the cubicle across from yours— cleared his throat in a way that dragged your attention from your fog. He was a huge orc, with deep green skin and shining tusks. His sleek black hair was always pushed back or intricately tied into a braid against his head. He wore heavy silver rings and always had nicely pressed clothes.
You two became close quickly, and not just because the two of you had orientation together years ago. Torig was a gentle giant, the best listener during lunch breaks, and the subject of your thoughts a lot more recently.
Today, he looked worried about you. “You’re going to chew your lip off,” he said in a low voice, so as to not disturb your coworkers. “What’s wrong?”
You sighed softly, pushing your chair back away from the desk so you could spin and face him.
“It’s stupid,” you prefaced, holding a finger up to him that silently said, ‘do not judge me.’ “But I haven’t received any gifts yet.”
The second the words left your mouth you felt ridiculous. But Torig’s expression softened, and he shook his head at you.
“You love this holiday stuff, though. It’s not stupid to be upset about it.”
Even though it wasn’t much, that little reassurance made you feel better for the rest of your shift. You managed to put it out of your mind and get work done.
The next day, a neat little box sat on your desk, a crude attempt at a bow resting atop the lid. You couldn’t fight the smile as you dropped into your seat and read the tag.
You recognized Torig’s handwriting immediately. The loose, curved loops and the way he refused to dot his I’s in Merry Christmas.
When you slid the lid off, you felt your heart melt. It was a necklace. The pendant seemingly handmade from silver and wire, twisted and pinched into the intricate design of a tree. You told yourself not to tear up at your desk, and clasped the necklace around your neck without a second thought.
You caught the pleased smile from Torig out of the corner of your eye when he came in later that day. When he thought you weren’t looking.
During lunch, you sought out the corner table you two sat at every day in the small break room. He looked at you as he bit into a roll, big brown eyes lighting up as they dropped to the pendant resting in the dip of your throat.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to, but thank you,” you said softly, playfully nudging his foot with yours beneath the table.
A look flashed over his face, but disappeared in an instance.
“Don’t thank me, I wanted to do it. I don’t like seeing you sulking all day.” If anyone else said it, you would’ve thought they were jabbing at you. But when you met his gaze again, you could tell he was genuine.
The big guy didn’t want you upset.
It warmed your heart to hear him say that. Torig had always been kind to you, from the moment you interrupted orientation because your tire exploded halfway on your way to the office. He’d had a rough time acclimating to the environment and the people. And the people took time to warm up to him. You’d been his loudest defender, insisting he eat lunch with you, claiming the cubicle across from yours and demanding he set up there.
You can’t remember when exactly you started falling for him, but it felt so natural.
Friday rolled around quicker than you thought, and you weren’t surprised this time to show up to your desk without a gift sitting there.
You’d gotten Sandra the rest of the book series you caught her reading during her breaks. The excitement in her face was enough to smooth over the burn. It wasn’t about receiving anything, just the satisfaction of giving.
The first portion of your day went by in a foggy blur— paperwork, emails, a meeting about statistics and goals for the week after you all returned from Christmas breaks.
When Torig arrived in the afternoon, he had a bundle of something in his arms. His hair was a bit wilder than he usually kept it, sticking up in odd places like he’d slept on it and couldn’t bother grooming it. His shirt was missing the top button, and his trousers were not ironed.
This was the least composed you’d ever seen the orc.
He loomed over you in the entryway of your cubicle, looking sheepish as he held the bundle out to you.
“For me?” You asked, taken aback by his ruffled appearance and the item in his hands. When he only nodded once, you grabbed at the bundle.
It tumbled into your lap, and you let out a quiet noise of surprise. It was a scarf, made up of your favorite colors. A soft and plush knitted scarf with little strands of fluffy jutting out from the ends.
“I was actually making that for you before I found out your Secret Santa flaked out on you,” he admitted timidly, his face turning a deeper shade of green as you stared down at the scarf in your lap. “I stayed up late to finish it, ended up falling asleep at the end, and had to do the rest before I came in. It’s not a lot, I know—“
You stood up abruptly, making him pause and take a startled step back. When you met his gaze again, your eyes were watery. You stepped into his space and leaned into him, arms squeezing him tightly.
“Thank you, this is everything. Your gifts mean so much because you made them,” you mumbled against his shirt.
His arms slowly wrapped around you, his tusk grazing the top of your head as he inhaled. A soft rumble in his chest as he replied.
“I have another gift, but it’s completely up to you. You can say no, and I won’t hold anything against you,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. You pulled back from the hug just enough to give him a curious look. He just smiled down at you.
“Let me take you to dinner tonight? I’ll make reservations somewhere nice and I’ll pay for the entire night. You just have to sit there and look pretty.”
You blinked.
Torig just asked you to go to dinner with him. The giant orc with the soft temperament that you’ve been pining after for so long wanted to take you out.
“Like a date?” You asked stupidly, and he chuckled in response.
“Yes, please. Like a date.”
A delighted smile crossed your face as you nodded eagerly, meeting his gaze with a soft blush decorating your cheeks.
