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dzamie-oc · 6 months

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Voretober 30 - Double...

Length: 1900 words Vore type: M/F, oral vore Fandom: My Little Pony Other info: unwilling prey, griffon pred, pony prey Summary: Gallus ambushes Trixie, and then he and his friends get… almost caught out by Starlight.

"I'm not so sure this will work," a griffon with blue feathers and fur said, his devil-horn-anointed head lowered, "or that I want it to. The headmare's such a nice pony!"

Beside him, an identical griffon shot his mirror image a grin. "Oh, it'll work. Smolder and I both saw Trixie get herself and Starlight punch from that spiked bowl. All I need to do is wait for the signal and pounce just like Sandbar and I've been practicing."

Flying just above the two, an orange dragoness flapped her wings, adorned for this night with white feathers matching her plain white dress. Her COSTUME dress, that she was wearing just because it was Nightmare Night, she had insisted. She drifted a bit lower to catch their attention, then nudged the first Gallus with her tail. "And don't worry about the second part. If anycreature asks, you only knew about duplicating Gallus. Just act surprised when I drop the horn ring on."

The fake Gallus kicked a rock with his forepaw and sighed. "I… guess. But you still wouldn't have known about that part of griffon history if I hadn't told you."

The real one dramatically put the back of his own claws to his feathery forehead. "It can't be avoided; you'll have to stop helping two of your bestest friends study before you accidentally let slip that dragons can use their big, fat butts to cause earthqu-AWK!!" he cut off in a squawk as Smolder folded her wings and landed directly on his back.

"Earthquake? No. Griffonquake? That one's easy," Smolder said. She went to buff her claws on her scales, but stopped when she realized she might accidentally tear her angel costume. "Besides, I'm due for another molt soon, and if we didn't pull this prank this year with Gallus, I'd certainly do it next year with myself."

The two Galluses ("Galli?" Ocellus pondered to themself) soon reached Headmare Starlight's door. Smolder flew off the one she'd hitched a ride on, and instead hid above the doorframe, using her claws and wings to stay put. The griffons shared a nod, one reached out to knock on the door, and they waited for it to open.

"Nightmare Night! What a fright! Give us something sweet to bite!" the pair cheered in twin voices.

However, instead of their purple headmare, it was her marefriend who appeared in the doorway. Trixie had swapped her usual starry and purple robe and hat for a nurse's white cap and uniform. The unicorn looked between the two bluebirds with red horns and "wings," and smirked. "While Trixie knows this is… not good student counselor behavior, the joke is simply too good to pass up: are you finally a devil in more than just the classroom, Gallus?"

"Worse than that, I've corrupted poor Ocellus," the fake Gallus replied, and held out his candy bucket, "now you wouldn't want your dear student to get gobbled up by Nightmare Moon, would you?"

Trixie paused, tapping her forehoof to her chin in thought. Ocellus cringed as she hesitated a little longer than constituted a joke. "Trixie supposes not," she landed on, eventually. Her horn lit up, and a spooky-themed bowl floated over to them… completely devoid of candy. The three blue creatures stared at the spot where treats were supposed to be, yet clearly weren't. "Well… it is good that you have met Princess Luna, and know those rhymes are all just made up."

Gallus set his own bag of candy down, and took a step back, tensing his hind legs. "It's no worry, Counselor. I'd say you're plenty sweet on your own," he said, signaling Smolder. From her unseen perch directly above the stage magician, the dragoness let a ring, carved with sigils and inlaid with a single blue gem, fall from her claws.

Trixie smiled at Gallus. "And Ocellus, from what I hear of your studies, you don't need to butter up the teachers like that, let alone the student counsel- oh!" Her eyes widened in surprise as the ring landed around her horn and her magic fizzled out. And then they widened even more when she saw a griffon's beak gaping wide, rapidly approaching her.

Gallus barreled into Trixie, muffling her shocked shout with not only his beak, but his throat. As he worked his beak back and forth, steadily gaining ground on her skull, he quietly thanked all the practice Sandbar had let him get - it had been a little awkward at first, especially the first time he'd gotten past the pony's forelegs, but Gallus had to admit that Sandbar turned out to be a great sleeping aid when taken orally. The click of Smolder closing the door after them brought the griffon's mind back to the present, where his beak began to nudge at Trixie's nurse outfit.

With a few fumbles from his own claws and some wordless cooperation from Smolder's, the unicorn was soon free of her otherwise ill-fated costume. Gallus pinned Trixie's forelegs to her sides with another gulp, and Smolder held her hind hooves together. The griffon figured it was an overcautious gesture, but when Trixie nearly threw her off with forcibly-restrained kicks, he suddenly realized that, while Sandbar had let himself be eaten, Trixie had no reason to. Still, as her barrel slipped into his hungry jaws, it grew increasingly clear that her desire to not be eaten was completely immaterial in the face of two maturing predators (and literally in the face of one of them).

A pair of magic wand cutie marks slipped past a feathery blue maw, and, with some gentle shoves from Smolder, Trixie's flanks and hindlegs soon bulged out Gallus's neck before winding up in his stomach. The devoured mare struggled and fought, but between the oppressive, humid heat and Gallus's gut kneading at her, that resistance soon shrank to smaller, slower lumps. After his last swallow, he playfully snapped at Smolder's claws as she yanked them away from Trixie's hooves, and she snapped her jaws back in his face, though hers featured much sharper fangs than his beak.

And then they heard hoofsteps.

Together as one, the trio of friends turned to the connecting doorway to see Starlight Glimmer, costumeless, standing in it and looking back at them, a bag of candy in her magical aura. Her eyes flicked from the griffon and dragon close enough to kiss, the second griffon with his tail meekly tucked under himself, and the very visible, sagging bulge under the first griffon's body. "Um… what's going on, you three?"

Gallus and Smolder gestured at themselves and each other, stumbling over their words. "Well, you see-" "We were just-" "Have you ever-" "It's like this-" they tried to start, before turning to the third member. "Ocellus, you tell her," Smolder said, with Gallus chipping in a quick, "yeah, since I'm a known liar."

Starlight's focus fell on the disguised changeling. Ocellus, for their part, was doing an excellent job at not hyperventilating. Instead, the fake griffon took a few deep breaths before going into his spiel, "well, you see, Gallus and I wanted to double up like this for Nightmare Night, but a few weeks ago, we found out that griffons used to eat ponies whole, so he's been practicing eating Sandbar, and so tonight I guess he decided to go as a griffon who's eaten a pony, and-" he took one more deep breath and let out a small whimper, sounding very strange coming from "Gallus," and finished, "and I can't mimic THAT but I want my friends to have fun but I also want to be his mirror image rather than just my regular Gallus disguise!"

The headmare furrowed her brow and peered at Gallus's belly. "That's Sandbar in there? Is he safe?"

"Oh, potions of acid immunity are easy," the fake Gallus remarked with Ocellus's usual academic excellence, before his face fell again. "I guess it's lucky we ran into you, headmare; can you help us with this problem?"

"Of course!" Starlight beamed. "I'll just cast an acid resistance spell on Smolder, shrink her with another spell, then you can eat her, and I'll undo the spell once she's inside!"

Smolder took a step back. "Uh, why am I getting roped into this?"

"I still have to give out candy, Smolder. I was going to leave it to Trixie, but… well, the entire bowl was mysteriously emptied an hour before anypo- anycreature started arriving."

The disguised changeling spoke up, "And… how do I get her back out? Gallus is the one with all the practice getting an entire creature down or up."

"Oh, just transform into something bigger," Starlight replied with a dismissive wave of her hoof. She stopped mid-wave, realizing something. "Actually, just do that to get her in, too. Can changelings make themselves stretchier, maybe?"

"Oh! Ye- probably!"

Smolder crossed her arms. "I'm still not getting eaten. For one, it'll ruin my dre- my costume, and for two, I want to go candy-harvesting!"

Starlight's horn lit up, and in a flash, Smolder was left completely naked - which, as most creatures' default state, didn't faze her much. "I'm sure it'll only be temporary. And if it helps, King Thorax has said changeling stomachs smell like fruit."

"That's not much be- wait, I have an idea…" She leaned down and whispered to the slimmer griffon, who blushed fiercey but nodded.

After recovering, the fake Gallus asked Starlight, "is there a room we can do this… privately?"

Starlight pointed her hoof at the doorway she just came from. "There's no door there, but I promise I won't look. Just make sure to close the windows."

The dragon and "griffon" nodded and filed away into the next room. Gallus started to follow them, but was soon picked up in Starlight's magic and levitated back over next to the unicorn. "I think that party is for Ocellus and whoever they're eating, only."

Gallus fluffed up his feathers. "I was just going to… guard the door."

"No you weren't."

"No, I wasn't," he agreed, "so, if somecreature rings the bell, would it be too scary to go 'only take one, or you'll wind up gobbled like this fool who tried to steal a hoofful?'"

Starlight thought this over for longer than Gallus thought was really necessary for a joke suggestion. "It's… probably on the morbid side. The Nightmare Moon thing is fine since she doesn't really exist anymore, and it's not like it's a freshly-fed Nightmare shouting that at them."

Gallus stuck out his tongue - more at his situation than at the headmare. "I guess I'm dressed as a fat devil, then," he said. "Huh, why do I feel like I should have wrapped something up by now?"

#my little pony #mlp #fanfic #fanfiction #voretober #v.ore #v/ore #gallus #ocellus #smolder #trixie lulamoon #starlight glimmer #unwilling prey #griffon pred #pony prey #writing #writers on tumblr #halloween #nightmare night

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slashingdisneypasta · 6 months

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Poppy is still going to be a princess in the Dragon AU... But I couldn't help myself and started imagining her as a dragon too and I have to share XD

So this probably goes without saying, but Poppy would be adorable as a dragon ^^ (at least I think so). Smartass can recover some of his bruised ego because she'd be smaller than him (still bigger than a human, but still. I've gotta work on their heights, so I can't give an exact measurement right now). She's got grey horns that curl backward like a ram, so they'd be better used for smashing or shoving than stabbing. She's got snow-white scales with some black spots dotting along her back, shoulders, and tail. Which could be good for blending in with the winter, but not for much else. I'm debating on whether or not she'd be insecure about her not having colorful scales like other dragons. She can still fly, though the membrane of her wings are actually a bit thicker than the others, allowing her to better use it to shield or defend, and they can't get torn as easily. She's got a bit of a sleek body, but it's not long and lithe like Psycho's. And she's actually got a strong bite, too. But it's not really noticeable unless she's eating. Or the rare cases she gets into fights. So although she can't hide in the wild, at least Poppy has plenty of ways to defend herself.

I'm thinking Poppy could be a burrowing dragon similar to Shiny. Though while Shiny found a crystal cave to call home, Poppy actually dug herself a nice, snug home that literally only she can fit in. She hopes someday she can make it bigger for a potential mate, or even just a close friend, but so far she's had no luck.

Also, she will never go on raides. She's actually pretty curious about humans, and during a snowy day, she'll try sneaking into a village to learn more about them ^^ she... May or may not snatch a few things she finds. Not personal belongings! Mainly yummy foods that the humans make ^^ if this girl did find a public library though, and knew that it was allowed to take books as long as you gave them back, she'd absolutely try to take some. She has a hard time reading the human writing, but she's trying! She loves their stories ^^

So I guess Poppy would be kind of like Stupid with how friendly and easy it would be to get along with her. Offer her some books, cooking, or little facts about your kind, and you've got a dragon who will share her wing shield with you anytime ^^

When word got around that the Dragon Patrol were wreaking havoc all over the land, Poppy was scared of them; she knows that she's not the strongest dragon (it's part of why she hides). But she did actually try to find them and ask them if they could stop. The humans did nothing to them! And they were making them afraid of their kind, and that would mean other dragons would get targeted and killed! This just wasn't good for anyone involved, not now or the long run. But as one might suspect, she wouldn't have the best luck :(

!! First of all she sounds so sweet (Of course) and I want to sit and read her and Stupid as many stories as she wants ^^

Second of all... imagine a Shrek au. Yes. Like Poppy is actually a princess, but she was cursed to be a dragon after sun down. And of course- Ben is lord Farquaad.

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typingdyslexiaisathing · 3 months

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Cuddles with A Proud Demon (Obey Me! Fic)

summary: Lucifer is (once again) interrupted from his work. For a good reason.

characters: Lucifer, OC (who is NOT the MC just a 3rd exchange student)

content: established relationship, casual talk, romance, fluff

Lucifer didn't even bother to look up when the door to his study opened without a knock upon the wooden surface. He just kept his gaze to his paperwork as the door fully opened to allow Retha to enter. Her tail making a light thwack against the doorframe (by accident again) for her to hiss in air. But she soon walked her talon feet over to his desk to crack her knuckles. "Figures. Lucifer. It's been ages since you guys had dinner. Rest your eyeballs and finger joints."

The Avatar of Pride gave a tisk as he kept writing. "I still have work to finish before the evening has concluded. Some of which involves the next festival for the school as well as ordering you some things. I promised Lord Diavolo to ease your transition as much as possible. Any word on the other two 'exchange students' or my brothers to mention to me?"

Retha sighed to have her very long tail give an unexpected tap on the floor. As if she was tapping her tail instead of her foot as she thinks out loud. "Solomon just took a bunch of samples from me to go over at Purgatory Hall. Since it's not every century a human gets changed into a... What are we calling me? Hybrid? Chimera? Mix of Angel, Demon, Vampire, and Tooth Fairy? Whatever. Anyways. Solomon left about an hour ago. The little sheeple student that you all adore is currently fast asleep in the twin's room. Belphie, Beel, and Levi are there too. Some gaming group up went to the pasture as they all were snoring away. I already tucked them into the bed so they are snuggled together."

Lucifer gave a huff at that mental image to finally look up at Retha. His gaze looking over this once human turned supernatural creature to notice she was still unable to hold a human looking form. The horns were out in full. Scales along her face and arms. While the dragon wings were tucked in as hard as she might get away with so as not to bump into anything. Which has to be uncomfortable for her as she all but grabbed her long tail to hold it in both hands. So Lucifer could guess why she looked about ready to snap from tension.

The eldest brother soon stood up to walk himself over to Retha. Who gave a very quiet huff of air as Lucifer wrapped his arms around her. His own wings blooming to encase her in velvet ebony feathers. "I am grateful that you took care of them for me. But you should have joined them in the snuggle huddle as you would put it. Any time you need us, we are here for you Retha. You have been taking this upheaval of your life with such bravado. But it is okay to be weak and to need comfort. So let's take a break and just be."

Retha went very still to then nod. Reaching those clawed hands up to hug Lucifer back and just breathe. The tension easing out of her smaller frame as that tail swished in a gentle motion behind her. "Right. Okay. I already had a good sit down with Satan and Simeon earlier. But this... Thanks."

#Obey Me!#om! shall we date #Obey Me! fanfiction #Obey Me! fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction drabble #yes even Lucifer gives hugs

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queenofdragons12 · 1 year

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the interest of death — puss in boots

Summary: Y/n had always been special. How you may ask. Let me say to you, dear reader. Our beautiful y/n is not who or what she pretends to be.

Never has been and never will be.

For beneath those sweet smiles and words, something is hiding that will change the world for all who inhabit it.

But first, maybe only in a small Spanish village where nothing much happens.

But the beginning of our little adventure begins on a quiet evening when a particular cat finds out that he might not be as immortal as he thought.

Paring: puss in boots x Fem! Assassin! Reader

A/n: will be maybe a series, will see

You walked quietly in the forest.

The silence was almost frightening, but you knew better than anyone that that was how the forest was at night. At least this forest.

After a while, you found a place to camp and lit a flame on the pieces of wood you had found. The fire flared, and soon the cool night air was warming up as hot as a house with a fireplace.

You left the fire there while you went out hunting. You found two hares, a mouse, and a pheasant. You carried them all back. Some sat on a stick that you had over your shoulder.

The sky shimmered up there, and you smiled, gazing at the big full moon that shone like an eternal lamp.

Several of its lights flittered through the forest canopy, and you let it touch you like a mother with a child.

Silently and painlessly, you changed without knowing it. Tremors overlaid your pale skin. Horns grew out of your scalp, slowly but surely, and its warmth faded away.

Wings stretched from your back and folded with a silent rustle.

Your head shot up, and you whirled around. Nothing.

Huh, that's weird. I swear I heard something, you thought and shrugged your shoulders. After a while, by the fire, you started eating, and that's when you noticed. Instead of pale human hands covered with scales of (s/c) color, there were claws and stronger shades of (s/c).

You gasped and began to look over yourself and saw that everywhere were such scales. From your neck and forehead to your butt and tail --- wait! tail? You didn't have a tail before! You let out a scream of joy and fear. Joy, because you are finally a dragon, a dragon! Fear because now no one will be with you, that's for sure. Even more sure than when you only had scales here and there.

But at least I'm the creature I've wanted since I was little. I just wish mum or dad were here and they could give me advice, you sighed and sat down again and curled your new tail around your front claws. The moonbeams flashed again before you remembered it was late at night, if not around midnight.

You curled up in a ball and put your beautiful, surprisingly strong wing over your face. And the dreams came.

The water trickles over your claws. Everything was quiet and peaceful. Everything you wanted to hear flittered through the air and into your ears. You heard everything that Puss said. Everything that his friends did.

All of it.

You saw it all too. You smiled quietly to yourself; the hood over your head fluttered a little in the wind that snuck through the valley. It would be little time before they saw you. So little time before your mission would come to light. When you would finally not be alone anymore.

"wait!" you heard, and your head snapped up, and your smile glistened under the hood. Sharp teeth caught the light. They were here. "I see someone. Quietly maybe they can't see us," Puss said. Your eyebrows went up. Is he stupid? You tried with a smile. Ah, whatever. I guess that's his charm.

The raft went by, and you stood up. "uh…" said Kitty, her blue eyes unsteady and unfriendly. The raft stopped. "do we know you?" said the little dog, but he had a little smile on his muzzle. Your wings slowly spread. "yes," you said, your eyes found Puss. "hello again, Puss in boots."

Puss' friends turned to him. "do you know that creature?" asked Kitty, and Puss released her gaze. "uh yeah.. sort of. We met at a bar one night not long ago. she um…" he looked at you, and you smiled, pulled off, and landed quite gently on the raft. It wobbled but stayed on course in the water. "I was sent to draw my sword across his throat. I changed my mind and let him live," you said and folded your wings.

Puss nodded and rubbed his arm "yes, what she said" Kitty immediately pulled out her little sword, and the puppy stopped smiling.

You laughed, reached up, curled two claws over the crest of your cap, and pulled it back. "I don't want to kill you," you said kindly and calmly. Your tail curled over your hind claws. "I'm here to help you."

In the seams of the water crook, two red eyes were glittering. A smile full of sharp teeth glistened. gatito makes an immortal friend. So cross and… fun for me. This will be a hunt I will never forget.

#puss in boots the last wish x reader #dragon #assasin #Oc #Death

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ffxiv-swarm · 8 months

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prompt 8: shed

In general, you found all sorts up in the skies. Hyur, Elezen, Miqo’te of all sorts of clans, even Seeq and Bangaa from Dalmasca. Hells, he’d even run into a pack—or should that be a flock?—of Ixal from far-flung Gridania. No Ananta, but he guessed the lack of feet would probably be a hindrance. He didn’t meet too many of his fellow Au Ra, though, which always struck him as odd.

And then, a few months into his first flight, he discovered why.

The cook on his first ship, a Raen from Doma, had wryly called it a quirk of physiology. Now that he was on his own, he called it a bloody pain in the arse. Fairly literally, unfortunately. While races with skin or fur or tough leathery hide only had to make sure they moisturized to allay the worse of the cold, dry wind’s effects, anyone with scales had a much worse time. Not only could his skin still crack and bleed, oh no, it didn’t stop there, because the gods were bastards.

No, once or twice a year, he shed. It was bad enough on the Steppes, where it still tended to be cold and dry but at least there was a ready supply of lanolin to slather himself with. If he happened to be a thousand yalms up above the Cieldalaes, he was shit outta luck. Shedding scales made his skin tight and dry, and they itched like mad—and sometimes they got stuck. When that happened, there was only one remedy, and now he finally had the means and the space to put it into practice without anyone yelling at him for hogging the hot water.

Nothing helped like a good, long soak.

Really, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling through the steam, I oughtta hire a navigator. Second mate. Maybe get a mammet. Something. It was possible to steer the Tormorjargal by himself, but it was also exhausting. Between the long day and the hot bath he was currently half-submerged in, he was halfway to torpor.

Halfway, not all the way, because unfortunately he still had a job to do. Growling under his breath, he sat up and twisted around for a third or fourth go at prying loose one of the shielding scales at the very base of his tail. Au Ra shed from the head downwards, and the tail scales were always the last to go. This would have been fine, except the ones at the base were so bloody stubborn. Mother of the Dusk, who hold the moon in your eyes, you’ve done a fine job giving us protection back there, but you could’ve made it easier to replace!

Wedging his fingernails under the first one, he took a breath. This would either work or be blindingly painful.

He yanked upwards, and the dull outer coating peeled off. Thank fuck. There were people who lacquered their shed scales and made things out of them—lamellar armor woven from body scales, drinking horns or knife sheaths from horn caps, lovers’ keepsakes from the triangular chest scales that pointed to the heart—but he’d always just swept them over the side. Wasn’t like he had anyone to give them to, anyway.

He sank back into the water, studying his shed idly. It was more flexible than the full scale, especially after soaking for nearly a bell, and resembled nothing so much as the translucent shell of the brown-edged beige beneath. Even this inextricably marked his tribe; nearly all Xaela had scales ranging from pitch-black to a deep blue, purple, or red, and Raen were almost always solid shades of cream through pale brown. But the Malaguld were true children of the dusk, mingling the blood of Azim and Nhaama for generations, and so they...varied. Widely. He’d seen every shade and pattern of brown and gray possible, and he’d thought them beautiful.

Well. He still did. But...

He blew out a gusty breath and tossed the shed aside. He had his own life now.

#ffxivwrite2023 #jaiyu #fire the headcanons

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

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Gift of Nature

Kinktober 2020 — oviposition

A/N: my main kink is making usually “hard" kinks soft...

Pairing: naga!Daishou Suguru x reader

Description: "Nature always remembers.”

Warning: oviposition, vaginal penetration, oral (receiving), belly bulge, breeding kink, mentions of abandonment, far too much plot considering how this was supposed to be porn

Word count: 7362

The village held a celebration when the team of huntsmen came back with their catch.

Everyone rushed out of their houses at the triumphant horns that signaled their arrival, the rumours of what they had caught already spread like wildfire among people when the first messenger that was sent running back from the depths of the forest to the chief of the village came back panting, speaking to the chief in low whispers only to have the old man let out an audible gasp.

You heard the women of the village say that it was the first time they had ever seen the chief that shocked around the laundry basket that evening.

People gathered around the road at the center of the village that reached to the chief’s house, murmuring to themselves as the footsteps of the huntsmen neared. The first screak from the crowd was followed by an echo of gasps and exclaims that rose and fell as the men walked past. They had their heads up to the sky, their feet dragging along the ground as if they were deliberately slowing down their steps to bask in the reactions from the villagers.

You were at the very back of the crowd when it all happened, as you always were whenever anything big happened in the village.

Your parents were traveling merchants would reach the village many many years ago, disappearing one night leaving nothing but a crying child behind. You were taken in by a family that didn’t have their own child but still, there was this thing about being the village’s orphan, and it was that there was no one you could turn to that would possibly favour you over the actual children of the village. Even if they say everyone was supposed to work a fair share, who could you tell on if your fellow workers dropped all their remaining work to you the moment they heard the crowd gathering outside?

Getting on your tiptoes, you peeked from behind the shoulders of the many people standing in front of you like a wall. You could barely see what was going on in front, only seeing the top of people’s heads. The sound of something heavy being dragged along the muddy ground got near, and soon the people that could see it got loud.

“I thought the gossips were fake!”

“I can’t believe they actually caught that...”

The people said between bewildered gasps and mocking cackles and you tried to slip through the gaps between bodies to no avail. You finally caught a glimpse of the creature when the crowd slowly moved apart as the huntsmen passed, starting another round of the same echoes with the people from down the road.

People would talk about the creature all throughout the day as the great feast commemorating this great feat was in preparation, each person’s description of the fearsome creature that the huntsmen had trapped and brought back wildly different from another's.

You did not join in on the arguments about whether the scales on the creature’s snake-like body was green or brown, or the growingly cruel laughs about what they should do with the creature once the celebrations were over. They asked you if you had seen the creature, only for the question to be brushed off with shrieking laughers before you could even part your lips.

You did not mind, you were not going to give an answer they would be happy about anyways. For it was not the shiny scales or chillingly human torso that you remembered, but he sheer loathing in the creature’s glowing eyes that remained in the blank darkness of your mind, vivid in your head each time you did so little as blink your eyes.

The huntsmen that caught the naga were treated as heroes during the feast.

There were food and wine, a luxury that was rarely seen for a village as humble as yours unless there was a wedding or to celebrate the yearly harvest. The leading huntsmen, a tall man who wielded his bow wherever he went, got louder and louder with each mug of wine he poured down his throat. He kept recounting how he (”with the help of my brothers, of course,” he would always add about midway through his yells), with his bravery and wits, was able to trap the usually sly and tactful creature.

You took a sip of your honeyed wine every time the crowd cheered as he recalled, with a dramatic rise of his voice, of how with a moment of great reflex, he stabbed the naga before it could leap on him to sink its venomous fangs into his skin. The same story got old if you kept listening to it throughout the night, and his story kept getting more and more exaggerated with each time he opened his mouth. You looked around the people near you, wondering if they also caught onto the fact that his tale was starting to feel off, but all you turned your gaze back to the burgundy liquid in your mug when all you saw was how they all seemed drunk in pride of their fellow villagers great deed.

You looked around, before slowly backing out of the long table you were seated at. The last thing you heard before you paced away along the road towards the direction of your home was the roars of the crowd following a raise of the huntsman’s jug to the starry sky.

“Tomorrow at dusk, we will skin the creature and let what was remained of it be a proud relic of our village’s history!”

The village was quiet with everyone gathering at the town square for the feast, all the huts and houses along the way empty and dark. Your steps quickened, guided by nothing but the twinkling of stars above your head.

Until you saw a slither of light spilling out from the hut at the far corner of your vision.

There could only be one reason why there was a room still lighted when everyone was away...

Tentatively walking close, you looked around to see if anyone was guarding the hut. You raised your eyebrows up in question when you realised that you were all alone with no one in sight, not even from afar. The way they talked about the catch like it was a monumental moment in human civilisation, you would think they might try to be a little more cautious with it. You paused right outside the door, feeling chills running down your spine at the thought of what was inside.

You still remembered its eyes, and you wondered if it would haunt you if those eyes were cast upon you.

You gulped, swallowing your nerves. Just one look, you thought to yourself as your finger hoovered against the wooden door, just a peek and you would go...

“What do you think you’re doing, little one?"

You clasped your hands around your lips at the squeak that was near slipping out, your eyes widening as you stood there with your back straight, frozen in fear at being caught.

“I felt you walking near from miles away so no reason to back away now,” the voice rang again, a soft hiss following the last syllable, “promise I don’t bite.”

This was wrong, you should not even be here. If anyone in the village knew you got near the hut let alone talk to the naga, the talk would be endless. Silence loomed the chilly air, a hint of anticipation thickening your breathes as you felt the naga waiting for you to go inside. Your face was burning, your mind in a state of blank and your hands feeling clammy at your sides.

You thought of the naga’s eyes, the slither of gold that looked so inhuman but also showed more emotions than any animal was capable of. Those same eyes were now staring at the door you were standing outside of, bearing holes into the piece of wood as it waited for you to go in.

You let out a shaky breath, and pushed the door open with the very tip of your finger.

The hut was illuminated by the flickering candle light in the center, its surroundings still very much so dimmed. The hut had been an abandoned shed, the weed still covering the creaking wood of the flooring. You stepped into the hut, observing the ground you stepped on carefully before landing your foot lightly.

“Go on, come closer,” it said, and you felt like your body was hypnotised by its voice that made your scalp tingle.

You forgot to breathe when you finally saw the naga. Its... no, his body was far larger than you had thought it would be just from guessing by how heavy he sounded being dragged to the village. At the side of the hut he was laying on, his long tail curled into loops around the corner of the room, green scales looking like crushed pieces of emerald under the candle light even with the dirt that dusted on top, adorning his body all the way until the scales blended into skin much like your own. Everyone kept calling him “the creature” that you found a strange sickness stirring in your stomach at how utterly human he looked leaning against the wall, his arms crossing loosely around his stomach. He had a handsome face, far more than any of the boys you grew up with in the village, with hair so inky it almost looked black less for the slight shift of green as the fire flickered matted to the side of his forehead.

The breath that was stuck at the back of your throat hitched when your eyes met his. You had imagined seeing hatred, or mockery, but plastered onto his face that didn’t look much different to the men of your village, his eyes were pressed into two thin slits on his face like the glowing moon at the depths of night.

There was no hatred, no belittlement, no malice, nothing. He just looked tired, that was all.

The naga squinted at you, “Why are you doing standing so far away?”

He opened his eyes when he saw that you made no intention to move, letting out a soft sigh from his thin lips. You could see the split tip of his tongue poking out as he exhaled. He weakly lifted his hand from his stomach and you winced when you saw the blood that was seeping out of the large wound right at the side of his waist. There was an iron cuff around his wrist, chained to the hook on the wall he was leaning on.

“I can’t hurt you even if I want to, not like this,” he hissed when he slowly put his hand down back at his stomach, “it has been a while since I talked to someone so just...” there was the slightest curl at the corner of his lips as he stared at you, “humour me, little one. Do some good and grant the creature its dying wish.”

His eyes followed you as you got closer and closer to him in fumbled steps, sitting down at the corner opposite to his at his side of the hut. You shifted when you felt the slightest flick of the end of his tail at your side, earning you a breathy chuckle from the naga.

“Why aren’t you at the feast?” he asked, using the last bit of his strength to push against the wall and sat up just a little to look at you.

The feast that celebrated his capture. There was bitterness welling up in your mouth when you thought of why people were still singing and dancing at the center of the town, the reasoning seeming almost absurd now that you were talking to the creature who looked more like you than any of the previous catches that the huntsmen had brought back.

“I don’t really like crowds,” you replied, holding your knees to your chest, “and the same story gets old real quick.”

“Ah,” he tilted his head, “the story of how they caught me?”

You nodded, looking at him from the corner of your eyes to see his reaction. “Did they tell people that they ambushed me while I was shredding my skin?”

Your eyes widened, “What?”

The naga huffed, laughing dryly, “Thought so.”

You blinked, thinking of how this changed the whole narrative of the villagers bravely fought against the dangerous monster. No wonder why the story got wilder and wilder each time, it was much easier to make up stories of great conquers than admitting to your schemes.

“If the skin is all they wanted then they could have just take the one I just shed off,” the naga continued, “but well, then they wouldn’t get to parade around the village and have a huge feast in their name.”

He let out a loud sigh, looking up at the ceiling of the hut. “People knew that vanity perishes easily so they milk it as much as they could,” he closed his eyes and laughed, shaking his head like he caught himself in a moment, “one day, one day they too would be nothing but a tale.”

His gaze on you was almost gentle when he looked down, making you feel so small sitting next to him.

“But nature, little one,” he spoke slowly, like a whisper that floated into your ears, “nature always remembers.”

You did not dare move under his stare, like even the slightest flinch would reduce you to ashes. He moved away first, chuckling to himself before it turned into coughs, his eyebrows locking together in pain. “I must have bored you,” he said, “forgive me, I never thought I would ever get to talk to someone even before my death.”

It was terror you felt when you remembered what the man had yelled before you left the feast, that they would skin the creature tomorrow at dusk.

The same creature you were talking to right now, who looked and sounded more human than beast.

“Do you think you could go far into the woods before daybreak?”

The naga looked up, “I don’t have the strength to break the chains, little one.”

You got up, the naga glanced to his side when you stepped near him for the first time. Humans could be quite lovely if you meet the right ones, he hummed to himself as you held the chain that was hooked to the wall in hand.

The hut was old, and out of shape. You pressed your feet flat against the wall with both hands on the rusty hook that drilled into the wall, and pulled with all your might. You let out a slight gasp of joy when the wood around the hook cracked, breaking the piece of metal out with nothing but chirped pieces of wood on the floor and a hole on the wall.

“They are going to skin you alive next morning,” you said towards the naga who stayed still, looking at you, “you should leave while they are still busy feasting.”

Daishou blinked, wondering if he should let you know that he already knew. He had lived longer than any of the men who trapped him, one of the many reasons why he felt so angered and humiliated as they dragged him along the woods that he had inhabited, catching him at his most defenseless state. If it wasn’t for how weak he was in his new skin, he would have never been stabbed, and it would not be hard for him to escape the unguarded hut at all. But laying in the dark, he was too tired to think of a way to break free and he had accepted that this was to be his downfall. He would have to admit that he beckoned you to go in because he found the way you gingerly peeked inside rather amusing, but it was no lie when he said that he just wanted someone to talk to.

He thought it would be nice to have the slightest bit of faith towards mankind who was bred from the same land that bred him, that was all.

“Would this get you into trouble, little one?”

“They wouldn’t know it’s me,” you smiled, “they barely notice me anyways.”

He looked like he wanted to say something but decided not to, before he slowly raised his hand. You didn’t flinch away when the tip of his finger touched your skin, shivering at how cold his touch was as he trailed it down your jaw.

The way he slithered across the floor was slow at first, with his hand pressed onto his wound to stop the blood from leaving a trail on the floor, until he got used to moving around with the slit at his waist and maneuvered his way past where you stood. He cast you one last glance at the door, before disappearing into the night.

For a while, you just stood there, staring at where he disappeared. You could still hear the faint sound of music from far away and it was what made you remember how you basically betrayed the entire village for the naga whose name you didn’t even get to ask.

You ran out of the hut, not once looking back until you reached your home.

The next morning, you woke up to hysteric yells from outside.

The creature had escaped, people whispered, breaking out of the chains it was bound to. The huntsman was furious, screaming at his hunting brothers for not guarding the hut properly.

“I should have slain the beast when I had the chance!” he slammed his fist on the nearest wall, the loud bang making you jump as tension around him thickened.

They tried to search for the hurt naga days and weeks afterwards but came back with a frown every time. The village went through another harvest during that time, and the huntsmen finally gave up when the first fall of snow covered the woods with a layer of white. People soon moved on, forgetting about the creature as life continued with the change of seasons.

But not you, you never forgot about the naga and his glowing eyes.

The village was struck by the worst famine it had ever experienced the coming year.

Heavy rain poured from the sky for days and days onwards, the main road of the village looking like a muddy river flowing past your door as it went on. The storm eventually stopped, but all the crops that were newly planted were all suffocated from the inches of water they were drowned in, and the soil was far too fragile for the new seeds to even form sprouts. The chief ordered for the village’s storage of produce to be rationed to each family, but all they could feel was despair when the hut became empty.

People scrambled to find anything that was edible, those who were lucky enough to find food hiding it in the most secretive spot in their houses in fear of being found out and told to split with the rest of the village.

Everyone was miserable. Occasionally, when you dragged your tired body through the village, you could hear the weak cries of hungry children and sighs of desperate parents.

People tried to survive purely on catches from the forest for a while but every day, the huntsmen brought back less and less until they returned empty handed one day.

“It is like they could feel that we are depending on them to live,” the leading huntsman gritted, his hands curled into fists like he was about to make his palm bleed from how deep his nails were dug in.

The chief cried, looking up to the sky that was ironically clear that day and exclaimed, “The gods have decided to doom our village!”

You were not sure if the gods had anything to do with it, but all you thought of as the chief teared up in front of his people for the first time many could recount was the soft hisses that rolled off the naga’s tongue many many moons ago.

Nature always remembers.

The crowd stayed silent as the old man sobbed, clearing his throat with a cough before sucking in a deep breath. He looked emotionless when he looked back up again, his throat feeling tight as he forced his voice out.

“I never thought this would happen during my years as the chief,” he spoke slowly, his eyes pressed tightly together as he swallowed the weight in his chest, “but we must offer a sacrifice to the gods in exchange for their mercy. This is the only way we could survive.”

Who would become the offering would be decided by a vote between the head of every family in the village, the chief said. No one said a word even after the meeting was dismissed, returning to their homes with a solemn heart, heavy spirit and wordless sorrow in their chest.

You felt a drop of tear rolling down your face that night, already feeling the dread build up at what was to come.

You took it surprisingly well when the elders of the village called you to the chief’s house. You already knew that this would be the result when you heard the there was to be a vote. After all, who would vote off their own kin? It was acquaintances before friends, friends before family when it came to choices as hard to make as who’s life to take, and the fact that you had no family was just the sad truth.

The villagers treated you the nicest in the few days before you were to be left in the forest as an offering for the ancient gods to claim than you had ever remembered, but you would much rather not see the pity in their eyes when they tied you up around the biggest tree in the middle of the forest.

The forest at night was dark and cold, the thin white rob on your body barely able to shield you from the howling wind. There was a moment when you wanted to cry, but your throat was so painful from the dryness that you could not even make a sound. Your eyes were getting heavy, feeling like you were about to drift into unconsciousness as time passed by agonisingly slow.

Would you die of fatigue first or from the beasts looming the woods?

You were about to give in when you heard the cracks of the tweed on the ground. It was the sound of something heavy dragging along the dirt, the sound of something getting closer and closer.

It was here, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes as you awaited, the supposed gods that were here to claim you.

“Little one.”

It must be the hunger taking over, or the lack of rest. Either way, you must have been so disoriented that you were starting to hear voices. You did not open your eyes, too afraid of seeing nothing but the empty woods when you do.

Until you felt a light touch on your chin, so light you would miss it if you hadn’t been hoping that it would happen at the bottom of your heart, and you shot your eyes open.

His eyes were just a bright as you remembered it to be. The golden slits on his face like the moon, his pupils pressed into a thin line in the middle as they fixed on you. Your positions had changed since the last time you met, with you being the one tied up waiting for your death while he stood tall on his tail, a faint line slashed across his waist was all the remained of the fatal wound.

“Little one, are you here with me?” he spoke again, the tip of his finger treading on your skin as he waited for a response.

“It’s you...”

“Good, you’re still awake,” he hummed, his hand now came to cradle your chin as his thumb rubbed against the side of your jaw, “I’ll try to get you down now, you think you can still stand?”

He chuckled when you gave him a weak nod, his fingers lingering on your face as he pulled his hand back. He stood up just a little higher, gliding around the thick trunk of the tree before finding where the knots were.

His tail thumped against the ground impatiently as his hands fumbled with the rope, pulling and scratching on the knot with his nails. Finally, you were lowered onto the ground when the rope so tight around you it felt suffocating loosened up. You wanted to land on your feet but your knees buckled the moment the tip of your toes touched the solid ground, falling forward with a sudden blankness of your vision. He was by your side in a swift slither, curling his tail around your body to hold you still.

“It’s ok... it’s ok, little one, you’re safe now,” he said, almost sounding a bit panicky as he watched you lay weakly against his long body, "can you get on my back?”

He held your knees with his hand the moment you shifted your weight onto his back, turning around to make sure that you were secure before slowly slithering away. His back clenched under your weight, each pull of his body taking you a bit ahead before he glanced at you who laid quietly on his back before moving again.

His skin was cold, much like the scales that covered his body even though it didn’t feel much different from your skin by touch but for some reason, you felt your chest warming up from the regular inhales and exhale right under your ear as you leaned on him.

“How did you know I was there?”

His muscles tightened at your breathy whisper. Daishou looked back to see that your eyes were fluttering close, staring at him through your lashes as you laid on his back.

He looked down, his fingers that were under your knees curling a little tighter on your skin.

“I told you,” the naga smiled, “nature never forgets.”

It was starting to get colder and colder. You shivered at the sudden wave of chills on your arms, and snuggled closer to your love’s side.

The sound of the small stream flowing through the center of the cave you were in trickled down your ear as Daishou wrapped his tail just a little closer around your frame, a bit of a performative gesture when he knew that he was the last one that could provide you with any warmth.

Nagas built their lairs near rivers and water, a force of habit that was left from their ancestors. This made it hard for you to start a fire within the humid cave, with the moisture in the air and how easy it was for fire wood to get damped. You tried to make place for a fire when you first settled in with Daishou but soon gave it up after many failures and how he always stayed far away whenever you crouched near the burning fire.

“I don’t like flames,” he said, hissing out the last word as he pulled you close to him that night in the dark, cold cave. The moss that he laid out on the ground for you was soft, but it was his long body curled up under you that really acted as the pillow you needed against the stone hard floor.

Right now, the naga had you pressed up closely to his side with his tail tapping against your legs calmly. You buried your face at the crook of his neck, salvaging for the slightest bit of warmth you could get from him with each gentle exhale from his chest.

It was alright, you much prefer falling asleep with him by your side to any fire.

“Suguru, are you going into hibernation soon?”

He looked down at you, his eyes like two slants of light that filtered in through the cracks of the cave. Nagas were not the same as any regular cobras that inhabited the woods but there were still habits from their counterparts that they could not separate from. Soon, in the worst days of winter when the cave you were in now would be blocked by snow and wind slamming against its stone walls, he would be soundly asleep only to awake when warmth returns. He had never worried about going into hibernation before until you came around. It would only be a few weeks and he had already spent the last months scavenging for food so you wouldn’t have to leave the safety of his lair while he wasn’t around but it still made his heart ache at the thought of you being alone nonetheless.

“Soon,” he said, nudging the top of your head with his chin in an act of comfort, “but I can try to stay awake for longer.”

“No, no, don’t force yourself” you were quick to respond, earning you a slight quirk of his eyebrow as the corner of his lips lifted up in amusement at your immediate worry. Your finger traced along where his skin met his scales, the area always a bit more textured than the rest of his tail. “I’ll miss you when it happens though.”

He laughed, his voice rumbling from the back of his throat as he dipped his head down, “I’d still be here, you know?”

“But asleep,” you corrected. You gulped, having second thoughts on what you were about to suggest but it evaporated into thin air as you breathed out, trying to sound as nonchalant about it as you could, “it’ll be nice if I can still have something of yours around for company while you are sleeping...”

“You make it sound like I’ll be dead-” he stopped abruptly, suddenly catching onto what you said. His eyes widened but his pupils pressed into a thin thread as he stared at you, “you don’t mean...?”

“Yes,” you sat up, throwing your arms around his waist and looked up at him, “yes I do.”

Daishou had fought back his instincts to spawn many times before, too cautious of how the difference in physique might be hard on you. He found many ways to please you and have your body caving for him but never go beyond making you feel good. There were numerous occasions when he was close to snapping, many of which had to do with how sweet your scent was whenever you pressed up against him much like what you were doing now. Still, he held back, knowing that you would gladly give him one if he wanted to.

But there was never a time when you suggested the idea yourself, and the thought of you wanting his hatchlings was starting to light a fire on all the desires he had buried away.

Daishou searched for any hint of reluctance in your eyes but found nothing. He was hesitant in his movements as he held your hand, pressing it close to his bare chest before nudging the back of your head with his nose, a simple gesture of courting and a search for compliance. His breath was shaky as he sighed, the warm huffs of his exhale trailing down to your neck and you threw your head back until you were leaning against him.

A soft whimper slipped from your lips when he pressed a feather light kiss at the crock of your neck before tilting your jaw towards him. For a cold-blooded creature, his lips were incredibly hot when they latched onto yours. You gripped onto his arms for leverage when he slowly lost himself, a content sigh ripped from his throat when you parted your mouth further. Even after so long, his tongue still elicited a tingle along your spine when you felt it invading your mouth. The slit at the tip of his tongue brushed against the walls of your cavity, making your back arch as he stole away the oxygen in your lungs bit by bit. You panted every time he briefly let you go, only to pull you back in once you regain your breath.

There was a string of silver connecting your lips when he parted from you. His core tightened at the sight of your heaving chest, your eyes half-closed with your lips parted like a pout at the lost of contact.

How could he not give you what you wanted when you looked like that?

“Get on your knees, little one.”

You felt the wave of warmth rushing to your core at how his voice was lower than usual with an added gravel that reached right to the depth of your stomach. His usual pet name sounded unfamiliar, painting the loving term he used for you in a different light that made your skin heat up.

You did as he was told, sliding off of his body to lay with your chest down on the soft moss with your knees propping you up. Anticipation welled up when you heard him moving behind you, his long tail sliding across the ground and curling up around your ankle. You shuddered when you felt his hand on the small of your back, pushing you down gently and making you arch your back even more. The soft hiss that rolled off his tongue sent shivers down your spine as he bunched up the thin frock you were wearing, the same one that you wore when he first brought you here and gave you a home that was truly yours.

You buried your face into your crossed arms, feeling your pussy clenched around nothing at the cold air that you were now exposed to. He eyed your quivering form like a predator, searching for the perfect spot to land a hit. Your mouth parted with a silent whine when his hands gripped on your hips, his thumb spreading your folds apart to see the muscles of your walls spasming. He groaned when you tried to push your hips back, your waist wiggling as you urged him to touch you right where you were begging him to.

A muffled moan was all the confirmation he needed when his long tongue ran up your slit, a slight flick when he got to the top had your toes curling. Your nails dug into the moss when he got bolder, swirling his tongue around your clit as he latched onto your cunt with an opened mouth. He had learnt to take advantage of his snake-like tongue on you, nudging against the sensitive bud that was starting to engorge with the parted tip as he pressed the flatted part of his tongue on your folds.

“Suguru-” you cried when he slipped his tongue into you, sending a sharp burn all over your body when he stretched into you. Teasingly running the tip along your walls, he held you still as you shifted in front of him at the sensation. A sharp mewl was ripped from the back of your throat when he pushed his tongue in deeper and deeper, searching for the spot that would make you melt under him.

“Please... so god- so good!”

Your voice was nothing but an incoherent babble, making him want to be just a little bit meaner to you to hear you cry. You did just as he had hoped when he retracted his tongue, a broken moan choked from the back of your throat at the lost of contact.

“Don’t be impatient, little one,” his hissing did nothing to ease the burn in your stomach, each syllable landing in your eardrum like a hypnotising note as he ran his tongue along his lips, savouring the taste of your essence on his tongue before leaning close again, “gotta get you stretched out all nice and wet so I can finally breed you properly...”

Your entire body jolted when you felt the shocks that ran down to the tip of your toes and numbing your scalp. His tongue slid in and out of you, aiming at the spongey spot right below your cervix as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips. His tail was coiled around you, holding you still as your knees threatened to give in. His name rolled off of your tongue like a mantra and it brought him back to the old ages when he was worshipped, only this gave him a rush like no other that even praise and songs written about him could not match.

You came around his tongue when he expertly hit the same spot once, twice, three times, your breasts squished against the floor as your body shook. He gave a few more pumps of his tongue, coaxing you down before slowly pulling out not without treading it along you. You felt your body going mush but still mustered the strength to arch your ass back, presenting yourself to him in a wordless plea for him to carry through. Your shoulders were nearly cramping when you stiffly turned around, looking at him from the corner of your glassy eyes.

The hold on your ankle loosened up when he crawled over your back, his chest pressing against you as his hand overlapped on yours. Fingers interlocking, he leaned down to kiss along the blade of your shoulder, as if preparing you for what was to come. At where his hips would be if he was human, a slit that was usually not noticeable had been pulsing open ever since he tasted the saltiness of your arousal, a tip of some sorts poking out whenever you moaned his name in that sweet voice of yours. Your breath hitched when you saw what resembled a human cock but much thicker and longer from the opening, veins of blue and green along its sides like vines that had your stomach flipping just at the thought of it being inside of you.

Daishou peppered his lips on your back when he tentatively brought his hips forward, brushing the tip of his cock along your sopping folds. A whimper came out as a choke when he pushed the tip in, your hand gripping vicely around his as your body felt like it was being torn open at the seams from the stretch. He hissed a soothing rhythm in your ear, his hand holding tightly onto yours as he pushed in bit by bit, biting his lips as he tried to keep himself together. You felt far better than he could ever imagine you to be, so warm and so tight around his girth.

Perfect for his eggs to lay.

“Hm- agh!" You screeched, your head dropping down as tears of pain formed at the corner of your eyes.

“Just a little bit more,” he kissed you again and again as he glanced down, seeing that he was already half way inside of you, “you are doing so well, perfect for our babies...”

You held onto his voice, focusing on how full you felt and how your body was already reacting to the want of carrying his child. You blinked frantically, trying to push away the tears in your eyes and focused on the coil that was forming in your stomach. You two simultaneously let out a content sigh when he finally sheathed in you, the pain slowly replaced by an overwhelming burn that set your senses ablaze when he finally started moving in you.

It started out as subtle thrusts of his hips, until a few weak mewls slipping past your trembling lips egged him on, telling him that you could handle it rougher. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as each surge of his hips had his tip jackhammering right at the most sensitive spot of your body, making your toes curl and every hair on your neck stood up.

“Our hatchlings would be so beautiful, so beautiful like you..” he muttered in your ear, his breaths getting rigid as you clamped down around him. He had you wrapped up between him, with his arms at both sides of your body and his pelvis together with the long tail trailing behind slamming against the curve of your hips. “I can already imagine- hmph- imagine your belly swelling up from my eggs.”

You whined at the thought which turned into a high pitch cry when you felt the tip of his cock opening up inside of you. One of his hands went down to hold you by the side of your waist, securing you in the position he had you in as he felt his guts clenching.

Nothing could stop your body from crashing down when you felt what was like a gelatin sphere from slipping out of his tip. Shocks of unexplained tingles shot down your spine when it pushed past your cervix and stuck onto the walls of your womb, leaving a burn on where it brushed past before it blended into your gut. You saw dots of your vision, your voice going hoarse as you came from the first egg he put inside of you. The gushing wetness from your orgasm made it easier for him to push the rest of it in, his face buried at the crock of your neck as he stayed still with the tip of his tail pointed.

“I’ve wanted to fill your stomach up for so long, little one,” he let out a breathy chuckle when you whined at his words, “just the thought of you glowing with our children had me weak, you know that?”

“Please, please...” you could not say anything else as more of his eggs pushed into your womb, your stomach feeling heavy as a bulge formed when his eggs had located. You could not count how many times you had cum around him with him breeding you full, putting his spawn in your stomach as he muttered praises after praises in your ear

“It’s ok, let go,” he said, holding your shaking body up as he grunted, “just one more...”

Your vision went blank at the final push. Everything that happened later was a blur, with his voice sounding like it was from a distance away as he humped against you, spurts of warm cum gushing into your already full stomach to fertilise his youngs that were no doubt growing in your womb already. The last thing you heard before you completely lost in the sea of darkness in your head, was a hissed word of “I love you” against your temple before you succumb to the heavy feeling in your eyelids.

You woke up after god knows how long with your eyelids fluttering open.

“Sh... stay down,” Daishou was quick to lay you back down when you tried to sit up but couldn’t with the weight in your stomach that you had forgotten about, “let me take care of you.”

You chuckled, your hand running down your waist to feel the bump on your lower stomach with awe. “You always take care of me.”

"I know, I know...” he said, kissing the top of your neck as his palm pressed onto your bulge too. You smiled when you heard the uncontrollable coo that fell off his lips.

His children were resting inside and when he wake up during spring, it would be close to the day they finally meet.

He shook his head, looking down at you with the most tender gaze when you serenely allowed yourself to close your eyes again now against his chest. His tail was snugly around your hips, hooking over your waist and around your belly.

Daishou Suguru had decided that he would try to stay awake for just a little longer when your soft breaths filled his ears, your stomach raising together with your chest with each exhale.

Winter or spring, he would give his life for yours, and now for his children in your stomach too.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smut #daishou x reader #daishou imagines #daishou imagine #daishou smut

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makoodlesarchive · 3 years

Text

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

#this is so cheesy lol but whatever i've been staring at this doc for too long and i want it out of my sight #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou #ghibli au #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x y/n #mha x reader

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 4 years

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Hello! if its ok how would the demon brothers react to a low self esteem/ self hating MC who excepts any insults with a sad smile?

Content Warnings: Self deprecation (naturally, given the nature of the prompt), verbal harassment/insults, spoilers for later chapters in Belphegor’s section

Just so you know it’s basically gonna be seven different versions of this:

Under a cut to prevent carpal tunnel!

Obey Me: The Brothers With an MC Who Has Low Self Esteem and Accepts Insults with a Smile

Lucifer

Lucifer kind of just... stops for a few seconds. Like, he freezes completely. Doesn’t move, doesn’t blink - MC’s not sure if he’s even breathing. They’re at one of Diavolo’s parties together, and a pretty important demon is coming for MC hard, albeit in a slimy, passive-aggressive kind of way. And they’re just... smiling and nodding along?

Lucifer’s single currently operating brain cell is dedicated to not just murdering this pathetic excuse for a demon. If he wasn’t already in his demon form, he would absolutely transform. With a deep breath, he stalks over in full Avatar of Pride mode: shoulders back, staring slightly down at everyone else, wings puffed up just so.

Anything the demon was saying to MC, he throws back at them tenfold, with just as much passive-aggression, though it starts slipping more and more as he continues on. Eventually it starts turning into one of those lectures of his about The Importance of The Exchange Program and Lord Diavolo’s Reputation and- MC is gonna have to catch his attention to stop him from going full Dad-mode on this bastard.

Once they succeed in doing this, he pulls them aside and, still bristling with indignant rage, asks why MC was letting that wretch talk to them like that.

“Well, it wasn’t like they were saying anything that wasn’t true...”

Wrong. Answer. Lucifer is the Avatar of Pride, even though he has self-worth issues running deeper than the Marianas Trench he would never let anyone talk to him like that, and he wishes more than anything he could lend MC that ability. He’ll tilt their head to look him directly in the eyes and assure them that they absolutely do have value, both in the Devildom and in his family. He won’t tolerate anyone, including MC themself, put down a member of his family. Is that clear?

In the coming weeks, the younger brothers notice that Lucifer’s soft spot for MC is even more pronounced than usual. In fact, he frequently praises them for their accomplishments, flustering them to no end. None of them dare to bring it to his attention, because they’ve all noticed in one way or another that MC is carrying themself with more confidence now.

Whatever is going on between the two of them seems to be working quite well.

Mammon

Mammon... runs his mouth a lot. He says stupid things he doesn’t mean because admitting his actual feelings would be too difficult. Unfortunately, one of the feelings he’s vehemently avoiding addressing is his feelings for MC. This manifests as loud and insistent denial that The GREAT Mammon would never be interested in some stupid, weak human, how dare you suggest that?!

The brothers expect one of many responses from MC: outrage and offence, teasing at Mammon’s clear tsundere attitude, a roll of the eyes, anything other than their sad little smile whenever he insults them. One day, Mammon finally notices their staring and he actually stops and takes a minute to process the acceptance on MC’s face.

He just called them a burden and a waste of time and they’re SMILING?!

Like a horrid puzzle piece, everything clicks together in Mammon’s mind. He’s never heard MC protest any of the awful things he’s said about them. They don’t even tease him about it like his brothers do.

They think he’s being serious and they agree with him.

He changes his tune so fast it’s dizzying. He slips up sometimes, but now when he sees MC’s small smile that doesn’t reach their eyes, he adds, “H-Hey! Why’re you just letting me say all that, huh? Ya gotta stand up for yourself, MC! You better not go around letting lesser demons talk to you like this! If anyone ever gives you trouble, you come to the GREAT Mammon and I’ll shut ‘em up real quick!

“‘Cause... It’s not true, all of that about you being stupid or annoying. You’re my human and I know you really well and you’re- You’re not any of that, MC! So don’t go smiling at jerks dragging your name through the mud okay?”

Leviathan

MC and Leviathan are playing an online multiplayer game together, and MC still hasn’t quite gotten used to Devildom controls yet. They’re not exactly a great asset to their team... Not that Levi minds. He’s happy they’re showing interest in him his games at all.

Some of the demons they’re playing with, on the other hand...

Ugh, stay on the objective you stupid bitch!

Is [MC’s username] afk?

If you feed them any more kills I fucking swear-

Why is a noob even playing this game lmao just go die already

Levi scoffs. Their team wasn’t even losing, these scumbags just needed to find someone to pick on. Still, it wasn’t fair for MC to listen to their insults, he’ll just disconnect and find a better team - hey, why has MC been so quiet?

The Avatar of Envy turns to face MC only to see them staring down at their controller with a shaky smile. He calls their name and they look up, startled.

“I’m gonna find another team for us to play on,” Levi explains as the game warns him that he’s about to lose some in-game reputation points for abandoning his team. “Uh, unless you’d rather play something else?”

“No it’s fine, you pick,” MC says, still avoiding making direct eye contact. “I probably won’t do any better no matter what we play...”

Hey, insecurity is his thing!

“MC, you better not be thinking about what those losers said in the chat!”

“But-”

“NUH UH! You might be a normie, but you’re also my best friend!” MC feels an anime-inspired speech coming on. “Who cares about winning or losing one match? I’d rather lose every match I ever play from now on if it means I get to have you as my player 2!” Leviathan pauses as he realizes exactly what he just said and immediately turns beet red. “...you know... if you... wanted to, I guess...”

Satan

MC is in Devildom History with Satan, and as an exchange student, is having a rough time of it. They just don’t have the same background as the rest of the students, and can’t pick up on things as fast as they do.The teacher hands back the latest test and they cringe as they see their grade. Satan, sitting next to them, glances at the mark and gives them one of his small smiles.

“You know, if you need extra help, don’t be shy. I’d be happy to help you,” he says quietly.

Apparently not quietly enough, because a particularly rowdy pair of demons overhear him and choose that moment to make a nuisance of themselves. One of them snatches MC’s paper out of their hands, and upon seeing their grade starts laughing.

“How did you put the Abyssal Peace Treaty before the Abyssal War?! Everyone knows when that happened!” they continue chuckling at more silly mistakes MC made while very stressed during that test, while Satan’s blood starts boiling.

Much to his surprise, MC just smiles and joins in the demons’ laughter. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid...” they say with a falsely cheerful tone. Satan quickly catches on - they’re just fucking with these demons! He keeps his anger at bay with the anticipation of seeing MC really tear these lowlives a new-

“Wow, not even gonna defend yourself? Why do we even have human exchange students, they’re so boring.” The demon pair scoff and toss MC’s test back, before stalking off, annoyed that they didn’t get the reaction they wanted.

Hm. Frustrate them by not responding to their futile taunts. An interesting choice, but effective nonetheless. Satan expresses his appreciation of MC’s choice, much to their confusion. When they explain that they really were agreeing with what the demons had said, Satan doesn’t take it very well.

If MC doesn’t stop him, he’ll go over to the pair of demons that insulted them and drag their names through the dirt in front of the entire classroom, adding in some colourful suggestions about what would happen to them if they continued this behaviour. Either way, he’s furious enough that his demon form might start peeking out, tail thrashing behind him or horns growing out from his messy hair.

When class is over, Satan asks MC to stay behind.

“I want you to tell me why you feel this way about yourself,” he says. “Because I promise you, there isn’t a single explanation you can give that I won’t argue against. And I’m rarely wrong.”

Asmodeus

Asmo lives in a delightful bubble of flirtation, partying, and being the very best and prettiest being in all three realms. He works very hard to maintain this state, terrified of what he’d find on the other side of the haze.

But all it takes is one look at MC for it to come crashing down.

They’re at The Fall together, sipping on fruity drinks disguising unholy amounts of alcohol for a brief break before returning to the dance floor. Asmo knows MC struggles with confidence, and figured that if he could get them to have a good time, they would forget their insecurities for at least a little while.

And maybe he’s laying it on a bit thick with the flirting while they’re here. He can’t help it! He loves MC in a way he’s never really loved anyone else before. If he’s completely honest, the feeling scares him: he wants to put them before himself, and he’s not sure if he can, because he never has put someone else first before.

A demon notices Asmo’s lovesick staring at MC, and comments as they pass, “Oh my, has the Avatar of Lust sunken so low that he’s making eyes at some plain-jane human?” A long, scaled tail snakes around MC’s face, turning their head in the demon’s direction. “Or are you just a charity-fuck? You certainly won’t be able to hold his interest for long, darling.~”

The demon saunters off, and Asmodeus has half a mind to storm over to them and cause a scene, but the look on MC’s face stops him in his tracks.

They’re looking at him and they’re smiling.

“You don’t have to pretend to be upset about it,” they say, poking at their drink with their straw. “I know I’m not all that interesting. You just want me right now because I’m an ordinary human, right? And once the novelty wears off, well... I’m not powerful like a demon, or a wise magic user like Solomon, and I’m not exactly good-looking, so why keep me around? It’s been nice of you to pretend with me, though-”

He cuts them off with a passionate kiss, threading his fingers in their hair and pressing their bodies as close as possible. The gesture catches MC off guard and their drink spills on the two of them, but Asmo doesn’t even flinch. He only pulls away when MC starts panting from lack of oxygen.

“Please don’t say those awful things about yourself, MC,” Asmodeus says, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re...” One of the only people I don’t have to pretend around. “...You are so special to me. And you always will be.” Suddenly aware that they’ve both been soaked in a cocktail, Asmo smirks. “Oh dear, it seems our clothes are all dirty... I guess we’ll have to go back home and change, won’t we?”

Please let me prove to you how much I love you, he thinks as you tearfully smile and punch his arm before agreeing.

Beelzebub

Beel deals with survivor’s guilt, and if he’s not careful, it can lead to some pretty dark places. He’s also Belphie’s twin and is very familiar with what low self-esteem looks like. So whenever a demon tries to insult MC while he’s around, he doesn’t give them the chance to agree, calmly, but firmly jumping to their defence.

It doesn’t matter who it is or where they are, Beel always has MC’s back. Whenever they’re feeling especially down and that sad little smile is on their face, MC tends to find some of their favourite snacks tucked away into their bag or even their uniform pockets. The Avatar of Gluttony is also always ready to deploy some Emergency Cuddles, and is generally a steady, grounding presence in MC’s life. He starts to stick around them almost as much as Mammon does.

Unfortunately, this attracts the attention of some less than savoury people.

“Hey Beel! Coach wants you to know we’ve got an extra practice tomorrow! It’s semi-finals soon, and he wants to go over some new strategies,” a large, intimidating demon calls out, dressed in the RAD athletic uniform.

MC and Beel turn towards the demon’s voice, and Beel’s teammate makes a face upon seeing them. “You’re still hanging around them?” the demon asks. “Or are they clinging onto ya like a barnacle?” He laughs and MC lets go of Beel’s hand, blushing.

They have been around him an awful lot lately... Is he only doing it out of pity? Should they stop? Oh no, what if he thinks they’re annoying--

“I like MC,” Beel says plainly. “And I like spending time with them. So, tomorrow after classes is the next practice? I’ll be there.” He leaves no room for further debate. The demon stumbles over his words before confirming and abruptly running off.

MC doesn’t take Beel’s hand again.

“Hey,” Beelzebub takes MC’s much smaller hands into his own. “I mean it. I like you. Don’t listen to my teammate, he’s dumber than Mammon. Want to go have lunch together? I think they’re serving fried bats in the cafeteria...”

Belphegor

Sometimes, Belphegor peeks in on MC’s dreams. He never directly interacts with them, nor has he ever told them that he does this at all. Ever since he... ever since that happened, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid creeping them out even further, and he worries that this kind of behaviour would be frowned upon by a human.

But he can’t help it. Especially tonight.

After being woken up by a squirming MC, he decides to look into their dreams and see what is upsetting them so much. Much to his surprise, he finds himself inside one of RAD’s classrooms. MC is working on an assignment with a group of demons whose features keep shifting around. The writing on the books in front of them is illegible, and Belphegor only knows it’s writing at all because of his familiarity with dream physics.

“There they are,” whispers one of the demons. “What do they think they’re doing?”

MC asks a question about something in one of the books, pointing to a scribble that only looks like words when not focused on.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you can do anything useful for us anyway,” the demon snaps. “I’m not even sure why you’re here.” Belphegor frowns. Is this a memory?

MC meekly mentions the exchange program. “I don’t care!” The demon’s voice changes, and Belphegor suddenly feels the pitter-patter of raindrops on his skin, despite still being indoors. MC’s clothes are drenched in the invisible rain. “Fuck, can you not take a hint, MC? No one actually wants you here! You’re just a tag-along!”

“Why don’t you just pack up and leave then? Oh right, you have nowhere else to go!”

The figures of the demons become shadowy and elongated, hands sharpening into talons. MC jumps to their feet and backs away from the advancing figures, whose whispers become louder and interrupt each other.

“Just don’t mess it up again-”

“-never have trusted you! You ruin EVERYTHING-”

“Another disappointment, I see.”

“Don’t LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-”

“Fucking whore!”

The voices continue, growing louder and louder until the figures melt into one familiar silhouette with violet eyes.

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh.” Belphegor’s blood runs cold. “You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”

The Avatar of Sloth watches helplessly as his dream-double wraps its hands around MC’s throat, cooing hideous insults at them all the while. Nonononono, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know, I was just so- Ugh! That’s not an excuse, you idiot!

The dream-Belphegor pauses, grip slackening.

“Get off of them,” Belphegor hisses. “Now.”

The figure dissolves into the classroom, turning the surroundings completely black. Now Belphie finds himself standing in the creature’s place, in front of a confused MC.

“Are you okay?” he asks lamely.

“Why did you stop?” MC asks in return.

“I wasn’t... It was hurting you, and saying- I couldn’t keep letting it-”

MC smiles. “It’s just the truth. You said so yourself.”

MC and Belphegor wake up together, sweating, trapped in the other’s vice-like grip. MC’s pulse flutters under Belphie’s hands, way faster than it should be. It almost feels like when-

He twists out of their grasp, falling out of the bed in the process. He scrambles as far back as his room allows, nearly tripping over his own tail. MC stares at him through the darkness, torn between chasing after him and putting more distance between the two of them.

“...You saw that.” He doesn’t reply. “...Come here, Belphie.”

And slowly, he does.

For the next few weeks, Belphegor never leaves MC’s side unless absolutely necessary, even if he falls asleep next to them. He refuses to acknowledge this unusual behaviour, reacting with increasing hostility to anyone who mentions it. He also accompanies them to bed more often than not, much to Mammon’s chagrin.

“So long as I’m with you, no one else is going to talk to you like that ever again. I’m not going to let them, and I’m not going to let you just take it.”

#obey me: swd #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me: shall we date #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #headcanon #mine #long post #my writing

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bpd-shuichi-togo · 2 years

Note

What specifically are your grievances regarding female designs in Housamo?

oh i did mean to elaborate on that didn't i. well i guess i should say 1) that i'm including the mobs in this 2) ig the female designs are more broadly annoying rather than infuriating but just thinking about the sentences i am about to type i can already feel myself becoming infuriated. tl;dr: my issue is that where there is a LOT of variance in the designs for the guys, that's not as much the case for the girls (in a way i feel like isn't just a matter of there being vastly more guys than girls). like the girls aren't Allowed to diverge in appearance from Conventionally Attractive Human Woman nearly as much as the guys are from Conventionally Attractive Human Men, which can get. completely ridiculous. there are some designs i do like ofc, but basically no more Sexy Dimorphism or i'm gonna snap, NO MORE BOOBS ON NON-MAMMALS, and for the love of god let women have designs that aren't perfectly Feminine PLEASE, especially if it's at the expense of being interesting or making sense

the rest of this post goes under the cut so i can risk going raving mad in good conscience

yeah imo one of the clearest, if not the most egregious, examples are the merpeople

like this bugs the hell out of me, and the sprites being done by different artists doesn't excuse it when they easily could have coordinated designs. come on. like there's a lot i could nitpick here but. come the fuck on they didn't even give her fins. not even just a dorsal fin, which barely would have been visible. like theres sexual dimorphism and then theres The Girls not having physical characteristics that The Boys have when they would be evolutionarily advantageous/vitally necessary to merfolk regardless of gender. they gave her fin ears. fuck you

now here's where i'm going to nitpick. and if you can believe it i'm going to be restraining myself here, because if i don't i will reopen pandora's box and oh my god i can't do that to myself right now, so i won't even touch on my issues with how she's written. but this is so lame in so many dimensions. i ask for a dragon lady who swings around huge fucking weapons like its nothing and you give me THIS. first and foremost, this isn't even a dragon lady, this is a human woman with horns and a tail and pointy ears. this is a human lady in cosplay. where are the claws, the fangs, the scales? they didn't even give her SCALES. bombom designed a better reptilian girl than this. her wings aren't even attached. and for the love of GOD, if she is a DRAGON, refrain from giving her Honkin' Tittums. is a dragon a mammal? is that what you're telling me? fuck off. and while i have you here why is her build so dainty? actually i know why and i don't gaf, melusine should be jacked. look the size of the gun she is ONE HANDING. you know what, get this fucking disgrace out of my sight and come back with a proper dragon woman, with claws and scales and fangs and wings that are attached to her goddamn back-- and a physique that can accommodate them (i remember someone at one point having a line about how his chest is muscled specifically to allow for his wings) + all the gun-slinging and fighting with snow and mountaineering and whatnot she gets up to. and i'm going to be nice/preempt any comments about why her barely-draconic design is good actually: if, for WHATEVER fucking reason, you want to allow for her looking basically like a human woman in cosplay, it can be like a glamour or something. but when she summons her wings, the glamour should fail, and i want to see a DRAGON WOMAN. in fact, if you give her a human glamour, you have to give her true form draconic digitigrade legs to balance it out. or i'll kill you.

oh my god. ziz's design makes me so fucking mad this is the only one of her sprites i can look at without taking chip damage to my psyche. like with melusine, i'm not going to touch on any issues i might have with how she's written, but this is a TRAVESTY all on it's own. her design is SO FUCKING GOOD. she's massive, to the point of being imposing without meaning to, she's covered in feathers, she has claws and TALONS, and i really loved the thing with her legs looking HUGE and giving her an exaggeratedly feminine appearance but that just being from the sheer fluffiness of her feathers, w her legs looking WAY different with her feathers smoothed down, esp since that felt like it was poking fun at the whole 'generically sexy ~Recognizably Female~ monster girl' thing. and her tail is really cute. if it weren't for a massive, glaring, design-ruining flaw, my only real complaint would be that i wish she had a broader upper body/a sturdier frame, again so her physique is better suited to accommodate her HUGE wings + the whole Protector thing, and also because the whole 'cinched waist, hourglass figure' thing she's got going on is just. uncomfortable to look at. and there we encounter that massive, glaring, design-ruining flaw-- Obligatory Boobs, bane of my fucking existence. it would have been one thing if the plumage at her breast was especially dense or something and gave her the appearance of having boobs, i probably would only have complained a little about that. but they took what otherwise would have been a FANTASTIC design, and (sorry) chickened out at the last second and slapped tits on a fucking bird woman. and they did not just slap tits on a bird woman, they gave her a bare, human torso, just so they could slap huge dobonhonkeros on a FUCKING bird woman, and honest to fucking god it looks grotesque. it looks disgusting. i'm so mad. WHO is that meant to appeal to. they ruined a perfectly good harpy. i fucking hate it here

to nobody's surprise, babalon is the example that infuriates me the most. and i'm not going to talk about how much i hate her default sprite (again), or how i think she should be able to fuse with therion to become a huge fucked up demon werewolf lady (for a third time). in fact, i honestly really like most aspects of this skin: the swimsuit is lovely and suits her very well, her shoes are really cute & the hat is a nice touch (though i'd have preferred a proper sunhat), and the adult woman isn't dressed like a child for no reason. all very neat, though i do wonder where she put all that hair, not to mention therion. and with that all out of the way, i really just despise this skin, specifically because of what it very glaringly lacks: scars. babalon was tortured, then hunted relentlessly by angels, then necessarily maimed when those angels killed her unborn child. but despite all these being literally character-defining traumas, they're not reflected in her design at all because the women's designs aren't allowed a diverge too far from Conventionally Attractive Human Woman So Generic Your Eyes Start To Glaze Over, and that would be too unsightly. that this is with babalon in particular really pushes it from infuriating to exhausting. i can't even rave at this, i'm just tired. and i'm not accepting babalon's vanity as an excuse for this, because her inability to let go of her trauma, and especially any reminder of her first lost child, is a crucial part of her character. they didn't even let her have a scar on her abdomen from when she lost her unborn child. but you know what they did give her?

nice, symmetrical, visually appealing scars from losing her wings. that you only ever see in the artbook. come on, man 😐

#tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #this has got me main tagging just to feel something :|#error.txt #error.jpg #babsposting #uh something something im bi and trans. whatever #genuinely this shit sucks. like i was gonna be more jokey here but that last part took the wind out of my sails. come on #error.ans

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radioves · 2 years

Text

techno derg

bottom text

unfiltered images + design notes / headcanons + id under cut

spoilers for wof yadda yadda you know the drill

- Techno, AKA Sanguine - his name [according to google] means, “from Old French sanguin (fem. sanguine) and directly from Latin sanguineus "of blood," also "bloody, bloodthirsty," from sanguis (genitive sanguinis) "blood" (see sanguinary). The meaning "cheerful, hopeful, vivacious, confident”. His name is actually just inspired by a quote from Maybe an elder scrolls game, something along the lines of, “when the night runs sanguine” i cannot remember i do not play elder scrolls- i think you can guess why i chose this name for him, the second part was by coincidence but i still think it fits because of his confident, almost carefree approach to conflict

- Pink. Hes half skywing half icewing, and he is very popular to outsiders because of his uniquely colored scales- some mistake him for icewing royalty because of his resemblance to a certain icewing princess [yes ery is canon in here. my ocs are part of this, your ocs are part of this, its my Au and i get to chose the Characters]. Skywings can be every color of the sunsets- purple, red, pinks, oranges, and even yellow, so yes, he gets little yellowy accents on his scales because it looks like gold

- Both tribes are known for their fashion and jewelry exports, and hes no exception. He actively visits both kingdoms [mostly favors Skywings because they specialize in gold over the silver of Icewings] to see whats new in stock. He has also gained... other things. from the Skywings, most notably their craft of fireworks. i think you can guess what hes used it for

- Very Spiky. because its cool. He looks like a girdled lizard and is very sharp. Covered in ice spikes because again, cool. Even his antlers are spiky because its sick as hell. I couldnt recommend any less trying to pet him the wrong way you will end up losing some aspect of your body one way or another

- Has the same vibes as Blaze, but opposite energy, if that makes sense. He would much rather stay at home than purposefully fight others if it means keeping his scales pristine, but if someone brings the battle to him he can and will kick their ass. Well, at least thats how it is now, back then he totally would find conflict any place he could- to the point where others would either actively avoid him, or seek him out to help them in battles

- kinda unrelated but Technodragon and Sanguine are two different dragons. There are also versions of the rest of the Dreaming Dragons... dragons, who are also just normal ass dragons outside of the restrictions of me manhandling Wof canon to try and make something that works

[ID : 2 drawings of Technoblade as a dragon, inspired by Wings of Fire. He is an Icewing and Skywing hybrid, with pink and white mottled scales and pale yellow spots and accents. He has sharp plates all over his body that resembles a girdled lizards, and spikes on his shoulders, giving him a very sharp appearance. He has long, sharp white spines on his neck, back, and tail, with curly horns that have spikes that resemble antlers. There are small tufts of fur on his chin, ears, and arms. He has wide, pig-like ears, a muzzle that resembles a snout, and short tusks that jut from the corners of his mouth, and he has dark eyes with gold pupils. He is laying on his side with his back to the viewer, propped up on his elbows as he looks back at the viewer. His eyes are narrowed with a tired, almost annoyed expression.

The second image is the similar to the first, flipped. He has a dark red cape with a fluffy lining draped around his shoulders, covering his back down to the base of his tail. He has several gold chain necklaces, one of them with 3 gold hoops dangling off of it. He has a gold band around one of his spines, along with bands around his tusks, and a band around his horns. He has several gold earrings, a chain attached to two of them, with an emerald attached to a length of chain at the end. He is wearing a gold crown with three points and a spike facing down in the middle, a pattern of symmetrical sapphires and diamonds running along the outside with a large ruby in the center, and there is a chain attached to the tip of the center spike that is draped around his horns, the other end being attached to the band around his horns. End ID]

#the images broke again but i could Not be assed to fixed it im so tired #digital art #artists on tumblr #illustration #dragons #:)#🐉💭 au

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

Text

wild things (ot7)

Summary: You’re a free spirit, and your father doesn’t seem to understand that. So he gets seven predator hybrids to keep an eye on you.

Rating: Explicit Warnings: angsty backstories, oral (f. receiving), mention of rough sex, marking, bruising, lion!Yoongi has a rough tongue, Hawk!Hoseok is just rough, this is just an intro and a first part so there’s a lot more warnings coming like knotting, breeding, etc, eventual poly

Word Count: 3374

This is ridiculous, you think as you scale down the tree at the side of your house. Sneaking out like a teenager when you're 23 years old, all because your parents think it's too dangerous for an heiress to go out alone and they couldn't find a bodyguard to indulge your restless whim to go out for wine and dinner at 10pm.

What good was being an heiress anyway if you didn't get to do what you wanted?

You can see the neon lights of your favorite restaurant when you're blocked by a large shadow, a sudden strong, musky smell invading your nostrils.

You look up into a pair of eyes black as coal, a big man with a set of bull horns, and alarms go off in your head.

He's not wearing a collar, which you know means he's unowned, probably a stray, and while you know generally non-predator hybrids are harmless, there's something...off.

It's the smell, the way his pupils are blown, arms straining in his black t-shirt.

"You smell nice," he mutters, and moves toward you, too suddenly for you to start away.

You brace yourself for impact, sure he's going to throw you into the brick behind you, but the only thing that happens is a huge whooshing sound, almost like a boom of thunder.

When you open your eyes the bull hybrid is holding his face, two wide and bloody scratches from his nose to his chin.

"Fuck," he mutters thickly, something like apology in his eyes as he walks away.

Your heart is thudding in your chest and you startle when you hear a low voice.

"You okay?"

You turn to see a man standing there, looking at you with sharp, amber colored eyes. He must be a hybrid, a predator according to those eyes, and you shrink into yourself.

"You're okay," he says, and his tone is low and calming.

He's wearing a big trenchcoat, shoulders almost unimaginably wide. You can't tell by his features what kind of hybrid he is, and you just blink at him.

"Ah, th-thank you," you stutter, and he nods, looking away.

"Be careful," he warns, and then he's gone, through a back alley, and you unlock your phone with shaking hands to call your father.

There's a big argument when you get home, but this time you don't fight back, just nod and apologize and crawl into bed and when you sleep you dream of running from the bull hybrid, and then later, of sharp amber eyes.

The next week, your father calls you into his office, tells you that he's hired a security team, and you don't protest this time.

Hired turns out to be not quite the right word, since there are seven hybrids sitting in various places in your living room.

You recognize one instantly, the amber eyed hybrid that had helped you before. He's leaned against the doorjamb, scanning the rest of the hybrids.

When you offer your hand for him to shake he looks surprised but stands up straight, looks you in the face.

"Y/n," you offer.

"Hoseok," he replies, voice softer than you'd remembered.

You want to ask questions, thank him for what he'd done but there's a big dog hybrid bouncing around to introduce himself. You can't help but smile at his eager nature, and there's another couple hybrids who are just as gregarious.

Jungkook, a mastiff hybrid not much older than a puppy, tail wagging, tells you he'd only been a protection hybrid for a week when your father hired him.

Taehyung, a cougar born in a rescue facility, had been put into a protection program after the facility shut down. He's bright eyed and looking over you curiously when he introduced himself.

The wolf hybrid, Namjoon, doesn't say much, but you see his ear is tattered, wondering if he'd been on the streets.

There's a hybrid lounging on your couch as if he owns the place already but before you can be mad he turns and gives you a gummy smile which is made no less cute by his sharp canines. Judging from the tail that flicks around the arm of the couch and his long, honey colored hair, you'd guess a lion hybrid.

"Yoongi," he says, and bows his head to you in an almost regal way, as if you're a queen.

There's an unmistakable fennec fox hybrid, ears down, staring at you from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall. He's pretty in an almost intimidating way.

"Jimin," he barks, voice lower than you'd assumed.

Seokjin is another talker, standing near the other two felines. His tail and ears are a beautiful cream color with leopard spots so you assume your father found him in captivity, as well.

Seven of them, waiting around for your instruction, for you to need them. You were determined not to.

That lasted all of a few weeks, and it starts to spiral with one Jung Hoseok, mystery hybrid.

It happens quick, your fling with Hoseok. So quick that when you think back, it seems surreal how it all started.

He’s the most strict with you, out of the seven hybrids sworn to be your protectors, and it pisses you off at first, his sharp eyes, the way he would speak to you in this commanding voice, as if you had no choice but to listen.

You’d drawn back to your hand to slap him once, when he’d said something particularly snarky, and he’d caught your wrist.

“It’s illegal to abuse your hybrids, princess.”

There’s just this hint of a smirk at the edge of his lips, and it makes you even angrier when you wiggle to get out of his grip and you can’t.

“Let me go.”

“Gladly. As soon as you agree to sit down and stop trying to climb out the window.��

“I wasn’t-”

Hoseok holds up a piece of the sheet you’d been working out the window, and you huff out a breath.

The first time you kiss him, he seems surprised for only a moment, eyes widening before he takes your wrists in his hands and pins you against the wall to kiss you back, hard and hungry.

“This is illegal,” he moans when you kiss his throat.

“Lots of things are illegal,” you reply, and it’s like that from then on.

You never know when it will happen, when he’ll catch your eye, jerk his head toward the hallway and then when you make it there pin you against the wall, or sometimes you pin him, him making these sounds in the back of his throat that would give him away as a hawk hybrid if you didn’t already know.

It’s a bit hard to miss, since you’ve seen him naked, his wings spread, all the black and brown feathers he leaves in your bed.

You wonder if it’s on purpose, especially when there’s three on your pillow the night Yoongi has guard and the lion hybrid picks one up, raises an eyebrow at you, and you just shrug.

“Leaving feathers for the others to find? Are you jealous, Hoseok?” You tease the next time you have him in your bed.

He looks up at you as you clench your thighs around his waist.

“Wouldn’t dream of being more than your dirty little secret, princess.”

He flips you over then, kisses you until you can’t keep talking, can barely breathe.

The others don’t know, even though you suspect that Namjoon has an idea, you’d seen him wrinkle his nose after you’d come out of your room, Hoseok leaving through your bedroom window.

Namjoon suspects a lot of things he doesn’t say, you think, keeps his mouth shut, rubbing at his tattered ear and biting the insides of his cheeks when something happens and he needs to bite his tongue. It makes you wonder if he’d been unable to speak freely with his last owners, and you’d like to change that, but you also can’t risk your parents finding out that you have any relationship other than professional with a hybrid.

After one particularly rough session in which Hoseok had pinned you against the wall of your bedroom, fucking up into you with his mouth just below your collarbone, leaving marks where no one would see, you head back out into the living room and Namjoon does that nose wrinkle again. He rubs at his tattered ear and looks away from you.

Jungkook wrinkles his nose, too, but instead of asking questions just rubs his nose up your neck and makes you giggle, pulls you into his lap for skinship while Yoongi huffs and pouts, perched on the couch next to Taehyung.

“Hyung,” Taehyung purrs, brushing his cheek against the older cat. “Don’t be jealous.”

Yoongi growls at him but there’s no bite to it, and you ruffle his long, blond hair as you pass by. He smiles his gummy smile at you, has never so much as sneered at you, and Taehyung pouts and slinks to the other end of the couch.

He wraps his arms around Jimin, instead, and the fennec fox hybrid twitches his long ears, but you know secretly he loves the skinship, no matter how he grumbles.

Seokjin is lying on the floor, in the sun, his white hair seeming to gleam in the sunlight. He looks lazy and effortlessly beautiful, but his leopard’s eyes are sharp, watching you snuggle in between Yoongi and Jungkook.

Hoseok trails an appropriate amount of time later, standing near the doorway as if on guard.

“Are you ever going to tell us what kind of hybrid you are, Hobi?” Seokjin drawls, looking at you instead of over at Hoseok.

Hoseok lifts his chin up. “Does it matter?”

Seokjin shrugs lazily. “I’m curious. We’re all pretty obvious, especially Ears over there.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out at him, rocking back a bit as Taehyung nuzzles against the top of his head.

It’s Yoongi who surprises you, standing up to look at Hoseok, his eyes going across the breadth of his shoulder.

“Something with wings, I bet.”

“A bird hybrid?” Namjoon sits up in the recliner, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve only read about them, never met one. They’re so rare-”

Hoseok sighs as Yoongi walks around him, looking him up and down.

“A crane, maybe? He’s all tall and gangly.” Yoongi smirks up at him.

You roll your eyes. “Now boys. Hoseok doesn’t have to-”

Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s okay. Might as well. I don’t want them thinking I’m a fucking flamingo.” Taehyung snorts at this, making Jimin’s mouth turn up at the corner, as well.

Jimin had been the slowest to acclimate to living among six other hybrids. Namjoon and Jungkook, both canine, had bunked up immediately, Jungkook whining at Namjoon’s bedroom door until he let him in, on the second night. He’d moved in right after.

Seokjin, Taehyung, and Yoongi were all feline, so they’d been content to curl up together on the couch and nap, draped around each other.

Jimin on the other hand, adorable with his long ears and cute face, was harsher with you. Despite his small figure, he could be intimidating, he’s broad and a lot stronger than he looks. He’d thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of flour to keep you from leaving, and he has this hard look in his eyes when he’s serious and a lower growl than you’d imagined when he’s mad.

Like Hoseok, he took his job as your protector more seriously than the others seemed to, and at first, he’d ignored the others (Jungkook particularly).

Jungkook would try to play with him, growl at him and nip at his heels until Jimin yipped back at him, and Namjoon or Hoseok had even had to break up a few fights that way while the cats looked on, bemused. Eventually, Jimin realized that he could trick Jungkook easily, and he’d let him play, run from him until Jungkook went headfirst into the glass door or skidded into the kitchen and knocked over the chairs.

During the first winter, you’d gone into Namjoon and Jungkook’s room to wake them up and found Jimin sleeping at the end of the bed, draped across their legs.

When he’d woken he’d grumbled and slipped past you as if nothing happened, but now he was just as likely to sleep there when he wasn’t on guard or nap draped among the cats like he was one of them.

Jimin scoffs, jolting you out of your memories. “He’s not a crane. Something that hunts them, maybe.”

Namjoon is on the edge of his seat. “Like a predatory bird? That’s so interesting.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I’m a hawk hybrid. It’s not that special.”

There’s a chorus of oohs around the room that make you giggle a little.

Hoseok shuffles on his feet, looking as if his feathers are quite literally ruffled.

All the boys are interested now, even Taehyung, usually unbothered, slinking down to the floor to crawl toward him and marvel when Hoseok removes his trenchcoat to reveal his wings.

Yoongi, however, stays on the couch, looking at you from the corner of one scarred eye. You’d never asked him, where it came from, nor asked Namjoon about his tattered ear or Taehyung about the marks on his back you’d seen when he’d started changing that first day in front of all of you, completely unashamed.

You know that all of your hybrids were adopted for the purpose of protecting you, from others and from yourself, and that they had scattered and possibly dangerous backgrounds.

Yoongi has never looked at you quite like this though, something hard in his gaze, like when Jimin or Hoseok are scolding you.

None of the others have ever been able to scold you or actually stop you from leaving. Namjoon let you talk him out of it, Seokjin and Taehyung would just go with you if given the chance and get into their own mischief, and Jungkook and Yoongi were too fond of you to stand it when you pouted.

With Yoongi, whenever you wanted something you’d just thread your fingers through his hair and he’d purr and let you do whatever you wanted, but there’s something almost feral in his gaze now.

It’s kind of...hot.

You’d be lying if you said that Hoseok was the only hybrid you were attracted to in the bunch. In fact, they were all gorgeous in their own right, but you figure it's enough trouble to have let one of them in your bed.

While the others are distracted by Hoseok you slip toward your bedroom, meaning to wash your sheets as you always do after you and Hoseok hook up.

You don't hear him walk up behind you, which is odd since he has this particular walk, somehow confident and lazy at the same time, almost shuffling his feet.

“Yoongi, what are you-” you start, and Yoongi puts a finger up to his lips, takes your hand and tugs you into your bedroom, closing the door softly.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “Why-”

“You’re fucking the bird, right?” Yoongi says, his tone nonchalant, but his stance isn’t. His shoulders seem wider, and he’s still glaring at you, his yellow eyes seeming to glow.

“I...what…” you sputter, not sure how to lie or what to say.

He takes a few steps closer to you and you back up but then the backs of your knees hit your mattress and you sit down with a squeak.

He’s more intimidating like this, looking down at you, and it makes you press your thighs together.

He leans down and you wonder for a hot moment if he’s going to kiss you but instead he brushes past you, plucks a feather off your pillow.

He holds it up.

“You’re fucking the bird,” he says again, and there’s nothing you can say to deny it.

“Um,” you begin. “It’s none of your business.” Your voice comes out small and bratty.

Yoongi rolls his head on his shoulders, neck cracking and it makes you twitch.

“Maybe not,” he admits slowly, voice low, always low in this rumbling that’s between a purr and a growl. “I’m used to being the only male in a pride.”

You barely want to blink, looking up at him. “What does that mean?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Guess I’m a bit competitive.”

“What do you mean by competitive?”

Yoongi scoffs. “Don’t play dumb, Y/n.” He kneels between your thighs, placing his hands on your knees lightly. You look down in shock, think that you’d never noticed how big they are. His tail wraps around his knees, twitching just slightly as he looks up at you.

You’re wearing a maxi dress and he starts to bunch it around your hips slowly, keeping eye contact with you the whole time and your breath catches in your throat but you don’t want to stop him.

He thumbs across a fingerprint bruise on your thigh with a sigh that rumbles in his chest.

“Birds mate for life but they don’t know how to treat their mates,” he mumbles, as if to himself, planting a kiss there, open mouthed, that makes your thighs tremble. “All rough, marking, making themselves known.” He scoffs again, and lifts his head to look at you with those yellow eyes. “I knew the moment he first touched you.”

He slides his fingers higher up your thigh, hooks his thumb under the lace edge of your panties and you gasp.

“Can’t just treat a mate like you so roughly,” Yoongi continues as he slides your panties slowly down your thighs and ankles, slipping them off you and kissing the side of your knee as he does so. “You don’t like being owned, being obvious.”

“I-I don’t?” You stutter, mouth dry.

Yoongi shakes his head, smiling against your skin. It’s almost a snarl and it sends heat through your belly.

“You like it secret, don’t you, Y/n? Mate like you, deserves to have a secret lover to worship her.”

You can’t help the low moan that slips past your lips.

His fingers slip into you like they belong there, and he curls his fingers in just the right way, a way that has you idly wondering how much practice he must have had at this back at the compound your father found him at.

When his tongue scrapes across your clit you nearly come off the bed. You had never thought about lion hybrids having a rough tongue but it’s textured, almost painful but in the most pleasurable way.

“Oh, God,” you whimper.

Yoongi lifts his head, a slight pout on his full lips. “Yoongi.”

You blink. “Yoongi,” you repeat, and he presses his face back into you, moaning against you and using that rough tongue against your clit and you’re pretty sure you’ve never cum that fast from oral.

There’s a crash from outside the door and Yoongi groans against you, still lapping at your cunt even after you’ve clenched your thighs around his head.

He’s pouting, mouth shiny with your slick, when you stand up, kicking your panties under the bed.

“My father might come,” You say, breathless, and Yoongi takes his time licking his lips and around his canines, standing up and adjusting himself in the sweats he’s wearing.

The smirk he has on his face makes you kinda want to punch him, but instead you dart out of the door after smoothing down your hair.

“Stay here for a bit before you come out,” you hiss.

Yoongi bows to you, that regal bow he’d done when you’d first met, and sits down on the bed, still smirking at you.

When you make it into the living room it’s chaos, Jungkook bleeding from the forehead and Jimin chortling, glass all over the carpet where Jungkook had run head first into it.

“Park Jimin!” You yell, and Jimin shrugs.

“The dog started it,” he says simply.

Your father does come, and in all the chaos and the glass door being replaced, you’re surprised when Hoseok slips behind you, puts a hand on your lower back, whispers in your ear.

“Got another dirty little secret, princess?”

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