#Drift the Shapeshifter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dearly-somber · 6 months

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Naked | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, fluff, pining, f2l (friends-to-lovers), eventual smut, humor, angst, drama

-> w/c. 1729

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. Thank you all so much for the love for this couple, y’all have motivated me a lot and I can’t put into words how much I appreciate it <33

-> warnings. suggestive; a lil’ ✨angsty✨

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Jun. 30th, 2022 @ 18:25

-> fin. Mon., Jul. 30th, 2022 @ 23:27

-> edited. Thurs., Oct. 9th, 2023 @ 12:33

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Finding out that your best friend turns into a glorified dog isn’t something you had on your bingo card this year.

You were staying over at Jungkook’s house to finish a History project worth 25% of your final grade, but you ended up falling asleep halfway through. (Oops!)

When you woke up, it wasn’t to the annoyingly smug expression of one incredibly chuffed Jeon Jungkook, but to the silky smooth fur and wet-nosed touch of a fully grown wolf.

You screamed like a shower victim in an 80s horror movie and fell off the bed with a painful thud, the wolf peeking over the edge of the bed with a strangely concerned yip. You screamed again and pushed yourself to your feet, booking it downstairs two at a time (a maneuver that would’ve cost you your life any other day) before slamming into Jisoo halfway through the living room. You held onto her arms with wide, frightened eyes.

You were on the verge of tears, panicking to Jisoo about how “there’s a fucking wolf in Jungkook’s bedroom and oh god I think it ate him oh my god,” when Jungkook barreled down the stairs while pulling a crinkled black tee over his stomach.

Jisoo glared at the maknae, looking pointedly at you (Lisa had taken hold of your shoulders and tried helping you through breathing exercises) and then back at him, her hands on her hips. “What happened?”

Jungkook looked between the two of you, a particularly pained look crossing his face at your glossy eyes and heaving shoulders. “I’m— I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he mumbles.

“You couldn’t just fall asleep normally?” Jisoo snapped exasperatedly, ignoring your confused back-and-forth looks.

“He wouldn’t stop whining and making a fuss and I didn’t think she’d wake up so soon!” Jungkook yelled desperately, looking nearly as upset as you felt.

“Wait, wait, wait. You guys are—where’s the wolf?” you asked incredulously, wiping furiously at your eyes as you strode forward to stand next to Jisoo.

“He’s—he’s not out anymore… And he wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” Jungkook said, stepping toward you with his arms open. You took a panicked step back, confused and scared and so, so lost.

“Are you telling me… Are you a werewolf?”

“Shifter,” Yoongi corrected from where he was lounging on the couch (you hadn’t noticed him in your panic). “Why do you humans always assume we’re werewolves?”

“You shapeshift into a wolf. That makes you a werewolf,” you sassed, quickly backing away at his intense, annoyed glare.

Jisoo sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath before turning an accusatory glare on Jungkook. “Take your friend upstairs and explain to her what’s going on. I’ll talk to Namjoon.”

Jungkook nodded obediently, a solemn look on his face as he reached for your wrist so he could tug you upstairs, wincing back when you flinched away from his touch.

He clenched and unclenched his fingers before dropping his hand to his side, beckoning you to follow him. “C’mon. We should talk.”

You sit with Jungkook on his bed, waiting for him to look up from his lap so he can finally explain to you what the fuck is going on.

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes drifting to his hands. He’s picking at his nails, refusing to meet your eyes. As confused and shocked as you are, you can’t let him get in his head. His crestfallen face does dirty-dirty things to your heart, banging it up for making him look so sad.

You take a deep breath and reach to hold his hands in yours. Jungkook meets your eyes, his lip wobbling at the soft, patient look in your eyes. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, smiling at the way his eyes light up hopefully at your acceptance.

He inhales shakily and closes his eyes. “Me and my family are shifters. We have full control over when we shift, and we share a close connection with our wolves. Our souls are connected to help with the transitions between wolf and human, a thoughtful gift from our ancestors.

“I moved to Seoul when I was fifteen to try and find my own pack, and I met Jiminie hyung on the train ride over from Busan. We met Yoongi hyung at the bus stop outside of the train station and he offered to help us find the hostel we booked. Somewhere along the journey he must’ve taken a liking to us, because we were moving into the pack house the next day.”

Jungkook laughed fondly at the recollection, the tenseness in his shoulders gone as he spoke to you normally. “We’ve been training ever since to get better at controlling when we shift. Among…other things.” He blushes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you today,” he whispers.

You bite the inside of your cheek. A shifter. That was his explanation for…everything. The affection, the borderline-obsession with your scent, why he’s staying with a bunch of strangers instead of his parents.

Surprisingly, believing him isn’t the hardest part about the new information. “You guys… aren’t dangerous?”

“No,” Jungkook denies firmly, his thumb running over the back of your hand.

“Is that why you’re so touchy? Because of the…wolfier part of you?”

Jungkook scrunches his nose at your choice of words, but smiles softly. “Yeah. Physical closeness is normal and integral to shifter relationships,” he explains. “We have this thing called scenting, which is basically a more…concentrated way of showing affection. It’s also a way to kind of…claim you, I guess. To show you’re part of the pack.”

“But isn’t scenting a thing only mated wolves do?” you ask, frowning at the implications that would have on your relationship.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No, scenting can be romantic or plutonic. It’s dependent on where you scent,” he explains. “Couples usually do what we call ‘marking’, but I’ve heard about people who mark platonically.”

“Marking…as in?” You shift curiously. Shifter culture and biology is going to be something you ask a lot about, you think.

Jungkook blushes, avoiding your eyes as he clears his throat. Finally, he says, “Biting.”

“Biti—Jungkook,” you say, “you bit me a few days ago—“

He must hear the accusation in your voice because he frantically shakes his head. “No, no, no! That was play, I swear. Marking is much more… intimate.” Jungkook’s ears turn pink at the suspicious look you give him.

There’s a long beat of silence where you just kind of…stare at each other.

Jungkook can’t read you. He can’t help the tremble in his voice and the wobbling of his lower lip, looking at your intertwined hands. “You think it’s scary and unnatural, don’t you?”

“Jungkook…”

He smiles sadly. “It’s okay, I get it. We don’t have to be friends any—“

“Yah,” you furrow your brows with a squeeze of his hands, making him look at you. “I still wanna be your friend, Koo. This actually… explains a lot. It’s just a lot to take in,” you confess.

He still looks unsure of himself. And because you can’t stand seeing him sad, you shift toward him and bring your arms around his torso in a hug. He sniffles, burying his nose into your shoulder as his hands drift to the center of your back, clutching the fabric between his fingers.

It’s peaceful in his arms. Quiet. The only sound in the room is that of your combined breathing. Maybe he can even hear your heartbeat? You bite the inside of your cheek, patting his back gently. You wonder how it all works? They must shift pretty quickly, considering Jungkook had been downstairs only a minute or two after you. And he was pulling a shirt on when he was coming down the stairs…

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” you pull away to look at him properly, “but what happens to your clothes when you transform? Do you like… do you get” —you gesture around vaguely, whispering— “naked before it starts?”

Jungkook snorts, his eyes glossy and cheeks pink. But, hey! At least he’s smiling!

He grins boyishly and shakes his head. “Way to ruin the moment,” he teases. “But uh, yeah. Our clothes rip when we shift, so we try to undress beforehand.”

“You’ve seen each other naked?“ you ask incredulously, eyes wide. Jungkook blushes pink at your reaction, nodding while sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Even… the girls?”

He whines, hiding his face in his hands. You gape at his pink ears, malfunctioning for a second. Jungkook’s seen boobs and ass. And probably more than that, too. You rub at your neck to distract yourself from the blush you feel crawling up your throat.

“It’s normal!” Jungkook defends himself, still blushing furiously as he waves his hands around wildly, pouting. “You’re making it weird…”

“I” —you gape at him— “what? You’re the one who’s seen your friends’ jun-mfh—“ you laugh into Jungkook’s hand as he smacks it over your mouth, yelling at you to shut up before they hear!

You laugh breathlessly and tell him that you’ll be quiet, reassuring him three, four, five times before he finally lets you go.

He sits back on his knees with his feet folded underneath him. “Let’s forget this conversation ever happened,” Jungkook says, shivering exaggeratedly to make his point.

You giggle and shake your head as your smile slips. You stare at him until he meets your eyes, and smile softly when he does. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nods, smiling down at his hands. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours, basking in each others’ presence and getting familiar with this newly shared secret.

“Can I…” Jungkook nibbles his lip, hope shining behind his eyes. “Can I scent you?”

You snort, pushing his face away with a lighthearted smile. “Never in a million years, Jeon.”

“Bunny,” he whines childishly, righting himself into a sitting position after almost toppling off the edge of his bed before clasping his hands in front of him. “Please? I promise it’ll feel good!”

“Stop!”

“Yah, you’re the one making it sound weird!”

“Fine! I guess I’ll go tell your hyungs and noonas about how dirty their precious maknae i—“

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

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daydream-cement · 9 months

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Little Surprise (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Larissa has a little surprise before bed.

Author’s Note: Just a lil smut for yall <3

Larissa double and triple checked her appearance in the mirror. She felt ridiculous. Never in her life had she worn anything so ornate and delicate. This lingerie was unlike anything she had worn before. The sheer dark purple lingerie set felt absurd against her skin, its black accents made the headmistress bite her lip. The absence of makeup made Larissa wonder if the outfit may have been too much. You never cared for expensive or elaborate things, making the shapeshifter wonder if she was going overboard.

You were laying in bed grading papers, certainly not expecting what Larissa had planned for tonight.

Covering herself in a short sheer robe, Larissa wordlessly exited the bathroom and headed towards the bedroom door to lock it. When the soft click of the lock sounded, you drew your attention from the papers in your lap up to where the headmistress stood at the end of the bed.

With a deep shaky breath, the shapeshifter undid the strings of her robe and allowed it to fall to the floor. You were at a loss for words, your eyes attempting to drink in the divine vision that was Larissa. You flipped the grading binder closed and dropped it to the side, wanting to focus your full attention on Larissa. the headmistress began crawling up the bed, a high pitched whimper emitting from you as you observed the soft sway of the shapeshifter’s breasts.

When the shapeshifter settled against your lap, her hands danced at your sides. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hardly... Is this all for me?”

The shapeshifter nodded, some of the air she had been holding in her lungs releasing as she heard and observed your positive response. Biting at her bottom lip, she ground her hips against you, signaling her desire for you.

“You look absolutely perfect…purple is a good color on you, mhm.” You brushed your hands up the shapeshifter’s sides, cupping her breasts and palming them. Your movements were achingly slow. Larissa attempted to embrace the pacing, her chin tilted towards the ceiling as her fists clenched at your sleep shirt.

You were delighted in the way Larissa’s body filled the sheer lace of her outfit. The faint outline of her nipples were visible through the delicate lace. Your face lingered closer and closer to the point in which the shapeshifter could your hot breath across her flesh.

Raising her hands to the back of your head, the shapeshifter threaded her fingers into your hair, drawing you closer. You followed the silent instructions and pressed your lips to Larissa’s sternum. Larissa tasted faintly of her lavender body wash, eliciting a smile from you.

Ten minutes passed and there was no change in your position, only now Larissa’s top had been removed. You still had your hands on the headmistress’s breasts, plucking softly at her nipples to draw out soft whimpers from the shapeshifter. When her nipples were nice and hard, you finally drew one into your mouth to begin sucking. The texture of Larissa’s nipple drew a mewl from you.

“What do you want, hm?” You cooed to your wife, hands drifting to the headmistress’s waist to hold her close for you to continue sucking.

“I want you to…” Larissa sighed, her back arching and pushing her breasts into your face more. “I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

“With the, ahh, the strap, please…” the shapeshifter breathed.

“Ohh… Lay back for me.”

The headmistress sunk back onto the mattress, her legs spread wide for you. You found it hard to take yourself away from the sight before you. The usually dominant Larissa was now panting, her chest heaving as she watched you expectantly.

You popped up from the bed and tore off your t-shirt, discarding it on the floor as you wandered to the drawer where the shapeshifter kept the strap-on. You couldn’t help but giggle as you laid your eyes on the object. After nearly a decade together, you had never donned the strap-on.

“Come to the edge of the bed.”

With big pouty eyes, Larissa did as she was told. From the lamplight from your bedside table, the headmistress was enthralled by the sight of you with a strap attached to your body.

At your slow and steady pace, the headmistress was pushed back against the bed, her gaze glued to the running ceiling fan as your mouth made contact with her abdomen. Your delicate but firm hands glided the length of her sides as you pressed open mouth kisses to the shapeshifter’s stomach. As you moved downward, your hands squeezed and lightly scratched which only increased the craving Larissa had for you.

From the anticipation, how you laid her sights on the headmistress, and now from your touch, Larissa found herself absolutely drenched. The flimsy lace of her underwear absorbed none of her wetness causing it to coat her inner thighs. As you neared the crux of her thigh and cunt, you could see the sweet shine of the shapeshifter’s desire. The image before you made you smirk.

Larissa’s cunt was fluttering and aching as you made your way closer. You could smell the musk of her desire. Larissa had been daydreaming of getting fucked for days, and she needed this desperately.

You hadn’t bothered to pull off Larissa’s underwear, rather you liked the look of the purple lace against the shapeshifter's hips. You pulled her panties to the side and ran a finger lightly over the shapeshifter’s sex, testing the waters of Larissa's sensitivity.

“Such a pretty thing…” You cooed, your index and middle finger swiping through Larissa’s cunt to massage her clit.

The headmistress trembled at first contact with her clit and your eyes flickered upwards for a fraction of a second, pleasantly able to catch the sweet view of Larissa’s breasts trembling as more shockwaves rocked her body. You smirked and brought your face back down to the shapeshifter’s cunt, your tongue now swiping through her folds for a taste.

Larissa released a long, loud, and uninhibited moan, her hands flying down to the back of your head to hold your face to her pussy. You began a new slow, languid process of lapping at the shapeshifter’s cunt. The headmistress’s hips bucking into your mouth every few seconds when your tongue swipes over just the right spot.

Without stopping your ministrations on the shapeshifter’s clit, you pushed two fingers in the headmistress’s pussy, your own eyes rolling back as you felt how wet and ready the shapeshifter was to be fucked.

“Ready, darling?” You quietly asked, your fingers dancing over the shapeshifter’s clit once more.

“Mhmm…” Larissa whimpered, her hips bucking against your hand once more as a way of begging to be filled again.

“We need to keep those legs open for me.”

Your voice was more domineering than before, hands dancing over the shapeshifter’s thighs, slowly pushing them up and out. A cool sensation graced the shapeshifter’s skin as you teased her entrance with the strap. Gripping Larissa’s thighs, you became momentarily entranced at the sight of the pink dildo sliding against her entrance.

“Oh, honey…” The shapeshifter whined, her eyes flickering open to gaze up at you. She couldn’t have been more excited for the fucking she had in store. To demonstrate this to you, she gripped both of her thighs from behind, spreading herself for you.

With the shapeshifter now spread wide, you lined her pink cock up to her entrance and pushed it in. You only had one word for the way the strap easily slipped inside the headmistress, “Perfect…”

Larissa let out a long sigh as she allowed the cock to fill her. It was smaller than anticipated, but it was only due to the fact that only a portion of the strap was inside. With every thrust, however, the headmistress felt the full length, filling Larissa to the point that she was moaning wildly with each and every thrust.

The shapeshifter was seeking any form of control. This entire experience was so new and she was having trouble handling the pleasure. Her nails digging into her thighs and gripping them for dear life.

The texture of the cock was unexpected, but not unwelcomed. It seemed to press against every bundle of nerves, drawing the headmistress closer to orgasm without much effort at all.

Quiet expletives began pouring from the shapeshifter’s lips as your pace quickened. Your eyes were fastened shut as you derived your own pleasure from the fucking her. Both of you had broken out in a sweat, your minds going blank as you became lost in pleasuring as she became lost in the pleasure.

Your strokes became long and hard and the headmistress grasped for your hands, drawing them up to her face to encourage you to provide her with sweet words as she was pushed over the edge. Through heavy pants, you complied. You leaned over Larissa’s frame, lips near the headmistress’s ear as the thrusting became more rapid and needy. “You are such a good girl for me. Taking it all… You just need to take it all for me. Don’t you?”

Larissa opened her mouth to cry out, but no sound was made. The feeling of the final few inches being pushed into her was too much for the shapeshifter to handle. She came hard and fast, but you weren't finished with her, your thrusts became erratic, punishing the headmistress’s cunt.

Every thrust was met with a loud slapping sound as your skin connected with the shapeshifter’s. With one last deep and hard thrust, you pushed deep inside the headmistress, causing her to cry out once more.

With a few final strokes, you withdrew the dildo from the shapeshifter. The sight of her blissed out and splayed on the bed before you filled you with the need to repeat the process all over again. Your hands gripped the shapeshifter’s calves and your tone was as sweet as ever, “I will give you ten minutes to recover, then I want you to ride it.”

It was challenging for Larissa to believe that statement had escaped you. The shapeshifter’s chest was still heaving as she acknowledged your statement. “I’ll be ready… whenever… whenever you want me…”

“Good girl.”

—-

Larissa gripped your wrist, choking on the safeword. She sputtered it over and over, needing the stimulation to stop. Tears welled in her eyes and she quickly began to sob, everything felt as if it was too much too soon and the shapeshifter couldn’t take it.

The cock was pulled from her slowly and you crawled to the shapeshifter’s side, pulling the headmistress’s face to your chest and cradling her. The shapeshifter’s tears littered your skin as you tried comforting her, “You did very good, honey. You looked so pretty when you got on your knees for me.”

“I’d do it again.” The headmistress sleepily smiled to herself as she thought back on how she fell to her knees and sucked your strap. It was tangy with her own cum and the satisfied smirk on your face drove Larissa to suck harder and faster to make you proud.

Through your lashes, you looked to the clock on the shapeshifter’s bedside table: 3am. You hummed into the top of Larissa’s head, a wave of exhaustion hitting you when you realized it was past your bedtime.

“Do you think we should set an alarm so we can call and say we will be late for work?” Larissa mumbled against your breast. Her eyes were growing heavy to match the heaviness that weighed down her limbs and prevented her from moving.

“Mhmm…” You grumbled as you maneuvered your way out from under Larissa. On wobbly legs, you made your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. Using the strap all night left you soaked. With a damp towel, you wiped herself clean and plucked a fresh towel for the shapeshifter, dampening it before bringing it back out into the bedroom.

Instead of handing it over to Larissa, you spread the headmistress’s legs, the blonde whimpering at the notion that you could be trying to intimidate round six. Gazing down between her legs, the shapeshifter saw that you only had a towel in hand, a sight that brought a little smile to her face. Through gentle swipes, you cleaned your wife up, genuinely surprised by how much cum was dripping from between her legs.

When you finally returned to bed, Larissa was on the brink of slumber. You snuggled against the shapeshifter’s left side, just as you always did right before bed. There was a content sigh that left the headmistress when she felt your naked form push up against her. The shapeshifter turned into your embrace, bringing you to be nestled half underneath her.

“Happy 11th anniversary since our first date…” Larissa hummed, her lips pressing two kisses to your forehead.

“Mmm… happy anniversary…” You couldn’t stop the smile that grew. It was such a silly occasion to celebrate, but this was a very Larissa thing to do. She loved to celebrate first dates, first kisses, first times, and first ‘I love you’s’ throughout the year.

Larissa readjusted her hold on you, now leaving your head tucked under her chin. She had an arm raveled around your waist, holding your bodies nice and close. The proximity only pushed both of you to drift off to sleep even quicker.

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 7 months

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 2

Cosmic Political Game | Loki x Reader

Loki and Thor arrive at the Avengers compound and Loki gets his first look at the mortal that has everyone so confused.

Chapter Warnings: False/medical imprisonment, masturbation, language, reader shapeshifting so some descriptions of hair and eyes but not skin colour.

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

Thor and Loki arrived in the dead of night when only a single flood light was left illuminating the empty lawn that sprawled between the buildings of the Avenger’s compound. The two gods left a large, circular, burnt patch of grass when they landed, marking their dramatic entrance back into the lives of the Avengers and leaving a smouldering pattern in their wake.

Safe inside the private penthouse, Wanda took the lead explaining the vivid and detailed dreams they had all been experiencing since your arrival. Thor had laughed heartily, slapping the small witch on the back and sending her flying forwards with the force. But Loki was intrigued, a slow smirk appeared on his face as he sat to the side of the vast living room, toying with sparks of magic between his fingers and thinking of the beings he’d met that could wield such powers.

“You’re frightened of your own lusts. Typical, petty mortals. They are but dreams,” the gold spark flashed green, lighting up his face and swirling in the dim light of the early dawn. Loki’s leather trousers creaked against the contrasting white of the expensive couches that lined the living space.

“She controls these dreams, what else can she control? What else can she make us think?” Steve rushed out. Loki was impressed. He had never seen the Captain this flustered or confused. Whatever power the little mortal possessed it was surely powerful if it could render the normally clear headed Captain a garbled mess.

“So what do you want of me?” He asked, long legs resting on the coffee table with a soft thunk of his boots.

“We need to know what she is. Is it magic, mutation or something else?” Bruce cleaned his glasses, yawning as he let his eyes drift to the clock above the faux mantle piece. “I’ve run out of ideas, but she can shape shift, change her appearance sometimes, like you,” he looked over at Loki “but we’ve yet to see her pose a material threat…which is somehow worse. That we could deal with. But it’s the-” he trailed off, waving his hand in a circle.

“Not knowing.” Natasha interjected and Bruce nodded at her in agreement.

Loki went quiet, thinking, the magic he had been playing with dying in his hands from sparks to embers to nothing. Shape shifting was, really, simple magic, something his mother had taught him as a young boy. It would seem especially extraordinary to such mortals, but it was also something that, though simple, took a great deal of practice and instruction to perfect. Wherever she had learnt this trick, it must have been somewhere equally magical.

“She can shape shift. Interesting. Can I see her?” Loki bent forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and surveying the Avengers, the golden twinkles that had danced between his fingers now dancing behind his eyes.

“Tomorrow” Steve said, decisively, “I think we should all enjoy some peaceful sleep while we can and then, tomorrow, you can meet her”

“Ahh, she isn’t here, is she?” Loki asked, trying hard not to sound too eager.

“No, we’ve separated her. We thought it would be safer.” Tony tried to explain.

“You’ve imprisoned her?” He scoffed, “frightened children, scared of anything you don’t understand,” Loki stood and walked off, “I have no time for this.”

Loki waited until everyone was asleep before exploring the compound properly. The layout was in clear blocks, with apartments lining up with the offices and laboratories below. Knowing they wouldn’t have let her leave for the secondary building on the campus, one where junior agents and scientists may be living, he deduced she must be somewhere in the medical bays. It didn’t take Loki long to find the secure room in the medical wing, mostly because, once he got close enough, there were hundreds of signs telling people to stay away.

The room itself was dark, but he could see a figure inside through the two way mirror, wearing what looked like a big white t-shirt dress, but it had marks on it, measurements.

The mortals had said she could shapeshift, so it was unclear whether this was her true form, as he watched her hair fade through a spectrum of white, grey and black, curling tight and then falling around her shoulders with each intake of breath while she slept. Like the tide ebbing and flowing along the shore, she seemed to change from one moment to the next, whenever he found a fixed spot, a hair length, a beauty mark, the tone of her skin against the bedding, even her height, it appeared to change again, imperceptibly at first and then it was shocking he had ever held the previous image of her in his mind.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes thinking.

Images flooded his thoughts, she was awake in them, smiling, dancing, singing, her hair bright red, then black. She was looking at him and smiling, not smirking or smug, a warm smile. Her white shift morphing into green, gold, black and back again. A gown, a cape, a corset, nothing and back again. He saw others, women and men he had known before and felt their hands, lips, kisses and sweat in his skin. Then he felt her hand, sensed her magic as it touched his own.

He woke with a start just before dawn, the taste of her, of you, of something lost to the passage of time, on his tongue.

The Captain was right to be worried. If you had projected this on him from the other side of the glass without even seeing him, what wonders had you conjured up for the innocent Avengers? If he was right, then your powers had grown immeasurably since you’d last seen each other, but The Captain and the bossy one had suggested you couldn’t explain your powers at all.

This was powerful magic, it thrummed in his bones and called to his own sedir. He had sensed it only once before, a long time ago on Asgard, although it was definitely not Asgardian. Nor was it Midgardian sorcery either.

He smiled, it would be like an Asgardian to play such games with mortals, but equally, perhaps you truly didn’t know your strength. Either way this was going to be an awful lot of fun, Loki thought, flicking his hand to straighten his sleep roughened clothes.

He watched as you woke, blinking, using the blanket to wipe sweat from your eyes. You looked around, through the mirror and straight into his eyes, unseeing, and then turned away. Your hands worked under the thin sheet, disappearing from his direct sight, although he could see the tell tale creep of your fingers as they inched lower.

Behind the glass, you gasped and Loki took a step forward, as close as he dared, watching as you moaned and moved, sighing along with you as you panted out your release. As you moved your hand back above the hospital sheets, your hair shimmered again, blushed pink and fushia.

The sun was starting to lift and the curtains parted on the small glass window, looking out over the surrounding woods. Your arms lifted too, yawning, eyes closed and light flooded the room, your hands touched your hair, assessing the changes in texture, length and colour before dropping back to your sides. The light vanished, back to the ethereal glow of sunrise.

Drumming his fingers he watched you move around the room, you didn’t seem to have any other clothes. But you splashed your face and brushed your teeth, watching the sun rise.

Inside the room you felt hot and itchy still. You had had a vivid dream, not of the people in the compound. Now there was someone new. He was tall, hair dark around his shoulders, lithe but muscular. You had felt him in your dreams, his slender fingers dancing on your forehead and cooling your skin. The tang of metal on your tongue. In the dream he held you, his hands tantalising but not enough to satisfy. In an attempt to rid yourself of this feeling your own fingers had danced beneath the large nightgown you’d been forced to wear, but even as you woke, the feeling lingered.

Washing your face and brushing your teeth did nothing to distract you from the sensation. Instead you climbed back onto the bed, pushed the sheets down and lay back. In vain you tried to picture the man again and as you did your fingertips dipped below the elastic of your underwear. He had dark hair, her hair, in return, darkened, smoothing out the curls into gentle flicks. He wore dark clothing. His fingers were slender, elegant, you felt a nudge against that secret spot inside of yourself and pulled back shocked. Your hands looked different, the usually small palms were wider and the fingers were longer too. You pushed back inside, pressing and grinding into your palm until you felt your legs tighten, toes curling and cried out.

Hopefully that would satisfy you for now. Standing, you examined your ruffled hair in the mirror, admiring the mirror shine of the now dark locks. You were starting to enjoy the changes in your appearance, it was fun, at least, to see yourself with a different body, a different slope to your nose, a tint to your eyes and various textures of hair.

You turned from the small mirror to the larger one next to the door and approached slowly, eyeing the length of your white shift to assess her new height, much taller, at least 4 inches. Stopping in front of the mirror you made your eyes wide, gold flecks alongside dark pupils. They’d go back to grey soon but, for a moment, you enjoyed this ethereal look.

On the other side of the mirror Loki watched, inches away, as you slowly took on subtle characteristics until, suddenly, he could see his dark hair, his blue grey eyes, you even looked taller. He took a step away from the glass. The changes were simple enough, if you knew how, but how had you done it when, surely you, couldn’t see him. He was breathless. The Captain was right, this was no mortal being, this was powerful magic, old magic.

A door along the corridor banged and you both jumped, Loki looked around hastily for an excuse to be here, rifling some papers. When he looked back you were sat on the bed again, cross legged, hair a pale red, eyes the same grey as the morning light beginning to burn through the curtains of your hospital room and his heart clenched. He’d been locked up before, misunderstood and mislabeled as something so much worse than he was. Used and cast aside as a pawn in some cosmic political game.

Loki’s jaw tightened as he made his decision.

He would help you, he would get you out of this prison, he would teach you to control your magic. But he would not give you back to the Avengers.

<< Part 1

Part 3 >>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #Loki Odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki marvel #Loki/Reader #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki/You #Loki/female reader #Loki series #The Old Gods and The New

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jaehyunsbreadbasket · 2 years

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Kinktober '22 Day 9: Smart Hulk

Prompt: Shapeshifting/Monster Fucking

Word Count: 531

Synopsis: Bruce's partner begged him to fuck them in his Hulk form. They learn that they should be careful what they wish for.

Consists of: Dom!SmartHulk, AFABSub!Reader, Size kink, Monster fucking essentially (Smart Hulk to Regular Hulk), Brief pain from the dick being too big, Finger sucking, Brief gagging, Reader gets fucked dumb

I had seriously overestimated my endurance, and the size of my pussy, that was grossly clear to me now. Here I lay, legs spread as wide as possible on the bed, Bruce's big, green cock squeezing inside of me. I had been begging Bruce for days to fuck me in his Hulk form, craving the feeling of a huge dick stretching me out, the sight of his huge, viridescent body hovering above me. To be honest it hurt like hell, but at the same time, it felt too good to want him to stop.

My pussy clenches around him without my control, as if it had a mind of it's own, as if it was trying to push him out. The intelligent monster lets out a big, boisterous moan at the sensation, but notices the twisted expression on my face, "I told you that you wouldn't be able to handle it sweetie. Now look at you, I'm only a quarter into your cunt and you're already spasming around me," Bruce's large verdant hand strokes my face in a way I'm sure is meant to be soft, but the weight of his hand as well as his cock just feels so heavy.

"I c-can handle it. It feels good," and it really does, the stretch is absloutly delicious, and when I look beyond the pain, the feeling of his cock repeatedly hitting my cervix is toe curling.

The way that Bruce is rocking into me, gigantic body making me hit the headboard with every thrust. He stares at me intensely with his glass covered eyes, his lips twisting into a smile.

"W-want your fingers" I whimper to Bruce, he stabilizes his enormous figure before he allows one of his massive digits to slip between my lips. I immediately gag as he hits the back of my throat, slob already drooling around my mouth.

"FUCK!" Bruce roars out, a voice not entirely his own booming around the room. He begins to piston his hips into me now, his whole cock still not fitting inside me, the bulge popping out of my stomach showing he's as far in as he can go. My whole body shakes as he loses control, thrusting into me relentlessly. The sounds that come out of his mouth are loud and angry, I can see the shift in his eyes, I'm not being fucked by Bruce anymore.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I scream after The Hulk pulls his fingers out of my mouth, takes off Bruce's glasses and smashes them, throwing them across the room. It feels like his cock has gotten even bigger and my body is beginning to feel numb. I'm so close, and at this point my mind is completely checked out.

"Cumming...cumming...cum-" and suddenly, I'm seeing white, my pussy convulsing around the colossal, inhumane, phallus inside of me.

The Hulk lets out another thunderous sound, and abruptly, I feel even more full than I did before. Huge ropes of hot semen painting my insides, "B-Bruce..." I call out.

"No. No Bruce," The Hulk responds to me.

I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off, hoping that Bruce will return by the time I wake up.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Prompt from: @waterkelpies

My Kinktober 2022 Masterlist 🎃

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mlmxreader · 1 month

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Can't Let Go | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Dean Winchester with "Just close your eyes and go to sleep, I'll still be here" please ❞

: ̗̀➛ Dean loves you, but he can't let you go even though he knows he'll hurt you.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You were fucking exhausted as you opened the motel room door, throwing your bag down with a huff and kicking your shoes off before wriggling out of your ripped and dirty jeans and slinking underneath the thin duvet.

A sharp sigh coming from the back of your throat as you closed your eyes and wished the world would fall silent for once.

You were wide awake when you heard Dean get out of the shower, and although you were too tired to stand upright, you managed to wave your hand lazily to show him that you were still awake.

You just wanted to sleep, after dealing with a werewolf that did not want to get caught, you felt like you had fallen flat on your face and couldn’t get up.

Dean didn’t even question it, he knew better than anyone in the world what that feeling was like, and he didn’t bother to get dressed as he got into the bed behind you, waiting for you to turn onto your side before he pulled you as close as he possibly could.

His arms settled limply on you, one underneath your body and one over your hip as he yawned softly and pressed his face to the back of your neck; he was glad that you had kept up your end of the bargain, at least.

The deal was to meet him at his motel room the second that you were finished with your hunt in exchange for him letting you borrow his shirt for the day after yours had been ripped and torn.

You wriggled around a little, pressing your ass against his groin as you sighed and drifted one hand to meet his, the other resting under your head as you finally closed your eyes; you were hardly concentrating on anything else except the feeling of his arms around you.

It seemed like you had not felt that for years, even though the last time you saw Dean was only two weeks ago; but as hunters, you were rarely afforded that kind of time together.

You sighed again as you rolled onto your other side, your forehead smacking into his for a moment and making you both quietly laugh before he grumbled and fidgeted to get closer to you; it was physically impossible, but you both still tried desperately.

Seeking warmth and comfort as much as you could, especially given how cold it was inside and how the motel had no heating whatsoever.

“I never wanna deal with a werewolf again,” you muttered, halfway into a yawn.

Dean almost laughed as he buried his head against you, his hair tickling your chin. “I feel ya - that shapeshifter Sammy and I took down… eugh.”

You wanted to laugh, although your body would only allow you to produce a yawn as you raised your leg and dropped it over his hip. “‘M exhausted, can’t lie.”

He nodded, licking his lips as he hummed ever so softly. “I can tell - you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

“Maybe later,” you whispered, letting your hand drift to his hair and gently rake through it. “You smell good…”

“Motel soap,” he chuckled. “Best in the world at getting out goo.”

You smiled, shaking your head fondly as you fought against the urge to close your eyes. Dean could tell more than easily as he moved his hand, letting it flop down just above your hip. “Are you not cold?”

“Not really,” he mumbled. “But just close your eyes and go to sleep, I’ll still be here.”

“Would you-” a sharp and harsh yawn made its way through you, forcing your eyes to water and your mouth to ache slightly. “Would you mind singing to me? I know you don’t like it but… could you?”

Dean slowly nodded as his eyes drifted shut. “Home is a friendly space, home is a familiar face inside the door, all curled up on the bedroom floor. Home is where I find the bed, some place to lead my head to morning comes, singing here comes the sun. Does it matter where I go or what I do? I can’t lie, you know it’s true, it ain’t home without you. Some people spend their days, lost in a heartless haze out in the cold if I may be so bold, that life is not for me ‘cause every day I see a better way and I can surely say…”

As he trailed off, he pulled away slightly to look at you, and he smiled; you were sound asleep, your head tilted slightly and your eyes tightly shut. Your breathing was steady and even, and your body was limp to the touch.

He was glad, as he knew how little sleep you got - usually around the same that he did - and that you deserved it a lot more than he did; all the times he had fucked you around, cancelled plans and gone out hunting when he really shouldn’t have - he hardly deserved you.

He had been loyal, of course he was, Dean was always so loyal to those he loved; but he knew that he was far from good enough to be with you. You were everything; you were smart and kind and brave and loyal, and he was just loyal.

Even though you tried to convince him a thousand times over that he was all of those things and more. You never got through to him.

Dean knew that you were too good for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to let you go; you loved him so much, he knew that, just as he knew that you would always be loyal to him.

He couldn’t let you go, even though he knew that he would only hurt you in the end; he knew he would hurt you, but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - allow you to let go.

So he snuggled down, pressing his lips to your throat as he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, hoping to get some sleep before the morning when you left.

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akumastrife · 3 months

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Knightmare Of Your Dreams // Dreamling

Rating: Explicit (Just All Smut) Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Word Count: 3k I have no excuse for this. I wanted to write weird and kinky Dreamling with a side of shapeshifting, the thinnest King and His Knight vibes, weird anatomy, some claws and shadow tentacles, and self-indulgence. Written for the "Eldritch" square on last year's Monsterfucktober Bingo that I never finished in time.

{Also on AO3} Shout out to "Violently (slowed) by Mira" that I listened to roughly 200 times while writing this bc its soooo Dreamling to me. also to Zomsaurus for the funniest line in any of my writing ever

It was never supposed to be like this. Death was for everyone else, never Hob. She’d promised.

But the Endless did not abide by such rules; drifted uncaring outside them. If Death could make such a thing, it could be assumed that one of the others could unmake it.

And now that the imminent danger is gone, now that Hob’s safe and remade under Dream’s protection, he can at least admit Hob looks wonderful on his knees.

Dream’s always thought so, and now he gives himself over to leisure to look his fill. He’s well and truly his now, shouldn’t he be allowed?

The visage Hob’s chosen for himself is fitting; muscle encapsulated in shining armor, a sword at his side and the helmet with haloed spikes set reverently beside him. The insignia, mirrored on cloak and shield, is Dream’s favorite part.

A burst of stars across a sea of black, glittering as it moves just as Dream’s coat does. It is the same, after all; a claim that makes primal satisfaction simmer low under his skin.

Dream’s remade him, and Hob has chosen to be his, still. Always.

Everything the Corinthian was supposed to be. Every iteration a pale imitation of the man Dream has followed through time.

“You do not have to kneel,” Dream says. Near purrs. Can tell the low timber is pleasing by the way exposed skin shivers in answer. But Hob himself does not move. Not even an inch to have his armor creaking.

“Perhaps,” Hob says, looking up quickly and the corners of his mouth flicking up similarly. “But you like it. And I owe you, don’t I?”

Hob owes him nothing. The centuries of give and take sprawl behind them, and Dream is almost certain the scales are still tilted in Hob’s favor.

And yet.

That is not what Hob is asking.

Now that he’s part of the dreaming, now that he’s part of Dream—intertwined irrevocably—there is little Dream cannot know about him. His feelings, his mind, his desires.

It is a game Hob’s wanting.

Dream hums, leaning back in his high-backed throne, crossing one leg over the other. Considers Hob, all his pieces, the laughing light in his soft eyes. Gestures wide and airy with one hand. “And what would you offer? To me, an Endless, who has need of nothing.”

Hob does shift then. “My lord,” said with all the impudence of a knight who ought to be taught to heel like a dog. His eyes drop, hungry and dark, down Dream’s front—

Dream finds himself wearing a velvet robe in the darkest shades of plum and night-sky blue, open to expose the moonlight of his torso. Plays fingers along the sweeping sleeve hems with half an eye on Hob, considering him and the outfit he’s put Dream in with sheer want alone.

“I see,” he murmurs. Watches Hob swallow. Extends his lifted foot, now encased in a soft stocking that runs the length of his leg under the edges of the robe, and slides it slow between Hob’s legs. Presses up, idly, like he is a curiosity and nothing more.

Hob shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he swallows again, jaw clenching against the sigh Dream can almost taste.

“You would like to serve me, then? You, who are now a Nightmare under my hand, and think yourself clever as a knight. All the centuries you’ve lived, and still, you crave a king to kneel before.”

When Hob doesn’t answer, Dream arches up his foot again, a smooth slide that pushes speech out of Hob.

“No,” Hob gasps.

“This says otherwise.”

“No. Not a king.” Hob grits his teeth, every part of his body (tight, honed and singing like a weapon begging to be asked to strike) shivering in an effort to stay still. “Just you.”

Warmth blooms and oozes under Dream’s skin. He lets the satisfaction radiate out as something tangible until Hob’s blinking up at him, expression bare in its awe.

“You are an impossibility,” Dream praises, softly. “I should’ve offered to keep you long ago.”

“I would’ve happily,” Hob says. “Let me now?”

“Be kept? Oh, Robert Gadling,” Dream says, leaning towards him. Takes Hob’s cheek in his hand, cradling gently before shifting to catch his chin in an unrelenting grip. “I am never letting you go, even if you beg.”

Hot hands land on his knees as Hob surges closer and leans up on knees still to catch his mouth in a kiss.

Dream lets himself be kissed. Let’s Hob direct it as hot and slick as he likes, lets himself be lulled under the rhythm like a boat bobbing gently on calm waters. It is at odds with the desire boiling under Hob’s hands, thrashing and teaming to get out. Barely contained in this body Dream has fashioned lovingly for him.

“What do you have for me?” Hob asks against Dream’s mouth, hoarse already with the want like it’s choking him. His hands slide reverently down Dream’s chest, toying with his nipples before following the edges of the robe to his lap. Kisses him gently as he finds Dream’s hips and holds on, thumbs rubbing back and forth.

“What would you like?”

Hob’s hands squeeze, breath catching audible in something too close to a whimper. Freezes, startled by the overwhelming realization and the world that’s been opened to him. Offered to him on a platter.

Dream slips into his mind easily, eyebrows raising at the dozens of images that flip through him. Hob’s brain working overtime with all his wonderings and filthy dreams.

Hob certainly isn’t lacking in imagination. It seems like he’s traded any shame he might’ve had for more of it.

If Hob is spoiled for choice, then he shouldn’t have to choose.

Dream selects a few of them, plucking them out of the mire with newly sharp claws, as precise as a spider traversing its own web. He feeds that thought to Hob while he has him, and smiles at the shudder it gets him.

“Are you that easy?” he asks. He runs his black-tipped claws through Hob’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“For anything, as long as it’s you,” Hob assures him, nipping at his lip.

“I might scare you.”

“You can’t,” Hob says.

Something dark and dangerous flares low in Dream, and he grips the back of Hob’s neck, dragging him back into a kiss. He has to taste him, has to steal his breath until he doesn’t breathe at all without Dream doing it for him.

Hob fumbles to strip his thin gloves off and find the opening of the robe with bare hands. “Please,” Hob groans. “I will be so good for you.”

His hands slip greedy to skin, wrapping around Dream’s cock. Strokes him slow to learn the new shape of him, to thumb all the fluted edges like a tall flower closed.

Hob bows his head to take him into his mouth immediately, groaning softly as his tongue dips into the slit.

Dream sighs, letting his hands wander of their own accord. The armor is mostly in his way, but he is not bound by mortal conventions and can slip beneath them. “You have only ever been perfect.”

Hob’s tongue is heavenly and cruel at once; a rolling softness that deftly coaxes at every place that sparks pleasure like Hob is singularly attuned to it.

The plush give of his mouth is enough that Dream distantly wonders if he had reshaped it to only accept him.

He wants to devour Hob whole, if only he might also feel this all-consuming pleasure.

Hob groans softly like he agrees.

“Easy,” Dream praises again, deftly flicking at every buckle and clasp of Hob’s armor with his claws. It all falls away under his whim, clattering indecent to the floor and echoing through the hall. Leaves Hob in just a soft tunic and breeches, and available to his hands and the shadows that ripple around them in pleasure. They shift and pulse in time with his own heartbeat. Grow larger and darker, building up on their own and teaming hungrily around Hob.

The hunger is its own entity, awakening from disuse in his body and ravenous for it.

Shadows pull together, wriggling into tendrils that wrap and caress Hob like a lover.

Dream can feel him shiver and shake, can feel his breathing stutter and deepen. Feels everything his shadows do, awareness split to watch Hob’s head move sinuous and also in the tendrils slipping under fabric and along tacky skin.

Exhales heavy and inexorable as he tips his head back and watches through the shadows that explore the length of Hob’s body, licking in every crease and curl against the tight heat of him.

“Hard for me?” Dream breathes. “Just from being on your knees, just from having your mouth full? Easy.”

“Merely rigor mortis, my lord,” Hob teases, tracing his tongue down.

Dream tightens his fingers in Hob’s hair, pulling warningly. “I gave you life, and I can take it away.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’m into that.”

Dream laughs despite himself, startled, and just as quickly it twists into a moan at the savage spear of tongue against his slit, the way Hob takes him so deep into his mouth he can feel the squeeze of his greedy throat.

“Do you wish to consume me?”

Hob whines, nails digging into his sides, swallowing again.

“Do you wish to take me inside all of you? Or shall I open myself up so your tongue may taste me at my core?”

Images fly fast and desperate behind Hob’s bruised eyelids, saliva pooling and dripping, knees twinging against stone as shadows finger lovingly along the inside of his thighs. Debauchery, and a spine-tingling notion of Dream splitting his cock open so Hob can lap his tongue down the center of it, giving pleasure from inside-out.

“Steady, love,” Dream eases. His claws betray him, digging into the back of straining shoulder blades. Trace slow paths that almost draw blood. “We have eternity yet.”

Dark tendrils tease up to Hob’s hole, laving attention and worming inside.

“Fucking terror,” Hob gasps, pulling back and jamming his face in the crease of Dream’s thigh.

“Just that? They are so small, just curious,” Dream muses, curling fingers through his hair, soothing. “You have taken more. This should be nothing.” Tightens and pulls, yanking Hob’s head back and savoring the electric groan.

“It’s well and truly different, and you know that.” Hob’s already panting. Shifts on his knees, hips hitching into empty air and then back on the mime of fingers. “More?”

Dream lets him have as much as he can take, humming a soft ballad from the thirteenth century as he feeds more to Hob, stretching inside him; another to wrap and squeeze his balls, preventing him from rocking himself to any sort of satisfying end. Savors the choked moan.

He would play with him like this for a century, like a cat does a mouse, toyed with on just the edge of some finality but never letting him have the satisfaction.

“Please,” Hob begs. “Please, anything you like, I will do anything, just—just more. I want to feel you. I need to feel you.”

He’s very lucky that it’s exactly what Dream himself wants. Lucky to be so handsome, to have caught Dream’s affection like the golden-limned muse he is. Lucky that Dream will happily bend time and reality for him.

Will happily help him up from the floor to kneel over Dream’s lap instead, and hold his hands firm for stability as Hob sinks down onto his length with a groan so obscene Dream’s sure it would put a whorehouse to shame.

“Look at you,” Dream purrs, watching every inch of Hob’s face tipped back in rapture. “You take me beautifully, my love.”

Hob laughs, something breathy and aborted, tight around all his edges as he squeezes Dream’s hands in a dozen things unsaid. Squeezes his eyes shut; squeezes around Dream himself, sweat dotting his skin as he takes a blessed moment to get used to the new shape of him remade for Dream’s pleasure.

Or maybe it the other way around, maybe it is Dream who’s been reshaped for Hob, to be used and enjoyed.

Dream continues to watch him, enjoying every detail and shift, as Hob takes his time. Runs sharp claws only somewhat careful up and down Hob’s heaving ribs, keeping his own hips still as Hob begins to rock small circles onto him. Keeps him deep inside, but chasing the little shocks of friction.

“Everything you wanted?”

“More,” Hob says. His thighs flex in an effort to lift and sink back down, building to some rhythm only he knows. It is heaven and hell both to feel him—better than, when he’s experienced both. Would rebuke both for this here, and does with his teeth to Hob’s throat, tasting the pounding of his heart as Hob works himself a little faster.

“And you?” Hob manages to ask.

Dream does not bother with words, just in the tightness of his hands and claws as he drags Hob closer into him, both of them gasping as talons pierce skin.

The dark tendrils are as hungry as ever, sliding around Hob’s skin and covering every inch Dream cannot. Teaming against them both like a desperate creature, jealous for attention. Needy still, despite having tasted Hob already. Maybe wants more for having done so already.

They are part of Dream, after all, and Dream does not think he will ever tire of tasting Hob. Tastes him again in an open kiss, slow and indulgent in contrast to the fast and brutal way Hob fucks himself on him. Tastes every breath and keen that escapes Hob. Tastes Hob’s skin and nipples and cock through the wriggling passes of darkness.

Hob is tight and hot and slick, and Dream buries his face into Hob’s neck, breathing deep and fast, grazing with very sharp teeth. Each press gets closer to breaking skin, and each one makes Hob shake harder.

“Will you give it to me?” Dream rumbles. Teeth and claws dig in so slowly, pressing wrenching gasps from Hob. Shadows build and creep around Hob’s cock, gripping him tight, squeezing in time with his own frantic rocking.

Hob sobs, body tense and face utterly slack in ecstasy. “I’d give you anything.”

“Just you then,” Dream says. Drags nails down to sink into the writhing dark mass to take Hob’s cock in hand. “Everything. You are everything.”

The smallest, weakest whine escapes Hob. As does a tear, tracking slow down his cheek.

Dream stretches to lick it up, saliva turning sticky as arousal swells. He grips Hob tight all over, free hand gripping his hip to yank him down into a frantic rhythm. Feels his pulse follow suit in the desperation—hears Hob’s do the same—thoughts swirling with the desire to fold Hob over something and well and truly claim him. The desire to hold Hob down and use him as much as Hob himself wants.

Wants most, ridiculously, to make Hob happy. And that is to stay right here and let desire fan the flames of his power until he is growing in size and energy, and still letting Hob curl over top of him as he shouts in painful sharp release.

Dream groans with him, drawing it out of him like spinning yarn, a gentle and thready tug-and-give, taking every shake, every pulse, all the suffusing warmth Hob has in him. Wishes to draw every ounce of damp completion out of him until he is as empty and cold as the armor he likes to wear. The armor still scattered on the floor of the throne’s dais. The sight of it over Hob’s shoulder (scratched, bitten, bleeding) is nearly as loose and erotic as the man still fucking himself on him is.

“Won’t you join me?” Hob gasps. His voice grates and fails him, near hoarse. Keens as he forces himself to tighten around Dream’s cock, trying to milk pleasure out of him. Hob is so tired. Dream can feel it. His exhaustion. His pleasure. His satisfaction. His greediness as his muscles spasm and twitch with continued stimulation. “You’ve made me feel so good, love. Won’t you let me do the same? Please.”

It wobbles. The word or Hob’s voice, or maybe Hob’s grasp on rationality.

Dream only hums. Loosens his grip on hip and cock both, softening to hold and stroke featherlight. “You are tired.”

Hob shakes his head. Resumes languid rolling of his hips.

“You might hurt yourself, continuing like this.”

“You will fix me,” Hob argues. Stubborn in life and death both.

“You are charming.”

Hob manages a breathy laugh. His expression tightens, eyes squeezed shut in focus. “If you don’t come inside me right now—”

Dream bites his lip, cutting it off neatly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just…” Rolls words around in his mouth, leaning back against the throne, watching Hob refuse to still.

The dark tendrils, pesky things, help him. Wrap around his waist and curl at his back, stabilizing him, keeping him from tumbling either direction.

“Not yet,” Dream decides.

Hob chokes on a whine, posture shooting ramrod straight as the layers of ridges on Dream’s cock expand outward. Just enough to keep him locked in place.

“You wanted something new to play with,” Dream reminds him, running claws through sweat-soaked hair. “Who am I to cut your fun short?”

#dreamling #the sandman #dream #hob gadling #monsterfucking #eldritch dream #shapeshifting #shadow tentacles #my writing #monsterfucktoberbingo #knight vibes #PWP

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