astreamofwishfulthinking - Tumblr blog

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Pss. Can we rent a monster to keeping us out depression? A safety net, they say? We sign with a list of tastes and activities that force us to interact with the world and they can use it as suggestion. Open possibilities for relationships.

Imagine keeping a monster as an emotional support pet.

You ring the service, explain the situation, and the next day they ship you some ghoulish, nightmare creature to keep you out of your misery. It takes care of you, joins you places, and frequently compliments you and offers you words of encouragement.

You show up at some party and someone asks with a trembling voice if the beast following you around is some sort of bodyguard. In reality, it occasionally whispers “you’re doing great” and cuddles you if you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated, or sad. “K-kind of”, you respond.

Bonus: you wonder out loud if you should continue the arrangement, feeling like a burden, or doubting the genuine intentions. The monster fidgets in a nervous panic, unsure how to tell you that it has been following you long before your call, and begged the service to send it as your emotional support. Without sounding creepy, that is. It just wanted to help, you see?

[Rent-A-Monster]

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Gluttony’s Hunger- Demons x Human

seven deadly sins vaguely based on Obey Me polyamorous in later chapters mostly gluttony x human

Summary:

What’s a human to do when an Avatar of Gluttony is dealing with a particularly bad craving that no food seems to sate?

Maggie has worked and lived with a set of Deadly Sins in the Infernal realm for years as part of a program to give some healthy/consensual outlet for their temptations.

One evening, Gula - the Avatar of Gluttony - cannot find a damned food item that satisfies him. It's not until Maggie enters the kitchen, asking what's wrong, he realizes what kind of hunger afflicts him.

She offers him something more satisfying than food but he fights off the temptation. Well, at least for a few days. When he indulges, he realizes she fills an emptiness he can't put words to.

However, demons aren't the most emotionally aware, so he - and the other Deadlies plus Maggie - stumbles through the feelings encroaching on their Infernal home.

Links under the cut

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

📚 Read on Tumblr

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6  (coming soon)

📙 Read on Wattpad

🎨 Supplementary Art/Misc

Seven Deadlies as Sims

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on: 

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or  Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

When you get to share your two beloved orcs in the moonlight 💚

Killik, Louisa, and Ulfarr are by the fabulous Nsf-ko, who's done such a perfect job with them! Their expressions! Their hair! Their blushes 🥹

They're from my book The Widow and the Orcs!

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Caldarus my beloved

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Well, I’m writing Zandalari smut instead of finishing any current projects and I’m blaming @jackiezenauthor because while I was going off about Zandalari oral in disc they drew this and gave me permission to use it if/when I wrote anything.

Part 2 here

(Tumblr can suck it, doesn’t show hole, pole, or boob)

So about 1.8k words of just smut because once they drew that I had to write something to go with it lol

(Do not @ Jackie over the amount of fingers lol, they don’t play WoW)

Salty air stung your nose as you wandered the docks of Dazar’alor. Merchant and explorer vessels lined the main dock, but they all paled in comparison to the warship at its end, one of the jewels of the Golden Fleet. Drawn to it, you made your way down the dock for a better look.

The sheer scale of everything in Dazar’alor was a marvel in and of itself, every sized to the Zandalaris’ impressive height. As Zandalari walked past you even the shortest towered over you at around 8.5ft tall, some of the taller were probably close to 10ft tall. You now understood how the gnomes and dwarves who visited human cities probably felt.

As you approached the warship you could hear the sailors chatting in Zandalai, the language had a musical quality though unfortunately you barely learned any on your voyage over. You watched the men and women move about the ship, checking over everything, it looked like the ship had docked just recently and there was still much to do.

It was mesmerizing watching the sailors as they moved around effortlessly, moving canons and ballistae with ease, climbing the masts to secure the sails. The ship itself was beautiful, painted in reds and golds, the figurehead on the front of the ship was carved to be Rezan, the Loa of Kings, and reliefs of Graal, lord of the ocean, adorned the sides.

Suddenly a voice came from your side, a Zandalari man said something you did not catch in Zandalai at all as you were lost in watching the ship. You looked up at him, quite a feat as you craned you neck and had to look nearly straight up to see his face. His skin was a light sky blue tone, and white hair shaved short on the sides and left long on top was pulled into a knot to keep off his face. Tusks jutted from between his lips from either corner of his mouth, arching downwards and outwards before curving back up.

The man repeated what he said, though you only understood a word or two.

You shook you head, hoping he got the message that you did not understand him.

He swapped languages and asked “Orcish?”

“An ok amount” you answered.

He smiled and nodded, “She is a beautiful ship, is she not?”

“She is” you agreed.

“Would you like to get a closer look?” he asked.

“Is that alright? Because I’d love to” you asked back.

“Being that she is my ship, I think I can allow it” he smiled, “Captain Daz’ai, of the Golden Fleet”.

You followed him to the ship where with ease he lifted you up to sit on the edge of a canon window before pulling himself up and through the window and then lifting you down on the other side. Below deck several crewmen were resting or re-securing the canons now that the ship was docked who all regarded you with curiosity. Several raised eyebrows at Daz’ai when you passed by, others elbowed each other and exchanged giggled words in Zandalai and smirks.

“Pay them no mind” Daz’ai assured you, “my crew loves to gossip”.

The same smirks and giggles followed you as you toured the ship from bow to stern, from upper deck to below. The ship itself was beautiful, every surface was painted and carved unlike the vessel you arrived on, though you found yourself watching Daz’ai almost as much as the ship.

He was the first Zandalari you had ever seen up close and he was imposing by sheer virtue of his height, but undeniably handsome. Golden tattoos that appeared to be more than just plain ink wound down his chest, back, and arms in geometric lines that mimicked the carvings on the ship and glinted in the sunlight. He was dressed simply, brown pants that came down to just below his knees with simple belt and no shirt.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, you were fairly certain that he had caught you looking at him.

You managed to stammer out an embarrassed “Yes”.

“You know as captain of the ship I have my own private quarters” he looked you over, gauging your reaction.

“Nice perk of being a captain”.

“It is, let me show you” he guided you back down below deck and to an ornately carved set of doors at the stern.

Beyond the doors was a stately room decorated in the same fashion as the rest of the ship. A large desk covered in maps and navigation charts took up a large part of the center of the room along with a few chairs. Off to the side was a wardrobe, a small dining table, and a large bed.

“Must be a lot of working being the captain of a ship like this” you trailed off as you felt him close the distance between the two of you, quickly backing you against the closed doors.

“It is, but it is also not without its perks” he loomed over you, hunched over to nearly reach down to your eye level, “I could not help but notice you were watching me as much as the ship. Tell me, little human, have you ever been with a Zandalari?”

“No” your breath hitched in your throat and your heart quickened. His tusks touched the wall behind you on either side of your head, effectively pinning you there.

“Ever been with someone who was not human?”

“No” your voice barely a whisper as your thoughts raced.

“Then let me show you what you are missing” easily he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling you into a kiss, his large tongue quickly parting your lips and probing into your mouth to explore. He pressed your lower back against his torso firmly, pushing you to grind against him though you barely needed any encouragement to.

Almost immediately you were panting, the excitement of what you were doing was sending tingles down your limbs. Without warning Daz’ai set you down on your feet and involuntarily you let out a whine from the ache between your thighs.

“Don’t you worry, I’m not done with you” he smirked and hooked a thick finger into the waist of you pants, swiftly pulling both them and your underwear down in one fluid motion.

Instantly you shrank back out of instinct, self conscious of your soft, round form compared to Daz’ai well muscled build.

“Don’t” his voice was gentle, but carried an air of command, he took both of your wrists in one large hand and pinned them against the wall over your head, “Let me see you” his free hand ran down your side, softly pressing into the fat on your hips and thighs, while he muttered something in Zandalai.

He knelt down in front of you, even knelling he was only scarcely shorter than you. Keeping you pressed to the doors he lifted you once more, this time pressing his tusks against the door just under your thighs. He bent your legs and guided your knees to rest on his shoulders, the little armor like plates that dotted his shoulders dug into your knees and braced the balls of your feet against the top of his chest.

Like this his face was mere inches from your entrance, you resting on his tusks and braced against him, his breath warm against your skin. You leaned forwards for balance and wrapped your hands into his hair as best you could. His hands quickly found their way to your hips and he pulled you forward until his lips brushed against your folds.

Tentatively you felt his tongue slip between your folds, warm and wet, working in soft strokes up and down. His hands moved to your thighs, grabbing you firmly to secure you better while you balanced.

You sighed and melted forwards, resting your forearms against the top of his head. This was not how you expected your first day in the city to go, but you could hardly complain.

Daz’ai worked his tongue up farther, finding your clit and causing you to lurch forward in surprise. You felt the rumbles of his laugh against your clit and let out a soft moan from how good it felt. He continued alternating between swirling his tongue around your clit and licking strokes down your cunt until you found yourself grinding against his face without realizing it.

“Please” you moaned, not even sure what you were asking for but knowing you needed more, Daz’ai was happy to oblige.

You felt his tongue press against your entrance before sliding into you. Just his tongue alone was giving you a pleasant stretch and your toes curled as you felt him running his tongue along your walls and exploring every inch he could.

Now purposely you continued to grind against his face, settling into a steady rhythm against your clit while he continued his own movements in you. His tongue pressed along the sensitive, soft spot in you and you saw stars and clenched around his tongue, which only spurred him on to pay attention to that spot. He pressed the tip of his long, thick tongue against the spot with a firm pressure and began to fuck his tongue into you, making sure to keep contact with it.

Your breath was now just ragged panting, you felt yourself twitching and clenching on his tongue while he settled into a steady rhythm that matched your own grinding. By the light he was better with his tongue than any previous partner you had even using their cock.

His nails dug into your thighs and his pace quickened, seemingly urging you to fully let go, and you did.

The building tightness in your core gave way to a warmth and tingle that spread through your whole body in pulses. Your walls clenched around his tongue though he did not stop or slow down until he felt you finally go slack. By the time he relented you were gasping for air and your whole body felt weak. Slowly he licked you, lapping up any juices that spilled from your cunt and seeming to savor you, making you twitch from the overstimulation with every movement.

Gently he lifted you off his tusks and lowered you to your feet where you wobbled and leaned heavily against the door. You looked up at him, his face glistening in your fluids though he was clearly unbothered by it. Your head was barely at his waist with him standing up, making you the perfect height to be very aware of his hard cock barely seeming restrained in his pants.

“Catch your breath, little human, we’ve only just begun” he smiled at you.

Second part

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Second part to this (direct continuation)

NSFW, minors do not interact

Fem!reader x zandalari troll, fingering, squirting, size kink

“So tired just from that?” Daz’ai’s words were teasing but playful as he watched you wobble and lean on the door for support.

Between having your knees locked the whole time and the thorough job he had done eating you out you were wobbling as if the ship was in a storm instead of docked. You were also in no condition to protest as Daz’ai lifted you up and carried you to the bed where he then carefully laid you down among the pillows.

You watched as he undid his belt, unable to tear your eyes from him actually. It was mesmerizing watching his tattoos catch the sunlight, watching muscles move under taut skin. He moved slowly and with purpose, giving you a sly smile and watching your reaction when he finally stepped out of his pants.

Surprise was not quite the right word, you already had a good idea of what you would be dealing with, but still there must have been a look of shock on your face, which only seemed to make Daz’ai smile more.

“Don’t you worry, I have nothing but time to get you ready. It’s one of my favorite parts” his eyes never leaving your face.

He settled down onto the bed and pulled you close, your back flush against his chest, dwarfed by his size. His knee nudged your thighs apart and you felt him nestle his cock between your legs, rubbing against your still wet folds.

Automatically you angled your hips back, trying to give him a better angle to line up with you, which only made him laugh.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, trust me when I say that’s not going to work” the rumbles of his laugh and voice traveled pleasantly down your spine and straight between your legs. “Let me enjoy you like this while you find your legs again”.

Slowly he thrusted between your thighs, the remaining wetness of your cunt let him slide easily. His hand pressed down on to the top of your leg, nudging you squeeze him between them firmly and you happily complied.

Clearly he was in no hurry, lazily thrusting while the hand that was on your leg drifted up and under your shirt. Rough, calloused fingertips gently pinched and rolled one of your nipples and you let out a soft sigh in response.

“Not many humans making their way to Dazar’alor, even with the war over, so what brings you here?” he asked nonchalantly as if he was not currently grinding between your thighs.

Between soft sighs you managed to answer him, “Just needed a change. I went my whole life living in one city, figured it was time to get out in the world”.

Once more his low, rumbling laugh sent pleasant tingles down your spine and left a warmth between your legs, “Now that, that’s something I truly understand” he said.

Tentatively you reached down and ran your fingers along his tip as it poked out from between your plump thighs, feeling the beads of pre cum forming. You pressed his shaft up against your folds and clit more firmly, enjoying the friction as he continued to grind against you.

“And not shy, I like that” he said as he gave your nipple a particularly firm pinch that made you let out a loud moan, “I like people who know what they want”.

You closed your eyes, exhausted from both the long voyage to Dazar’alor and from Daz’ai, though more than happy to let Daz’ai continue with you how he pleased. With how tall he was, your head was only up to the middle of his chest laying like this, making you feel completely enveloped by him as he curled around you. He reached down with his free hand to tilt your face up to look at him, at this angle his tusks got in the way trying to kiss the top of your head, so he settled for just pressing his forehead to the top of your head instead.

It would be a lie to say that you were not at least a little confused by him, he was awfully gentle and affectionate for a hook up.

“So,” you began, “have you been with humans before?”

Another laugh from him pleasantly traveled down your spine from where you were pressed against him, “Many times, I’m actually quite fond of humans, the soft little things you are” he gave the fat of your hip a squeeze with the hand that had been resting on your thigh.

The smirks and giggles from his crew made more since now, an apparent pattern of behavior for him, not that it mattered to you. You had just been curious to see the warship up close, the fact that the captain was handsome and had a things for humans was just a bonus.

“So is this how you usually get someone in bed with you? Invite them to your ship and bring them back to your quarters?” you teased.

“I usually just head to the tavern, find someone interesting, then hope they have a partner who also wants to come along too” he smiled back.

You blushed at his words, figuring it was probably not a joke. He was confident, knew what he liked, and clearly was very experienced, and it was wildly attractive.

Carefully he rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him, setting you to straddle his hips, and seeing him under you was quite a sight.

Regal would be a good word to describe him. From the little bit you knew of Zandalari culture you knew he was not just handsome to you as a human, but definitely drew attention everywhere he went. He was tall, well muscled with a broad chest and back, and very impressive tusks. You remembered hearing people on the voyage to Dazar’alor giggle over tusk sizes and possible correlations, and well, maybe there was some merit.

A few stands of long white hair had slipped free from where he kept his hair tied up. His tattoos were mesmerizing, the ink shined like gold in the light and you traced your fingers along the lines on his chest. As you touched him he watched you, though you could not meet his gaze, there was something about the glow of his solid colored eyes was just too intense.

“So,” you began, “you have a thing for humans?”

“I do. Is that a problem?” he asked back, his hands on your hips encouraging you to grind against him.

“No, I’m just surprised, I always heard that the Zandalari were pretty insular”.

He snorted, and though it was hard to tell for sure, you were fairly certain he rolled his eyes, “Not insular” he corrected firmly, “We are explorers and keepers of knowledge, we just have our way of life and very few are willing to leave and give it up”.

“Oh” you said softly. His tone was firm, but not annoyed or angry, though it left you feeling like you were a kid back in school being scolded by a teacher for asking a dumb question.

“One of the most important things to us is collecting and preserving knowledge. You cannot build the libraries we have if you refuse to travel and learn about others, and I quite like learning about others, especially hands on”. He moved a large hand up to your breast to gently give you a squeeze and seemingly to make his point.

“And what have you learned about humans?” you asked.

He let out a low hum before speaking, “Humans are cocky, you see a Zandalari and want to start a fight. I’m no fighter, but I’ve sent many cocky humans home with wounded pride.

“And humans come in so many shapes and sizes, unlike Zandalari. My people value strength almost above all else, does not leave a lot of room for different looks, it’s boring. But a human like you? Soft and round, how much better it feels to have soft thighs around my cock, how good those wide hips look bent over, being able to grab on and get a good handful of someone?” his other hand grabbed onto the fat of your hip, “So beautifully different than what I was used to”.

Your face was red hot from the way he spoke, from the way he looked at you with such desire.

“So, my pretty little human, think you’re steady enough now for me to really tire you out?” he asked.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, still worn out from earlier and now overstimulated from his shaft rubbing your clit the whole time, “All yours” you smiled still.

It was surprising how quickly he could move. Before you knew it he had flipped you onto your back on the bed and was seated between your legs. His hands started at your knees and he took his time gently squeezing and playing with your thighs as he worked his way up, occasionally stopping to kiss the tops of your legs. You marveled at his hands, only two thick fingers and a thumb per hand like all trolls, and you were eager to experience what he could do with them.

Daz’ai slowly dragged one of those thick fingers between your folds and tentatively pressed against your entrance. “You’ll tell me if anything is too much, ok?” it was not a question as much as it was a command.

“Ok” you answered back, already panting in anticipation.

The stretch from his finger was incredible and you squirmed under his careful touch as he began to enter you. He paused periodically, anticipating when it was getting to be too much even before you needed to say anything. Occasionally stopping to rub his finger along your wet heat while he patiently waited for you to adjust.

“By the light you really know what you’re doing” you gasped as he slid his finger in a bit farther.

“I’ve had plenty of practice” he gave you a sly smile.

Expertly and thoroughly he worked you over, sliding his finger almost entirely out before gently working in back in and softly rubbing against your cervix once you were able to handle it. Many time he paused just a few inches in to stroke your most sensitive spots, making you see stars. None of his movements were fast nor particularly intense, instead he was precise, listening to your moans and constantly adjusting what he was doing.

As he settled into a steady pattern and rhythm with you, his free hand moved to your clit. His pressure was light as he started, tentatively varying it until he found what really made you moan. Never once did he falter in his rhythm, nor did he look away from your face.

“Just relax, pretty little thing. You’re still so tense, and haven’t I been so gentle with you?” he cooed.

You closed you eyes, just focusing on how incredible everything felt.

It was hard to tell how old Daz’ai was exactly, all you knew was he was older than you, wildly more experienced than you, and that you were more than happy to let him lead.

You could feel how hard you were clenching around his finger as you got closer. The tension in your core building endlessly from his steady pace, enough to leave you panting but not enough to tip you over the edge.

“Please” you begged him for the second time that day.

“Hmmmm? ‘Please’ what?” he asked back, a teasing tone in his voice.

“More. Please”.

“I was going to drag this out as long as I could, but if you’re going to ask so nicely” he trailed off, pressing another kiss to the top of your leg before making sure you felt every bit of him, his steady pace increasing and making your toes curl.

All you could manage was incoherent babbling, strings of “yes” or “oh fuck” as you felt like every nerve in your body was on fire in the most incredible way. The first waves of your release hit hard, your brain locking up and not being able to make a sound for the first few moments, then came a new feeling. A spray of fluids from you that coated Da’zai chest and the sheets under you.

“I’m so sorry! That’s never happened before” you exclaimed in your embarrassment. “I don’t know what- I didn’t mean to”

Swiftly he cut you off, looking highly amused as you babbled on in a panic, “I have that effect on people. And whatever you think just happened? No”.

“No?”

“No” he repeated, a cocky smile now on his face, “Though, now I know I’m the best you’ve ever had”.

Even without seeing yourself, you knew your face was beet red. He was right. He was the best you have ever had and by a wide margin. You had had plenty of good sex in your life, even great sex at times, but Daz’ai’s idea of foreplay was an entirely different thing.

He dragged himself over to lay on his side next to you, pausing only for a moment to use the corner of the sheet to wipe himself off, “Don’t look so embarrassed, it felt good, right?” he asked.

“Yeah” was all you could manage, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest from your orgasm and your embarrassment.

“It’s normal, not something everyone can do, but my ego does like that I must be the first to get you to squirt” slowly he ran his fingers along your hips and leg, “And that was just a finger, imagine how good it’ll feel riding my cock while I play with your clit and nipples”.

You squirmed as you felt your cunt flutter in response to his words, already feeling more wetness forming at the thought.

“I’m going to have so much fun playing with this pretty, soft body” he cooed at you as he tossed an arm over you and happily kneaded his hand into the fat of your hips.

The way he looked at you made you blush more than his words, the intense desire mixed with a gentleness.

“You look so good like this, feeling so good, so pliable and ready for me. Rest for moment, close your eyes and doze if you need, and then when you’re ready I’m going to make sure you come looking for my ship any time you’re in the city”.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

do you have anything about some sort of reptile-based monster that involves hemipenes? i think it’s a very cool way to do double penetration with only one top

A/N: First part of this was one of the stories in the 10k followers event (find it here). Enjoy!

Lizard-brain: the research

Lizardman x fem!reader || double penetration, hemi-peens, tail play, light choking, exhibitionism, dirty talk (low key)

When he pulled out, you felt your holes twitching at the same time a mechanical voice said from the speakers: “You did well, researcher, very interesting data was recorded.” Shit, you forgot there were people watching and probably saw you get fucked within an inch of your life. All your coworkers just watched you getting double creampied by a giant lizard-man. Great.

You were allowed to go home after that, your boss telling you to go clean yourself and the next day you could go over the data with them. Your lizard mate wasn’t happy about it, but he complied knowing he could see you the next day. You felt many emotions when you left the place, not ready to name any of them, you only showered and went to sleep, your body sore in the best way possible.

You arrived to the facility next day, and the first thing your boss said was: “We need you to do it again,” you looked at them confused, what the fuck did they mean.

“What?” You asked, looking at the monitors in the wall to try catch a sight of your mate.

He explained some of the data they collected, but how it was still very early in the research to know for sure, that’s why they said: “We need more data, and you are his mate after all.” You looked at him with understanding, your scientific brain already working all the possible conclusions of all the data collected so far and how much more you could know if you kept it. But also...

“I need to talk to him about this,” you told them. You had feelings for a big monster, and he considered you his mate, there was a lot of possible ethical problems there.

“Oh yes, it talks. True.” They said, but like it didn’t matter at all.

That infuriated you, but you swallowed your complaints, trying to understand why you felt so protective over him. And then it clicked, mate bonds weren’t only one way, he felt the mate bond, but you felt it back. You cemented your bond with sex and now you felt tied to him the same way he was tied to you. That realization should have scared you, but only made your stomach flip with butterflies. You had a mate. And that came with a new goal in mind: demonstrate that lizard-people could go outside and live like equals to humans. That started with proving your mate bond was true and necessary, scientifically. And if that meant to be fucked in front of some researcher, so be it.

The talk with your mate went as well as expected. He was more than okay with the idea of fucking you again, but not so keen on the idea of other people being there. But the head researcher insisted it was important for somebody to be in the room with you to catalog fine movements and reactions that cameras couldn’t capture. You agreed with them on that, that’s the only reason you accepted (nothing to do with the fact that you might or might not have a bit of an exhibitionist kink).

And that’s why you were naked over a medical bed with your lizard-man mate over your body and a researcher standing a few meters away. Your pussy was already wet, needy and desperate to be filled to the brim again. Your lizard mate was looking at you intensely, caressing your body with one hand as he jerked his upper dick with the other. You knew this position meant big dick downstairs, and you were already anticipating the stretch.

He approached you and rubbed his small upper dick against your entrance. “Good job, keep going,” the researcher instructed. “Touch her pussy.”

Your lizard stopped and turned to look at them. “Don’t tell me what to do with my mate,” he growled, making the researcher step back and cover their mouth. “You are here because she wanted it, but I will kill you if you say more,” the danger in his tone indicated he wasn’t kidding. And it made your clit tingle.

You reached up to touch his face and redirect his attention to you, rolling your hips to feel his dick against your needy pussy. He pushed his dick slowly, breathing hard over you, his eyes never leaving yours. You could hear his tail thrashing behind him as you caressed his head with your short nails. He purred, making you giggle as he pushed his upper dick a bit further inside your pussy. The groan he got in response made him chuckle as you felt his claws probing your asshole.

“Are you going to be a good mate today, too?” His question was filled with hope, and you could only nod, trusting him and his magic precum to make it possible. Seeing as you woke up without any pain, you guessed the magic was more than great and would help you out this time around, too. “Such a good mate for me, your holes are so perfect,” he was talking to you but not really. He seemed far away, like your pussy was transporting him into another dimension.

He started rubbing his big dick against your asshole, and you instantly felt the calmness and relaxation of his precum, allowing him to push the tip inside. You cried out, way too big. There was no pain, but the stretch was noticeable as he kept going, and going, and going… By the time he was fully inside you were breathing hard and he had crazed eyes. It was intoxicating.

“How is he doing that?” The researcher asked out loud, stepping a bit closer and earning themselves a warning growl.

“Ssssshut up!” Your lizard mate hissed in their direction, his pace fluttering at the distraction.

“But I-” The researcher tried again.

You looked over at them, trying to move your hips to get your mate to move again. “I will fill a report later,” you told them between pants.

“But I-,” they insisted.

It was enough. “SHUT UP!” You yelled at them as your lizard man stopped moving completely to glare at you, surprised. “Shut the fuck up and I will answer the questions, but you won’t be able to get any responses if you don’t shut up and let my mate fuck me senseless,” you let out between your teeth.

Said mate liked your outburst very much, soon grabbing your face forcefully to look at you. He started fucking you with intent then, the combination of his dicks inside of you driving you insane in a matter of seconds. He reached you neck and squeezed, feeling the vibrations of your moans against his hand and increasing his thrusts to make you lose your mind.

You felt something different this time, the tip of his scaled tail reaching around his body to rub against your clit. The textured surface made you see stars and the universe as he played with you in every way, taking your pleasure to the next level. It was exhilarating, your mouth open and your head thrown back as he fucked you like a machine.

He lowered his body, whispering against your ear: “Come for me, my mate, let me feel your holes milking me.” And like a good girl, you exploded into a million pieces as he growled over you and painted your insides with his cum.

This time around he didn’t stop, though. He kept fucking you for what felt like hours, probably were. You forgot everything about research and people watching, you forgot everything about your boss and the world. You could only focus on his dicks inside of you and his tail rubbing your clit until you came so many times that you had to ask for mercy, which he sweetly complied. He kissed your forehead and pulled out, leaving you messy and exhausted.

Once again you found yourself creampied in front of all your colleagues. Your job was suddenly a lot more interesting than two days ago.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

I can’t stop cackling; I goddamn love horny statues. This dragon statue (Fuente del Dragón) is found in Soportújar, Spain. It features an erect dragon dick that spurts water. So the rumors go, if you drink from the water it contains aphrodisiac properties and enhances fertility 👀✨

If anyone knows of any other horny monster statues let me know! I love this shit, always tickles me to see

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Come Quietly (18+)

Pairing: König/Fem Reader Content Warnings: Intense situation (fear of SA), nonconsensual frisking, hand over mouth gag, blood/wound dressing, forced proximity, brief thoughts of suicide, dubious consent (under duress), stranger sex, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, she/her reader Word Count: 8.7k

This shouldn't be happening.

You curl tighter in on yourself in the darkness, flinching with every muffled rat-tat-tat coming from somewhere outside. 

This isn't some goddamned war zone, this is a normal fucking city, with a functional police force and Apple Watches and Chipotle. Armed militants don't just drop out of the sky and fight each other, that’s not how this works. 

The boom of an explosion outside has you mashing your forehead into your kneecaps, hugging your legs so tight that the tendons in your arms ache. With any luck, no one will notice your little hidey hole. It’s more or less tucked into the rafters, above the lights of this warehouse, and the average person would have to do a lot of looking up and squinting to even know it exists. 

But maybe mercenaries are used to looking up, for like… snipers, or drones or something. Maybe this is the worst place you could have gone, maybe you should have hidden more in plain sight, found a locker in the staff shower area or something.  

There’s a heavy shift of metal-on-metal when the solid, industrial outer door gets wrenched open somewhere below you. You ration your breaths, making sure you’re absolutely motionless as several heavy footsteps wander through the place. Male laughter trickles up to your ears, and you hate it. The innate cruelty of someone enjoying what’s happening right now, terrorizing people in the middle of the night, makes your blood boil. You hope they all trip and fall in this dim, off-hours lighting, and impale themselves on something sharp.

You’re very aware of who you are, what you are, in the face of those quiet laughs and the click and shuffle of guns and gear moving. You’re nobody to them. You’ve got no phone, no shoes, not even a fucking bra, because this all happened so quickly that there wasn’t time to do anything but stumble out of bed and run. 

The pounding of your pulse almost makes it difficult to concentrate on those retreating footsteps. You hope they’re gone for good, leaving you with your sore arm - you scratched it on something sharp while climbing up here - your racing thoughts, and your mouth that’s fucking parched from your scramble to safety. It’s useless to swallow but you do it anyway, as if the motion will somehow manufacture more spit, and keep your throat from going all cracked and itchy. Coughing is not an option. Coughing will get you killed.

The footsteps are definitely gone, but a different noise begins to make itself known to you. It’s a slow, steady, huff, huff. You narrow your focus to that sound, subconsciously scouring your memories for a possible match. It’s not quite fabric shifting, not quite panting. It’s getting closer, though, almost like it’s floating in the air towards y—

A bulky black shadow moves, rising up over the edge of your hiding place, right past where your feet lay. It huffs quietly, halting for a few seconds to catch its breath, before heaving itself up over the edge of your one safe place.

Your ears are ringing with how terrified you are. Even though you’re lying down, blood somehow manages to rush from your face, and all you have the presence of mind to do is silently tuck your feet in as tight as they’ll go, holding your breath and just praying this monster will fall to his death, or somehow not notice you, or—

The shadow’s knee finds purchase on the surface where you’re lying, and his arm is so long that when he reaches out to haul himself the rest of the way up, his hand makes contact with the front of your shin. 

How anyone can move that fast, you have no idea. One moment you’re barely suppressing your whimper of terror, and the next he’s got hold of your ankle, using your body weight to assist him to vault the rest of the way onto the platform, directly on top of you. 

Suddenly you can’t breathe. There’s something scratchy and heavy and sticky covering your mouth and nose, effectively preventing the scream that rises in your throat while this thing crouches on his knees above you. You’re so unprepared for your oxygen to be cut off like this that you freeze in panic, not even registering for a few seconds that this brute’s other hand is on your body. 

Squeezing, feeling, groping, the lumbering shadow doesn’t hesitate to violate you. You choke on that faint smell of blood and gunpowder in his suffocating glove while he runs his hand over you, under your arms, over your breasts, tucking his fingers into the band of your leggings and rushing them across to the other side of your hip. It’s not until he starts squeezing your thighs and running his hand down to your ankles that you actually realize what he’s doing. With a small wave of relief, you register that he’s not trying to cop a feel, he’s frisking you for weapons. 

 The hand over your mouth finally shifts low enough that you can force in some air through your nose. You do so greedily, not even caring that much that he’s palming your ass and lower back in a final inspection for objects. Apparently satisfied at your helplessness, the shadow’s searching hand slows, comes around to splay out across your stomach and keep you in place while he stays there straddling your hips.

Huff, huff. 

He’s thinking. 

This is the most dangerous moment of all, as he catches his breath and decides what to do with you. He’s found a helpless rabbit curled up in his chosen hiding spot, and the only question now is if he sees you as something inconvenient and disposable, or as something for eating. 

He’s covered in gear, you felt that much when he was pressed on top of you for a bit. He’s probably got all kinds of body armor and maybe a bullet proof helmet, but if you could get your hand on a pistol… He probably has one strapped somewhere to his leg, as a backup if his rifle gets jammed. Maybe you could find a way to pull it free, and slide it into an exposed portion of his neck. Or if that’s not an option, you could always shoot yourself. End it that way, before something worse can happen. 

The hand on your stomach vanishes, and there’s a rustling sound of fabric. You feel the flinch in his fingers on your mouth when the rip of velcro disturbs the quiet air. You want his hand gone, but you don’t dare move, not yet. Let him have no information about your capabilities. Save up your physical exertion for when you might need it most. Throwing yourself off this fucking platform wouldn’t be too difficult, if you took him by surprise. Maybe you could even take him down with you. 

The monster’s knee shifts against the wood below him, and then he grabs for your wrist. Your muscles are so locked up in terror that he has to force your arm to extend, has to put a good deal of effort into dragging your hand towards the darkness where his crotch is. Your eyes squeeze closed tightly, sobbing dry air through your nose as your hand makes contact with something warm and wet.

Wait, that’s his thigh. He presses your hand to it, hard, like he’s trying to make you understand. Pressure, he wants you to put pressure on his leg. His wet, bloody leg. 

It’s difficult to do from the position you’re in, but you’re so relieved that this is just a medical task, you do what he’s asking. His giant hand vanishes from the top of yours, and you put as much force on his wound as you can. You swear the oppressive weight of his glove over your mouth even softens a fraction, while he reaches for something else on his belt.

A wad of fabric gets forced into your palm, and again he wordlessly shows you to apply pressure. It feels like it could be blood clotting gauze, so you search for his wound with your fingers, and then use your thumb to fucking pack that sucker in. There’s a soft grunt of pain above you, but he doesn’t do anything to show that your knowledge of the field dressing is unwelcome. 

A thought flashes through your head, that maybe he’ll spare you from something inhuman if you’re extra useful. But your life experience quickly smashes that hope, because you know it might actually be the opposite.

Fawn, it’s got to be a fawn response that has you holding the gauze perfectly in place for this horrible stranger. You can feel him wrapping something around his leg, trying to tie it one handed, which is ridiculous because it’s way too short. You can tell that much when you reach a hand over to assist. His thigh is fucking massive, and there’s no way to properly secure whatever it is you’ve got the end of. 

He’s going to make you lay here for an hour, putting pressure on that damn gauze if you can’t think of something else. He’s going to bleed unnecessarily if you can’t come up with a solution. 

Despising yourself, you do the worst thing you can possibly imagine doing. You move his hand in place for pressure, and then peel off your own leggings to get his injury taken care of. 

The hateful thing stays there on his knees, breathing heavily with one hand on his leg and the other wrapped around the bottom of your face. You work your own goddamn clothing off, stripping yourself down to underwear, and wrap those stretchy leggings twice around his thigh before tying them as tight as you can. You set your teeth and yank the knot roughly into place, and you hope it hurts like a bitch. 

There. You’re officially suicidal, you fucking idiot. And those were your second favorite leggings. 

You drop your arms back to the floor and wait for the consequences of your stupid actions. You’re not relaxed, not by a long shot. There’s adrenaline racing through your veins, and you’re braced to shoulder him off the edge like a linebacker. Maybe if you can get your feet past his hips, you could just kangaroo this motherfucker into thin air. 

That sickening weight on your mouth finally drops away. The soldier hesitates with his fingertips on your cheek, waiting to see if you’ll scream. 

No? Okay, then.

He draws his hand back and fiddles with something near his hip. There’s a faint sound of sliding aluminum, and then he grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head forward. You instinctively fight that push, until you feel something cold and metal press against your mouth. The rim of a canteen. 

Greedily you grab hold of his wrist and take a few swallows of lukewarm water, uncaring that it has that slight chemical taste, like a plastic water bottle that’s been sitting in the sun. You’re so dehydrated that you don’t even comprehend the significance of the peace offering, until he’s dragging it away to ration the rest of the water for himself. 

You could down an entire fishbowl right now, but you suppose two drinks of water isn’t the worst thing he could have given you. It shows that he sees you as human, at least. Your leggings, in exchange for a little water. Fair. 

The soldier’s hand slips under your lower back, and to your absolute horror, he turns you towards himself as he settles down to the floor.

Dammit. Of course you ended up here. There’s not room for both of you side-by-side on this ledge, but he really does need to lie down with that injury. So now you get to play Titanic and get draped across this murderer’s chest on this little platform which probably only exists to access the electrical system. Full body contact. Great.

Theoretically he must know that your legs are bare, but maybe he forgot. Maybe he’s so tunnel-visioned in on the battle and getting shot, that those little details haven’t really clicked into place in his head. Maybe he didn’t notice you weren’t wearing a bra, when he squished your tits earlier. Maybe he’s lost too much blood, and you’ll be able to slip away to safety once he passes out. Maybe that should have been the goal from the start, and you shouldn’t have dressed his wound quite so well. 

A gloved hand unexpectedly makes contact with your forehead, and you immediately flinch away from it. There’s a soft, understanding kind of rumble that vibrates through the man for a second, and then a sound of Velcro, and fabric shifting. 

You’re prepared enough this time that you don’t react when bare, human fingers find your temple. You merely squeeze your eyes shut and wait for it to stop, wanting nothing to do with some horrible soldier’s hand on your face. You don’t dare wrench your head away, but you lock your muscles tight and hope that’s enough for him to change his mind.

Nope. Fingers brush over your skin, smoothing your hair off your forehead. He hesitates, then you feel the purposeful press of a rough palm against your chin, curving his hand around your jaw. 

Thanks to that drink of water, you’re able to work your tongue and prepare a decent glob of spit to launch at him if he even tries to kiss you. But his hand shifts again, running upwards. 

He’s mapping out your face, you think. A little stroke of his thumb over the middle of your cheek, running down the side of your nose. He pushes your hair back again before feeling the pads of his fingers over your eyebrow, and then down the curve of your cheekbone, delicately disturbing your lashes. 

He’s being gentle at least, slowly taking stock of your features in the darkness. To what end, you’re not sure. Maybe he’s so much of a prick that he has to decide if you’re pretty enough to assault. Maybe he’s racist, and he’s trying to figure out from your bone structure if you’re white enough. Maybe he’s some twisted serial killer who gets off on lulling his victims into a false sense of security before he tortures them to death. 

The tip of your nose gets an exploratory press between his fingers, and then his thumb drops down and carefully finds your mouth. You’re completely unprepared for that warm flood of tingles, starting in your lower lip and then washing out across your neck. You make a surprised inhale against the pad of his thumb, almost a gasp, at how sensitive your skin is there. 

As if you startled him, that searching touch instantly disappears. 

His thumb is gone, but for some reason your lips hold onto the lingering ghost of the sensation. It just stays there, nearly vibrating inside your skin, as if he accidentally discovered a vulnerable piece of your nervous system and somehow managed to touch it just right. It gives you that bizarre feeling of something being missing inside you, something being a little bit out of place all of a sudden, even though you’re quite whole and uninjured.

He doesn’t come back to your mouth, but his hand does find your skin again. He shifts it down to your neck, curling around your nape and letting his fingers trace up into your hair. He cups the back of your skull like that for a moment, exploring the feel of your head in his hand, and you subtly shift your fingers to explore any possible weapons on his vest. 

You’re not sure what you’re feeling for. A grenade and a spare magazine would probably feel about the same to you in the blackness like this. You’re about as likely to get yourself accidentally killed as you are to find a handgun, but you do it anyway, brushing your fingers across his gear as if you’re being flirty. You’re too concentrated on survival to let yourself feel sick about it. 

There’s a noise from somewhere below, and the solder goes taut beneath you, quickly muzzling you with his palm. His other hand wraps around the back of your head to keep you completely immobilized while those hateful footsteps walk through the place again. There are sirens going faintly outside, but there’s a worrisome lack of urgency in the movements of the pack of men in the warehouse. They’re far too comfortable being here. 

It’s impossible to tell what they’re saying to each other, so instead you focus on how your head is currently being held in the jaws of a predator. It’s unnervingly close to the position you see over and over on TV, right before someone gets their neck snapped. 

He could do it, you think. Any time he wants, he could wrench your head around and end your life without a single noise. You wonder if he’s thinking that, too, from the way his fingers shift and tighten on the back of your skull. Twist, snap, done. Problem solved for big dumb gorilla man. 

Heart pounding, you do the only thing you can for survival, and reach for the hand that’s over your mouth, finding the back of it with your fingers. It’s bare now, so you can feel the soft bits of hair scattered from his wrist, the width of his knuckles and the engaged tendons connecting them. You trace your fingers lightly down the backs of his, in what you hope is a soothing motion. 

You’re harmless, see? You’re relaxed and unarmed, and also quite pantsless at the moment. You’re just a soft thing who can’t do shit to him, and you don’t want those guys shooting at your hiding spot any more than he does. Killing you would be more trouble than it’s worth, surely.

He waits a while to release you, way past the time when the last of the footsteps are gone. You just keep petting his hand with your fingertips, and eventually, reluctantly, he peels it off your face. Again you congratulate yourself for surviving.

He lets you put your head back down on his shoulder, and his arm moves again to wrap around your waist and keep you in place. You can feel his gloved fingers shifting there, settling into a comfortable position on your bare skin, right where your shirt has ridden halfway up your back. You’re thankful for that glove, because maybe he won’t notice your glaring lack of clothes.

His gloveless hand had settled on your shoulder, but now it brushes across to your neck. You half expect him to slide his fingers into your hair again, but he doesn’t. He lets his thumb drift down the front of your throat, and though the logical part of your brain sees it as the threat it is, the sensitive skin of your neck wakes up. Like your lips, those nerves respond to his touch, feeding you a skittering sort of warmth which you loathe. 

Damn you for letting yourself get this touch starved. You should have fucked that guy from the bar last Saturday. What was his name? J-something. Maybe if you’d been a little more careless with your pussy, your skin wouldn’t be this hungry for a stranger’s rough hand. It’s not arousal lighting up your nerves, but it’s definitely interest. It’s an internal purr of longing, of enjoying this male hand on your vulnerable skin, despite the circumstances. 

He’s so large that the sweeping motion of that thumb encompasses the entire length of your throat, all the way down to the join of your collarbones. The careful way he’s touching you is dangerous, because it makes you feel noticed. It’s strangely humanizing, having his fingers curl gently around the back of your neck, the side of his thumb lingering for a moment on the steady beat of your pulse. 

He sees you as something human, and soft, and interesting. An anomaly in the midst of gunfire and death. It’s almost worshipful, the way he traces his bare fingertips across that little bit of skin behind your ear. It makes you draw some conclusions about the person he is, which are almost definitely untrue, and most likely the effect of Stockholm syndrome. 

In the dark like this, in a moment of madness, you imagine that he’s just some guy. That the gear and the weaponry don’t define him, that he’s got a mother or a sister somewhere, and now he’s hurt and focusing on your soft skin instead of the throbbing pain in his leg. Try as you might, you can’t picture him as a monster anymore. He’s just as human as you are, finding the same hiding spot as if the self preservation instinct in both of your brains destined it to happen. 

You shudder against him when his fingers find their way to your ear. A cascade of pleasure follows that gentle touch, this time with a definite undertone of arousal. Your pussy likes the way he strokes the shell of your ear, runs your earlobe through his fingertips. It’s confusing in the way that it’s not an inherently sexual action. It’s just fingers and an ear, brushing a slow path up and down, but it sends lazy heat through your belly. 

You stay relaxed and let it happen, angling your chin up just a fraction so he doesn’t have to reach as far. It’s just fucking nice, the way his attention is narrowed on you. In your delusional state, you feel strangely safe in it. Those slow traces of his fingertips feel like a little bit of control in an otherwise lawless circumstance. 

Two fingers find your lips again, soft as a feather, and this time you let yourself like it. You accept that tingling flood of sensation, and close your eyes to focus on it. The stranger painstakingly studies the outer edge of your lips, pausing every time you swallow or move at all. And then he finds the inner part, caressing across your soft bottom lip in a way that sends blood rushing between your legs. 

Patient, this guy is so fucking patient. It makes your imagination go to embarrassing places, thinking about how his fingers might feel elsewhere. There’s just something inherently sexy about this slow perusal, and your pussy recognizes it. It knows instinctively how it would feel to receive this kind of unhurried attention. How nice it would be to have those long fingers lazily circling your clit, touching you for his sensory pleasure, just like this. 

This kind of curious touch could get you to do humiliating things, keep you wet and desperate and wipe your brain of anything but the need to please him. You’d chase his approval even to the point of not getting your own satisfaction, if he did anything like his to the rest of your body. 

Belatedly you realize how dangerous it is to follow this train of thought. Why the fuck are you fantasizing right now? Why are you allowing yourself to feel this way, while getting fondled by some dirty soldier in a warehouse? Who cares if he’s patient, he’s probably just extra dumb or something. 

The man subtly tilts his face, and his lungs fill with a quiet inhale against your hair. He likes the way you smell, you can tell by the curl of his fingers against your lower back. His chin nudges forward a little, almost like a kiss, and his hand returns to your ear.

Your belly dips so hard that your abs tighten automatically, and you shudder against him again. It’s like mind control, those neglected erogenous zones he’s finding. It’s turning you needy and willing, partly for the physical stimulation and partly just because you’re attracted to the kind of person who would even know to do this. Someone who would take the time to turn you on in this indirect way, allowing you to retain your dignity, but giving you a taste of how nice and gentle his fingers are. 

The next exhale that leaves you is almost verbal. Your voice faintly pokes through, with your self control crumbling the way it is. It makes him pause, pulling his hand away from you. Surely he doesn’t think he hurt you. The noise you made was all pleasure, the little slut on his chest unable to keep herself quiet for this intimate touching session. 

The man’s shoulder twitches, like an aborted movement that he thought better of. And then his hand comes back to your face, squishing both of your cheeks together while he forces your head up and down in a nodding motion. Then without pausing, he moves it a few times in a back and forth shake. 

The meaning is obvious to you — yes or no, do you want this?

Dammit. 

You know exactly what “this” is. You were kind of hoping you wouldn’t have to ask for it directly, that he’d just decide you were compliant enough to be consenting. But now apparently you’re going to have to beg.

His hand is still on your face, so he feels you move your head in a nod. Yes, you’re a slut. Yes, this stranger can fuck you. You’re on the pill, so yes, you’ll go ahead and have unprotected sex on the dirty floor, because apparently your self worth is low enough for that. 

He wraps his hands around your hips to turn you, rolling you onto your back with your head resting on the upper part of his chest. You keep your knees elevated because with the change of perspective, you can’t remember which of his legs is injured, and you don’t want to put your foot down on it. Right leg before, which means… No, left leg before, so—

Fuck, whatever. You can’t spare the brainpower to figure it out, so you choose the slutty option instead, spreading your legs and letting your feet drop to the floor on either side of his thighs. It’s not like you’re fooling anyone at this point. Your heart is pounding and your pussy feels a little wet, so you might as well just keep your knees open for whatever he decides to do. 

One of his hands collects the bottom hem of your shirt, but he pauses halfway through dragging it up your stomach. He wraps his gloved hand around your face again, waiting.

You close your eyes and nod pathetically, unable to bear the time it takes before he gets his hands on you again. 

It doesn’t take long. Your shirt gets tucked up around your chin, and then that large hand cups your exposed breast, and the slight brush on your nipple makes you nearly moan. 

He doesn’t like that. His gloved hand tightens on your face, reaching from ear to ear to muffle you with his palm. 

There. Now you’re ready to be touched properly. 

Your eyes roll back a little with that first, soft fingering of your nipple, finding it impossibly sensitive and hungry for him. You must have some kind of bondage kink, because hearing your own pitiful breathing huffed against the tactical leather of his glove turns you on. You like that you’re already so aroused, he has to keep you quiet. You like that he’s so willing to put his hands on you, making sure you’re being good while he exploits your responsive body. 

How you could have possibly thought he was dumb earlier, you can’t fathom. The way he’s touching you right now screams experience. It’s methodical and possessive, inhaling the scent of your shampoo again while he brushes his fingertips in a teasing circle over the point of your breast. 

Your pussy gets jealous so quickly, it’s humiliating. You can only be grateful that he’s ignoring those little lifts of your hips, taking his time thumbing your nipples and sampling the feel of your breasts in his hand. Suddenly the gag of his glove is quite necessary, with all the moans and whimpers that want to escape. You’re addicted to the way they sound, coming out in stuttered breaths through your nose. Soft, pathetic begging noises which you’re really not trying too hard to suppress. 

Bad. He cranks your chin up a little to get your attention, then brings his mouth to your ear and breathes a firm, “Shh.”

The way that one word simultaneously shuts you up and makes your clit throb tells you a lot about why you’re in this position in the first place. 

You’ll be good for him now. You’ll try really hard not to make noises, just keep yourself relaxed like this with your knees open, and let him touch your pussy when he’s ready. Shame on you, really, for trying to speed up the process. He knows what’s good for you. If he decides that what you need is to get riled up like this without ever finding out what his fingers feel like on your clit, then maybe that’s all you deserve. 

You close your eyes and turn your cheek into his vest, focusing on being quiet like he asked. Your thighs are still flexing and your pussy is still clenching, but he hasn’t asked you to stop being aroused. He can hardly expect that of you, when he’s being like this. 

Finally his hand wanders down your stomach, finding the edge of your underwear. Apparently convinced of your desperation, he pushes it down without even asking. You bring your legs together, lift your feet into the air so he can drag your panties all the way off, because you need to earn his approval again.

Good girl, his thumb says, stroking down the side of your cheek. What a helpful little thing you are, spreading your knees again so he doesn’t have anything in the way as he brings his fingers down the inside of your thigh to touch you. 

Oh, you’re screwed. The first contact of his finger on your clit tells you everything you need to know about how hard he’s going to make you cum. That teasing brush has your pussy spasming a few times around nothing, even as you keep your legs spread open and your noises carefully locked down.

That’s your job, to be quiet and still while he touches you. Maybe you should be thinking more about survival, or concentrating on what’s happening outside the warehouse, but you don’t. All you care about is the path of that finger gathering up your wetness and softly spreading it around your clit, because you’re a good girl. He’s getting you acclimated to how his fingers feel on your most sensitive part, because he’s decided that you’ve earned it. 

There’s nothing better than this. The stranger presses what you think might be a kiss to your temple, but you don’t feel lips against your skin, you feel fabric. His thumb moves in another caress against your cheek, and he painstakingly strokes your clit for you, making sure it’s wet and soft and torturously delicious. 

Hazy with arousal, you lift your hand to his face behind you, your fingers indeed meeting cloth. There’s something draped over his face, but you can still feel the firm line of his jaw through it. When your fingertips wander over the center where his mouth should be, you swear his chin tips up to press a kiss to them through the material. 

Oh, he’s a sweet one. You smile against his glove, which turns into a shudder when he finds a motion that’s really, really good. A little rumble happens in his chest when you melt back against him, relaxing your knees wide and cuddling your cheek against his vest. 

Your pussy is doing these intermittent pulses, trying to catch up to how quickly you’re getting turned on, and practicing the orgasm he’s going to give you. He’s coaxing it out of you instead of forcing it, keeping his touches on the edge of teasing, and paced just fast enough to have you getting wetter and wetter. 

He’s making your pussy open up and offer itself to his hand, and you’re in the perfect mental state to appreciate the withholding. You accept it as a natural part of this encounter, because it’s not your job to decide what kind of orgasm you get. You just get to take what he’s giving you, and cum in whatever way he thinks is best. 

You’re just settling into that blissful realization when his fingers stop moving. They slide downwards a fraction, tracing the slick outline of your entrance and hesitating there. 

Maybe you should give him a nod, but something compels you to bring your hand down to show him what you want, instead. You settle your fingers over the tops of his, appreciating those warm, hard knuckles, and help press his two middle fingers into your pussy. It’s not difficult. He makes no move to fight your direction, sinking them in deep, and curling them against your g-spot even after you release him. 

Oh, he’s so nice. His fingers are strong and able to get wonderfully far inside you, sliding against all those sensitive nerves with deliberate rolls of his wrist. He’s done teasing you, apparently. His hand tightens on your face, and he fucks you on his fingers, hard and generous. Your thighs automatically twitch while you take it, flexing your head back a little and beginning to pant through your nose. This is what you fucking needed. He knew it, even if you didn’t. 

Those invisible waves of heat begin to drift through your thighs, all the way down to your toes. It’s your body promising something you shouldn’t want right now, but you do. You do want to cum on your stranger’s fingers. You do want him to feel those pulses, and know for sure how much you’ve enjoyed your time with him. You want him to experience the way you can’t help but orgasm when he touches you. 

When it happens, you’re ready. You’re impossibly wet for how dehydrated you are, and every nerve in your body is alert with arousal. You lock your jaw shut and groan into his hand while you cum, your hips flexing up in an unconscious effort to keep that lightning coursing through your veins. 

There’s a soft, “Gut,” muttered against your ear while you tremble through it, wanting to stay forever in that bubble of encompassing pleasure. Your stranger presses his palm to your clit while he rocks his fingers into you, and it makes white flash through your vision while a fresh wave of pleasure scorches through you. 

He’s pleased, you can tell. He’s breathing hard, letting you control the last dregs of it with lifts of your hips. He likes what you just did. He likes you.

Almost regretfully, you relax your legs again and let him slide his fingers out of your pussy. You don’t want it to be over. He may have got his fill of you, but you still don’t know shit about him. You want to map out his face, want to feel his hidden anatomy finding completion in your hands. 

Surely he’s going to fuck you. Surely he wants to. 

That gloved hand leaves your face, now damp with your own humid breathing. He helps you turn back onto your belly, and wraps his arm once again around your waist to keep you secure. 

Maybe he lost too much blood, and he can’t get an erection. Maybe he’s afraid of getting you pregnant, or thinks he’s too sweaty and gross for a blowjob. You have to know, so you subtly shift your knee over his crotch. 

Oh, he’s hard. He’s bricked as fuck in his pants, and you’re going to do something about it. 

He flinches slightly when you reach up to cup his masked cheek. Not gonna hurt you, your thumb tells him, stroking softly while your other hand drops to palm his erection. 

He goes stiff beneath you, hardly even breathing for a moment. When he doesn’t seem to understand what you want, you grab his chin and do a quick nod motion and then a shake. 

You smile to yourself when his face does a frantic nod under your hand. That’s a ‘hell yes’ if you ever felt one. He doesn’t even wait for you to figure out his belt, just shoves your hand out of the way and does it himself, pushing his pants down just enough to expose everything.

The clink of metal and rustle of fabric sounds louder than it is, now that most of the explosions outside have stopped. Surely he’ll have someone looking for him, some kind of extraction he needs to get to. You should probably speed this up, just to be sure. 

You have a conveniently bare and drippy pussy, which he assists you to line up to where he needs it, by way of two big hands on your hips. His cock is hot against your inner thigh, and hopefully not quite as big as it feels like he is. 

Nope, he’s definitely a giant. You wince a little when you lower yourself past the first few inches, putting your hands on his chest for support. Oh god, this is dire. This is bigger than anything you’ve ever had, and even though you’re a pretty stubborn person, you’re still pausing halfway down, trying to find the will to continue breaking yourself on it. 

One of his hands finds the top of yours, and all of a sudden you remember who he is. He’s someone gentle and considerate, running his fingertips over the back of your hand in a soothing motion. 

You suck in a steadying breath and drag your pussy back up him, trying not to cherish too much the relief of getting away from his cock. Down again, and you’re only able to get about as far as last time before an overwhelmed whimper leaves your throat. You want to do this, but you can’t. You can’t do this, it’s too much. 

His hand leaves yours, and there’s a recognizable sound of hollow aluminum again. He cups your chin, makes you stop moving to bring his canteen up to your mouth. You sit halfway down that soldier’s cock and obediently keep your head tipped back, swallowing down the last of his water. It’s your treat for being a good girl, you suppose. A little bit of hydration so your pussy can be wet and comfortable while you fuck him. 

The rim of metal disappears, and once you’ve finished swallowing, something else gets pressed to your lips. It’s fabric, and it doesn’t smell too bad, but you’re still confused for a second until he pries your jaw open and shoves it past your teeth. 

You let out a complainy breath around the gag, sacrificing a hand that you have braced on his chest to feel it with your fingers for a second, and then you realize what it is. It’s your own fucking panties that he just utilized to shut you up. 

God, you’re gonna fall in love at this rate. 

At least you know where all your remaining clothes are. One is rucked up above your bare breasts, one wrapped around this guy’s leg, and one muffling your little gasps while you work to take the rest of him into your body. 

It takes some time, but you manage to do it. A tremble runs down your legs while you kneel there with your ass flush to his hips, trying to adjust to the foreign sensation that you have a cock shoved up in your lungs. Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but it feels like that, and you’re not used to it.

His hands settle on you, one on your hip, and the gloveless one cupping your breast. A little connection, a little reassurance. Everything is fine, you’re not in pain, and you’re doing a good job. Now it’s time to be a good girl and give him his treat.

The soldier’s next breath is almost a groan, when you start to drag your pussy up and down him. You adore the way he drops his hand to your thigh, like he’s having to hold on for dear life. That’s exactly the way you want him right now, and it wakes up the impish part of your brain that wants to make him suffer through the same arousal that you did. 

You can be patient, see? You can bounce nice and slow on his cock, letting him feel every inch of drag, every sticky drop of your hips. Isn’t this nice, sir? Do you like the way this feels? Does it help you not think about your leg quite so much?

If you’re being honest, you like it, too. Now that you’re comfortably stretched, you can appreciate the way he effortlessly presses against all your internal sweet spots. Every movement is good in some way, and even the fingers tightening on your thigh feel like pleasure. They feel delicious and strong, reminding you that he’s allowing this to happen. You’re on top, but he could change that if he wanted. He wants you where you are right now, his little hidey hole girl giving him what you know he needs. 

His hands suddenly clamp onto your hips, keeping you down and unable to move. You almost make a confused sound around your gag, until you hear the footsteps again, the male voices. Fuck off, you miserable bastards. 

Wait. Are they actively looking for him? 

You breathe as quietly as you can through your nose, considering for the first time that this might not be some random foot soldier you’re in the middle of fucking. Oh, shit. You fucked up, didn’t you?

Your man’s hands move, one caressing your stomach, encouraging you to stay quiet and still, and the other one reaches down to your pussy to find your clit. 

Your next breath is stuttered, taking that spike of arousal because there’s no other option for you. You have to stay here motionless, full of cock, and let him play with your clit while you wait out the mercenaries below. And the pathetic thing is, you love it.

It’s fucking hot that this guy enjoys your body this much, that he keeps finding ways to ground you and keep you mentally connected with him. He circles his thumb over your slick clit, and you close your eyes and shudder through it, working your tongue around the dry fabric in your mouth. 

Good girl, he gloved hand says, smoothing up and down your waist. Just like that, stay quiet and let yourself feel good.

Yeah, okay. At least you know he trusts you a little bit, because he’s letting you make the choice to keep the gag in your mouth, even with soldiers so close by. Maybe you’ve earned his trust a little, somehow. The rubs on your clit feel nice, and assurance does, too. 

Those idiots linger so long, you’re afraid you’re going to cum. You actually have to reach down and pull his hand away from your pussy just to make sure you don’t. He keeps your hand in his, intwines your fingers and squeezes comfortingly. Surely he can feel the way your pussy keeps clamping down on him, desperate for what you’ve just denied yourself. It fucking sucks. 

He lets you know when you can move again, once the coast is clear. He puts both hands on your waist and effortlessly lifts you up a few inches, seeming just as desperate as you are to keep going. 

With a thoughtless whimper, you drag his hand back around to show him that you want to cum now. You’re a little afraid that he’ll get offended at the pushiness, but he doesn’t. He rubs your clit for you while you ride him, and it takes no time at all before you’re cumming again. 

Deep, wet spasms wrap around him, and despite your best efforts, you gasp around your panties. The sweetest orgasm you’ve ever had crashes over you, stealing your breath with wave after wave of gooey pleasure. It cascades across your scalp, down your spine. It diffuses through your limbs and has you desperately grinding your hips against him, because you can’t keep up the motion of fucking any longer. 

You’re vaguely aware of that warning flex inside you, and then all of a sudden his fingers tighten on your waist, and he drags you completely off his cock. Shocked, still stuck in the tail end of your pleasure, you don’t really comprehend the reason for his boot shifting against the floor, the muffled, restrained grunt from his throat while he jerks himself off the rest of the way. 

You hover there, catching your breath while the wet sound of his hand begins to slow below your hips. His breathing turns long and heavy, his body slowly relaxing and coming down from the orgasm. 

He pulled out for you, you think. He could have just cum inside you, but he didn’t. 

You like him. Officially, you have a hard crush. 

His gloved hand gives your thigh an affectionate pat, and then he works to pull his pants back into place and close his belt up. 

There are more sirens outside now, and you can hear the low buzz of a few radios as well. No gunshots is a good thing, right? You survived, you both did. 

You don’t even have time to pull your underwear out of your mouth before the metal door opens again, and quick, deliberate footsteps shuffle through. 

That gets your man’s attention. He sits up instantly, shifting you to the corner of the hiding place so he can kneel at the edge and peer over. 

He shouts something down at them that you think might be German, and then there’s a cheerful roar of several male voices answering back. Apparently they’re his people, happy to see him alive. You pull your panties out of your mouth and wonder if you should try to go with him.

Your soldier hesitates for just a second, reaches back to squeeze your arm. He says something to you that sounds like just one word, and you have no fucking clue what it is, but the intention is clear: you need to stay here. 

You hold your damp underwear in your fingers and watch him leave the way he came, gingerly climbing down the scaffolding to meet his party. There’s a strange sense of sadness in your chest, which you try not to think about. He doesn’t owe you anything. It was your own stupid fantasies that imagined he was anything but cordial. It’s your own fault that you’re clinging to the idea of an anonymous hookup, you fucking idiot. 

It takes a long time later, before you feel safe enough to come down from your hiding place. A policeman finds you, and gets you some water. You refuse to go to the hospital, because you aren’t hurt. You’re just sad. 

----------------------------

His name is Konig. 

You know this, because there’s only one massive dude in the hospital with a wounded thigh. 

You also know this, because in your initial investigations, you happened to see a recognizable piece of black clothing, folded neatly and resting on his side table.

Yeah. He kept your second favorite pair of leggings like some fucking sex souvenir, and it pisses you off. 

Days after the fact, you’re here for a far more embarrassing reason than a gun wound. That arm you scratched while climbing to safety? Yeah, that got infected. You kept waiting for it to get better on its own, but by the time your boss made you get it checked out, you had to be hospitalized and get a fun little IV. 

For the third time today, you take your two second window of walking by Konig’s bed in order to observe your anonymous hookup in your peripheral vision. 

You wouldn’t exactly call him cute. He’s somewhat plain, somewhat rough around the edges. It’s really those eyes that do it for you. The first time you passed him in the hall, while he was limping by on crutches, you made eye contact. It was just for a split second before his gaze flicked away, but you felt a little breathless by how sharply those blue eyes pierced yours. 

Your only comfort is that he’s even taller than you expected, and your errant stares and shifty eyes aren’t all that uncommon around him. It must be hell to be perceived so continuously like that. To have everyone’s gaze automatically latch onto you, before they remember pleasantries enough to quickly look away. Your hyper awareness of everything he does is easily hidden among the others, so you begin to make a plan. 

You have roughly three hours left before you get discharged. It’s almost dinner time, and he’s been somewhat active, so surely he’ll go to the cafeteria for food at some point. The trick is to be at the right location at the right time, and catch him when he’s gone, without making yourself suspicious with surveillance. 

You wait until a typical dinner time, and then do a casual walk-by. To your delight, your leggings are sitting there completely unguarded. Unfortunately there’s a few hospital staff lingering in the area, and you have to kill five precious minutes waiting for your opportunity.

You take it when it comes. Quickly you push aside the curtain and scoop up your leggings, holding them to your chest as you get out as fast as you can manage, without being suspicious. There, now everything is right in the world again. He got some wartime pussy, and you got all of your clothes back. Fair.

Except when you turn the next corner, a familiar shape with dark hair and crutches becomes visible, heading in your direction from the other end of the hallway. 

Be cool, be cool. He doesn’t know who you are. He hasn’t been looking at you the same way you’ve been studying him, so he’s uninterested and suspects nothing. All you have to do is hide your leggings discreetly behind your back, and casually make your way back to the safety of your room. Easy. 

It’s not until you’re within sight of your door that you let out a relieved breath, glancing down at the prize in your hands. Take that, super soldier. Outsmarted by an idiot girl, how do you like them apples? You’re smiling to yourself as you grab the handle of your door and begin to turn it, pulling it open.

Except a massive hand suddenly plants itself on the door right in front of your face, shoving it closed again and wrenching the handle out of your grasp. 

You squeak in fright, whipping your head around to meet those dark blue eyes being leveled down at you. 

Both of your gazes drop to the object clutched in your fingers, and then he looks back up at your face. Fuck. That wasn’t a sex souvenir, that was bait.

“I knew it was you,” he says with a thick accent.

You scowl up at him. “No, you didn't.”

A warm smile crawls across his face. “You are right, I did not.” He inclines his head towards your bandaged arm. “I did this to you?”

“What?” You lift your arm, staring at it stupidly. “Oh, no. It was a nail or something.”

He nods, looking you over speculatively. He shifts on his crutch, leaning on it to offer out his hand. “I’m Konig.”

You slide your palm into that fucking paw of a hand, and give him a smile while you squeeze it. “I know.” 

Part 2 Drabble

Dividers by @themaskedgifer

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

OKAY LISTEN I gobbled up "Come quietly" in one sitting and I'm OBSESSED with your König, he's perfect, literally- shsndndmdmdhbdn

Aww ily! Here’s a lil part 2 for you:

(Part 1 here)

“What is your name?”

“Uh…” you hesitate, withdrawing your hand from his and glancing towards your door, with the definite urge to disappear behind it.

You fucked this guy. You did gross things in the dark with this guy, and now he knows it was you. If you’re sure about one thing, it’s that he cannot find out your name.

“Look,” you explain, when you’ve been stalling too long, and a confused expression settles over his face, “it doesn’t really matter. I’m out of here in a few hours, and you probably don’t even live here, right? Let’s just make it simple, and leave it at that.”

Konig adjusts his shoulders in the crutches, now seeming less bewildered and more adamant, judging by the way his jaw is set.

“Thanks for washing them,” you tell him brightly, indicating your leggings. “And for not killing me and stuff. I guess I’ll see you—“

“You have eaten?” he cuts in.

“Oh, um. No, not yet.”

“I am hungry also. Come.”

He jerks his head in the direction of the cafeteria, and starts to maneuver his crutches to turn.

You hesitate for a moment, because you really do need to escape this continued embarrassment, but curiosity gets the best of you. You catch up to him in a few steps. “I thought you already went to dinner.”

“I did. But I have… funny feelings… so I came back.” He glances over to you as you walk beside him, sees the overly inquisitive gaze you quickly rip away from his face. “Funny feelings are very important to me.”

You suppose they would be. He needs instincts like he needs water, when it comes to the work he does. You just wish his instincts weren’t quite so good.

“You still will not tell me your name?” He asks when you reach the cafeteria doors, touching the button to open them automatically.

Your fingers fidget with the leggings you’re holding — why are you still holding them? You should have tossed them into your room — and you try to come up with a better excuse. But the reality is, you are being unreasonably stubborn.

Nothing would be ruined if you told him your name. As you said, it doesn’t even matter. You’re going to go your separate ways in a couple of hours, and there’ll be no difference if he knows you as Jane Doe, or your real name, or something you just pull out of your ass. At the end of the day, you mean nothing to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say lamely, looking down at your slut souvenir.

You can feel his eyes on you, even when he has to touch the button again because you’ve been standing here too long. You feel inexplicably like there are nude photos of you getting passed around, and he’s here asking for one with face. Sure, the damage has been done already, but it’s still slightly anonymous, and you’re clinging to that.

Konig doesn’t pry again, just follows you through the doors when you step beyond the little bubble of humiliation you’ve created for yourself in the hallway. He buys your food. Doesn't take no for an answer, so you earn it at least a little by carrying both meals to the table for him. Maybe he’ll want to do more eating and less questioning.

He does eat, at first. He leans his crutches against the fake-wood table and takes a few bites, giving you a moment of privacy from his too-sharp eyes.

“Sarah,” he says after a while, tapping his fork thoughtfully inside his bowl.

You have to blink a few times before you realize he’s trying to guess your name. “No.”

“Your parents are Christian? Rebecca.”

“Sir, you really don’t need to do this.”

“Konig,” he corrects you quietly, then takes another bite, watching you while he chews. “I am thinking of American names. Debbie.”

That makes a smile twitch to your mouth, which you quickly hide with a drink of water.

“Cleveland. Brittany Spears.”

“Brittany Spears?” you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absolute ridiculousness of his guesses, which stretches an answering smile across his face.

Finally you shake your head and return to your food, more determined than ever not to crack. He seems nice, and funny, and that’s even worse.

“You are embarrassed… Or afraid.” His voice drops a little, sounding remorseful in a way you weren’t expecting. “I… did not want to give you that feeling. I am sorry.”

You sigh, and finally meet his eyes. His cute, soft eyes. Dammit.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I’m alright, it’s just… yes, it’s embarrassing.”

His frank gaze lingers on your face for a moment, but then something over your shoulder gets his attention. He locks eyes with it and perceptibly shakes his head.

You twist your head around, just to see someone else in military pants turning and walking away, with a paper file in hand. Is he missing something important?

“You have a private room?” Konig asks, pulling your attention back to your game of evasion.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “I’m not going to fuck you, Konig.”

He doesn’t quite roll his eyes at you, but his long suffering look-away definitely conveys the same thing. “Little girl, I am not trying to fuck you.”

“Then what do you want?” you demand defensively.

“I wish to talk to you about what happened.”

Oh shit, that’s even worse. He must be feeling extra guilty, if he’s offering you a fucking therapy session for his own closure. There’s no way in hell you’re willing to take that punishment. He can sit in his own ‘funny feelings’ and go on his merry way.

You glance at your phone, relieved that another half hour has passed. “I’m not sure I have time, but thanks for the offer.”

You’re braced for his anger, his frustration at being dismissed so openly, but it never comes. He just lets out a breath and says, “Alright,” before turning back to his food.

There. Problem solved.

You do feel a little bad, on the off chance that he is actually concerned about you, and not trying to use you in some way. But really, what are the odds of that? He had to protect himself that night by frisking you, and you have to protect yourself right now by cutting ties. You tell yourself that there’s nothing he has that you want, and you dutifully finish your food so he at least got his money's worth.

Konig walks you back to your room afterwards, almost definitely thinking about other things - perhaps about the person he shook his head at, and his responsibilities there. You try not to watch the fascinating ripples in his arms when he uses the crutches, try to just keep your face forward and your heart silent.

This sadness doesn’t matter. You aren’t supposed to be together, and the crushing weight of saying goodbye right now is just your own foolishness manifesting in some fucked up, stalkery kind of nonsense. Goodbye, Konig. See you never. See? Easy.

Except it’s not easy, when you finally come to a stop at your door. You stare up at him, and he looks down at you, and your fingers are suddenly itchy to touch. You almost wish he would talk some more, remove this heavy silence that somehow mirrors the silence between you a few days ago, when he had you naked and wet for him. Your body remembers it now, in a misplaced rush of longing.

You never got to kiss him, and now, as your eyes float down to his lips, you realize you want to. You want that little therapy session, now that you’re sure he’s not being controlling about it. Now that you have the choice, because he hasn’t tried to manipulate you with his reaction, it’s like the option has become so much more attractive.

“Would you like to come in and talk for a little bit?” you ask, placing your hand on the knob.

The relief that crosses his face is just so adorable, you can’t help but smile at him.

And that’s how you end up draped across his chest twenty minutes later, as he lays stretched out in your little bed, slowly kissing away all your worries.

He calls you Cleveland until you finally give in.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Ironridge Masterlist

[orc] Zorag - You and Zorag drive each other insane, especially on a rainy day when both of you have to work together. Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (You can read the updated version on my Patreon.)

[orc] Rakar - You move back to Ironridge, and your friendship with Rakar takes a turn. Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (You can read the updated version on my Patreon with an extra chapter.)

[orc & bear shifter] Thrak & Rowan - A night with your boyfriends. (You can read the updated version on my Patreon.)

[bear shifter] Willow - Your girlfriend takes you to Ironridge for a weekend getaway. Part 1 // Part 2

[elf] Everen - Your boss demands you to follow him to Ironridge.

Patreon/[minotaur] Atlas - You go home to get yourself a cowboy. + moldboard + an extra chapter

Patreon/[orc] Garek - On your fifth date, Garek takes you camping in the forest. + moodboard

Patreon/[dragon] Athos - You try to steal from a dragon and pay the price for it. + illustration

Patreon/[merman] Tion - You take your class on a camping trip to the sea, and you find more than a few sandcastles. Part 1 // Part 2

Patreon/[orc] Shelby - Your crush on Shelby gets more serious after she helps you in the store. Part 1 // Part 2

Patreon/[minotaur] Fen - Your best friend visits you in the middle of the night, and he is drunk.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

[chimera] Lord Elohim +1

chimera!Lord Elohim x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Original Request Request: Could you write something smutty with Lord Elohim, pls

“We should be at home before night falls,” Hara says, breaking the silence. His voice mingles with the rhythmic creaking of the wheels as the carriage bounces along the uneven road. The storm from last night has left the path rough and messy, making the journey more challenging than usual.

Your gaze is on the window, following the passing scenery. The landscape is a vast stretch of green field, with occasional buildings dotting the distance close to the horizon. Tall trees line the road. Their thick branches form a canopy overhead, only allowing thin slivers of sunlight to filter through the lush leaves.

“The night is still far away,” you reply with a heavy sigh.

“Are you in a hurry, my wife?” Lord Elohim asks with a smile playing on his lips at your impatience. His sharp canines glint in the dim light. “I didn’t realize I was such dull company.”

Tearing your eyes away from the landscape, you offer your husband a small smile, tinged with a hint of guilt. “Of course not. I’m just… It’s been such a long day, and I really wish for a nice dinner and a comfortable bed.”

He reaches over with his large, paw-like hand to cover yours in a comforting squeeze. “We’ll get there soon,” he assures you. His eyes are warm and comforting. “Is there anything I can do while we wait? You can try to sleep, you know. I won’t mind.”

“You know I can’t sleep on the road.” As if on cue, the carriage hits another bump, making you wince. “See? Absolutely horrible.”

“My poor, suffering wife,” he teases with a mischievous glint in his amused gaze.

“You are horrible too, Hara Elohim!” You groan, playfully swatting his arm before turning back to the window with an exaggerated huff. Your husband's laughter fills the carriage. It's a rich sound that never fails to lift your spirit, and you have to force yourself to keep your smile off your face.

The road continues to wind through the countryside. The green fields dotted with wildflowers sway gently in the warm summer breeze. The thick canopy of the towering trees rocks back and forth in sync with them. The scent of earth and blooming nature fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of rain lingering from last night’s storm.

What you don’t notice is the mischievous glint in your husband's eyes and the way his lips curve into a smug curve as he continues to watch you. As he looks at you, his mind races with images and scenarios, each one better than the last.

“There is something we could do,” he says after a while. “You know, to make your travel more enjoyable.”

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

His smile widens while tugging on the curtains. The fabrics fall into place, cloaking you both in a cocoon of shadow.

“Hara?” you ask, his name tinged with curiosity.

The silence that follows your question makes your heart beat a little faster as you await his next move. You know that look. The burning intensity in his irises kindles a flutter of excitement deep in your lower belly. It makes your thighs clench instinctively, and your fingers begin to fidget with a nervous energy. The air between you thickens with anticipation. Each subtle shift in his gaze sends a wave of warmth through you.

"Hara?" you repeat.

"You have to be quiet," he warns. His voice is low and amused. His long fingers curl around one of your ankles, lifting it gently until you fall back into your seat with a surprised gasp. He moves swiftly, pushing your dress and underclothes aside with practiced ease. His touch is warm and steady, caressing your skin up and down on your leg.

"What are you doing?" you manage to ask, though your voice trembles with a mix of confusion and excitement.

"I’m making sure my wife is comfortable," the chimera replies, pressing his lips softly to your exposed ankle. The heat of his breath against your skin makes you shiver. His kisses are tender and deliberate, traveling slowly up your leg until your clothes pool around your waist. Your fingers tremble as you grip the light fabric.

You know you shouldn't surrender to his desires so easily. The thought of his men potentially seeing or hearing you outside causes your face to flush, but it's not enough for you to stop him. The tight coil in your lower belly burns too hot to stop him.

"Hara!" you gasp as you feel his lips brush against your inner thigh. His whiskers tickle your skin. You instinctively try to sit up, but he holds you firmly in place, not budging even the slightest.

"Hara!"

"Open up for your husband, Mrs. Elohim," he commands softly, falling to his knees between your legs. The carriage barely gives him enough space between the seats facing each other, but he makes it work. He is stubborn like that.

"We shouldn't…" you start, but he silences you with a hungry gaze and an insistent touch. His fingers dig into your thighs, which feel like silk beneath his grip.

"Shh," the male hums. His voice is a low, teasing murmur that ripples through your spine. "Remember to keep quiet, my love," he warns with a grin. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks up at you for a brief moment before turning his full attention back to your already damp heat.

Adjusting your legs over his shoulders, he moves with ease. His hands slip beneath you, groping the soft flesh of your bottom while his lips graze teasingly over your folds. Even his breath alone makes you quiver with anticipation. His tongue eagerly sweeps up your folds, tasting your wetness with a groan of pleasure. The deep sound of his enjoyment blends with the sharp slap of your hand over your mouth as you try to stifle a gasp. Your eyes are wide with a mix of shock and pleasure, and each rapid breath causes your breasts to heave, almost spilling from your dress. Your new necklace dangles between the soft globes, catching the dim light that filters through the gap between the curtains. Under his tongue, you are warm and yielding. Your juices gather and soak into his lips.

"Hara!" His name is muffled through your palm. Your thighs tremble on his shoulders, tightening around his head. He can feel each quiver and twitch of your muscles as he laps over your folds and flicks your clit. The rough texture of his tongue strikes across your body.

Every throaty moan and gasp that escapes your lips fuels his desire. The view of you, eyes shut and lips parted in pleasure, makes his cock twitch with anticipation. The groan that rumbles from his chest travels directly to the tight knot of pleasure in your belly. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking eagerly on the sensitive bud. Your legs automatically close around his head, and his finger finds its way to your tight opening. Your walls pulse around his digits, pleading for more. You stretch and moan around him, wiggling your hips with an impatient whine.

"Oh, god!" you groan, letting your head fall back against the headrest. "Don’t stop, please!" Your hand, which was gripping your skirt, moves to his head. Your fingers tangle in his thick mane as you pull him closer. You grind your hips against his skilled mouth, feeling the warmth of his tongue lapping up your wetness before returning to your clit with relentless focus.

You struggle to stifle your scream. Your throat aches as you try to keep the sounds of your moans deep in your chest. His fingers curl and stroke inside you, finding every spot that causes your entire body to tremble with the intensity he is stirring within you. The tight knot in your stomach snaps, sending waves of pleasure through your muscles. You bite down on your palm to muffle your cries, but the slight pain only heightens the ecstatic rush that floods through your body, burning your veins.

Meanwhile, your husband feasts and slurps on your climax with a deep purr rumbling in his chest, and you have to push him away to collect yourself and get some breath.

"No, no, no, wife," he grins up at you, one of his fingers already dipping back into your fluttering, drenched pussy. "The night is still far away, and I'm famished."

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Monster fucker blogs please reblog this

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

I am absolutely obsessed with your blog! The writing is immaculate and never ceases to amaze me! :D I was wondering if you would be able to do an NSFW prompt (if you still do those) of a vampire capturing a vampire hunter? Thank you in advance if you decide to do this!

(I mean, I don't do prompts except on Patreon. But I can do you a short original story that's not really NSFW but hey ho. Pre.).

"You've not killed very many of my kind yet, have you?" the vampire asked.

The hunter shivered beneath the vampire's intent stare, trying to think how the mission had ended up like this. One moment, they had been playing at bait, playing at prey, and the next moment it really didn't feel like a game anymore.

They were pressed back against the lavish coverlet of the vampire's bed - and part of their brain was stuck on the fact that the vampire's bed was not, in fact, a coffin but an actual bed, nicer and larger than their own. Their hands were cuffed above their head. Their weapons were hopelessly out of reach.

"I've killed loads!" the hunter protested, before wondering if that was likely to get them killed faster.

The vampire simply smiled at the comment. They trailed a cold finger down the hunter's bare chest, from beneath their chin down to the bottom of their belly. "Your skin says otherwise."

"My skin?"

"So lovely." The vampire's eyes gleamed. "So unblemished by the hardships of life. It is difficult to come away from fighting my kind without at least a few scars. But you..." The vampire leaned down, and pressed their lips above the frantic beat of the human's heart. "You're a blank canvass."

The hunter's jaw clenched, breathing rising and falling rapidly.

"Do you know what I think?" the vampire asked, lips trailing up to the hunter's throat. The hunter's mouth went dry, but the vampire didn't seem to need a response. "I think that you're a little too fascinated by us, by me, to truly want us dead."

"That's not true!"

"I think...." The vampire kissed, then nipped, their throat. Not quite breaking skin "That you get off on danger. You hunt my kind, not because you want to kill us, but because you want to remind yourself that you are still alive."

The hunter swallowed, hard, at that. They told themselves that the hyper-awareness they felt, the giddiness, was only survival instinct. It was only having a vampire's fangs that close to the jugular. And if they felt alive - truly alive, not just going through the motions for once, then it was because - because -

"I saw the way you watched me at the bar," the vampire whispered against their ear. Their hand slipped to undo the hunter's belt with deft movements. "The way you responded to me, before I invited you back to my quarters. You're quite beautiful, when you come alive."

Crap.

"That was only a ruse to get close to you!" It came out less than convincing. More raspy. The hunter squeezed their eyes shut.

"I see." The vampire's mouth moved to the other side of their throat, leaving a matching path of kisses like the tail end of a comet. "So you don't want me to fuck you?"

The hunter may have made a strangled sort of sound.

The vampire laughed softly. They sat up, still straddling the hunter's body. They considered the hunter, ghosting a thumb along the parted swell of the hunter's lips.

The hunter opened their eyes again, when nothing further happened.

The vampire tilted their head, all laughter gone as if it had never been there. "I don't kill anyone I feed on," they said. "Only the people who try to kill me. And I certainly don't need to take anyone into my bed who doesn't want to be here. We can consider this a warning, and you can run away and never come back."

"Or?" the hunter asked the question, blurted it, before they could think better.

The vampire's smile returned, a fraction more genuine, less wickedly amused. "Or you can say pretty please, and we can both pretend at being alive for a while."

There would be no going back, if they did this. Their cheeks flushed with their own want, with their embarrassment. What kind of self-respecting hunter slept with the very creatures they were supposed it hunt? Yet. Yet. The absolute last thing they wanted was to walk out of the door.

"Yes."

"Now that wasn't pretty please, now, was it?" the vampire teased, right before their mouth crushed down on the hunter's own.

They got to the 'please' soon enough.

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Just a little something as I work on posting consistently again ♡

Imagine an incubus lover that is slowly growing tired of his job. He loves sex, literally needs it to survive. But being asked time and time again to dominate someone in bed, pin them down into the mattress and drive his cock into them over and over became exhausting. He didn’t know what exactly he was missing each time he was summoned. That is, until he met you. 

You hadn’t summoned him and instantly wanted him to fuck you. It confused him at first, but you instead sat him down and asked if he would be alright with you switching the roles in the bedroom. You were tired of the many relationships you’ve had where the men expected you to be submissive. The relationships usually didn’t last long especially with the sexual incompatibility. 

As you spoke to the incubus, his tail began to swing in anticipation. Was this what he was missing? To be dominated and not the one doing most of the work? 

He got his answer pretty quick when you had his hands restrained above his head on your bed. His aching cock leaking precum which dripped onto your silk sheets. He squirmed in his restraints as you tutted softly at the sight of him, your index finger idly tapping the swollen head. He whined pitifully, amber eyes welling up with tears at your teasing. You had been at this for a while, leaving him tied up and only toying with him every now and then leaving him desperate for your touch. 

You formed a circle with your hand, slowly moving it up and down his length. His words came out in choked sobs as he bucked his hips up into your hand. You instantly pulled away, smiling at him innocently. 

“You gotta use your words, baby, I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.” You cooed, your tongue licking the bits of precum off of your hand. 

Just the sight of that had him briefly fight against his restraints, pulling at the ropes in hopes of breaking free. He only stopped when you glared at him, beginning to move away before he called for you to come back in a panic. 

“No, please! I’ll be good, I promise, I promise!” He pleaded. You paused, patiently waiting for him to go on. The incubus bit his lip briefly, trying to uselessly buck his hips at nothing again, his leaking red cock bouncing against his abdomen. “I wanna cum…please… I can’t, I can’t-”

You were quick to silence him with a kiss, straddling his lap as you grind down against his sensitive cock. The kiss was messy, your teeth and tongues clashing together. His length rubbed against your clit, coating him in your slick as you moaned into his mouth. You could hear his pointed tail thumping in excitement against the bed, the bedframe straining as his wrist pulled on the restraints again. You pulled back from the heated kiss, a string of saliva connecting the both of you as one of your hands held his wrists still. Lifting your hips, your free hand reached down to guide his cock into your weeping cunt. You rubbed the head against your slit, the incubus shivering from the sensitivity before you slowly let his cock finally enter you. 

He was a mess. Whimpering and moaning your name, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he stared up at you like you were a goddess. You didn’t hesitate to begin moving, slowly rising up before slamming back down into him. You picked up the pace, rutting into him as his throbbing cock hit your walls in all the right places. He was fixated on you bouncing on his cock. The way your face contorted in pleasure as you chased your high, your lovely curves and breasts that shook every time your cunt swallowed him whole. 

His hips began to thrust up to meet you halfway as your head reached down to rub at your swollen slit. Your movements were getting sloppy and so were his as he thrust up into you a few times before your walls clenched around him. You shook slightly as you came around him. He followed soon after, your cunt milking his cock as he continued to fuck his cum into you. 

Eventually he stilled, his cock softening inside you as you remained on his lap, your sweaty head resting against his chest. The incubus snapped the restraints easily, petting the top of your head in a loving matter. 

[More Monsters]

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Who''s that in the mirror?

[astreamofwishfulthinking]

Haven’t seen ANYONE do anything with a drider lately, miss those boys 😪

I can imagine that driders are naturally kind unlike their female counterpart, male spiders naturally being smaller n all that but what do you think? 🤨

Drider bf that’s used to being tiny compared to drider females, and is absolutely ECSTATIC when he falls for a human who is smaller than him.

I’d say he’s around 7/8 feet in height? He’s so happy to mate with his cute little human, ends up tying you up and fucking you on his cock while you’re completely restrained ><

He’s a bit nervous when female driders pass by his den, and stands in front of you protectively while tapping his spider legs against the floor anxiously. You’re HIS chubby little mate, you’re not food!

The females find this defensive display cute so they let you live, but they enjoy nipping at you to tease him and make him get all huffy and protective.

The females average about 10-12 feet tall, their spider abdomen is most of their height, but their torso is also pretty long.

Your mate is such a cuddly guy, he tries so hard to make you comfortable because he wants you to be happy, but at the end of the day you’re getting snuggled and squished against him as he mounts and mates with you~

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat