#monster 141 au

[bluegiragi]

chasing tail.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[princeguri66]

Insspired by @/bluegiragi's monster 141 au, the hc that Price has lived for centuries due to being a dragon hybrid (I'm not sure where it started but I got the idea from @/thegnomelord) , and this twt thread

[thegnomelord]

Thinking of flying as a dragon with dragon Price

Price knows that after the loss of his wing he's never flying again, not on his own. But the sky still calls for him like a mother for her lost child, for a grounded dragon is a dead dragon, regardless of if he still breathes or not.

His body still craves the freedom of flight despite what he says of being over it, every flight in the helicopter or plane feeling twice as wrong as it did before, deadened nerves gnawing on his brain until they force the atrophied remnants of wing muscles to twitch every time he jumps out of the plane. He resigns himself to just watch the other fliers from the ground, you often finding him on the roof of the base watching the birds whenever the phantom ache of his lost wing returns.

And an idea comes to you.

Price just grunts when you wrap your arms around his pudgy belly, forcing his remaining wing to spread out so you can press your chest against his back.

"Need somethin'?" He grumbles, stuck between wanting to lean in to feel your warmth and pull away, what dragon would even want a flightless wyrm like him?, never noticing your arms lock in place.

"Yeah," Your breath fans his ear, lips kissing the skin. "Want you to fly." He can feel you grin.

"What nonsense are you-" Your wings spread out before he can finish and with a strong gust of wind and a beat of your wings you're shooting up into the sky with him in your arms. "- oh you bloody wanker!" He screams, the cigar slipping from his claws as he scrambled to hold onto you, wind blowing in his face.

You laugh as you soar through the air, "Relax!" You yell over the screeching wind, holding him tight.

And Price doesn't know when it happens, but his body calms down, adrenaline settling to sleep like a worn out beast. The wind fluttering his wing membrane feels nice, the sensation of the sky yielding beneath his flapping wing forcing a shiver down his spine, doesn't even notice when he starts purring.

You grin when you feel his chest rumble beneath your hands, dipping and diving through the sky and Price recognizes your movements — he spent decades practicing the same arial moves to woo future mates. And he can't help but smile, eyes closing and allowing his body to remember what it's like to fly.

----

Idl this came to me suddenly and I word vomited all over the page :/,

[diejager]

I know I already sent you an ask but could I get something for monster!141? Specifically Dragon!Price? Sorry for asking again but I love price and your writing!

Dragon Heart

Pairing: Dragon!John Price x fem!reader

Cw: knot, breeding kink, creampie, smut, fluff, morning sex, implied somnophilia, slow sex, romantic sex, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

You knew dragons ran hot, their bodies powered by the kindled fire in their hearts, breathing smoke and fire with every breath they took. European dragons were creatures synonymous with fire, the powerful blaze that humans coveted for warmth, protection and destruction, but Price was all but the latter with his ragtag group. You once thought that Soap - sweet, rambunctious Johnny - ran the hottest, his body exhuming heat in plumes of vapours, his body exhausting itself from rapid muscle growth. Now you knew better, nothing burned more than a dragon itself, his heart pulsing in powerful waves, warm and soothing, his body warmed by the will of fire that thrived within him. You felt it all, his body calling to yours, naked under the sheets of his bed, cradling his face between your arms after your nightly activities that would follow in the morning —a promise he whispered on your lips. 

You woke up to his soft kisses, severing his mark on your body just as his hands did on your wrists, and the rough scruff of his beard, tickling your cheek and throat as he moved down. He was hard between his thick thighs, the flushed head of his cock pushing inside you in a slow roll of his hips, your slick walls stretching around his girth. Price liked waking you up with slow and gentle sex, watching your eyes crack open while they rolled back and lips cracked open to let out a few sleepy mewls, feeling him fill you up. There was something in being woken up with Price inside of you on slow mornings, to feel the warmth of his body pressing you into the bed, soft sheets hugging you, and the heaviness of his cock, carving the shape of it inside you. 

Mornings like these were full of love and affection, unhurried pleasure and gentle caresses. Price - John, you called him behind closed doors - was a devoted lover, giving you much more than he received, finding pleasure in giving rather than receiving. He was a firm, but kind hand, soft but guiding, he took the reins and watched you unravel beneath him —much like a flower blooming, petals unfurling into the prettiest blossom he knew. Price was a strong lover, caring for you through anything with strong conviction, grounding in anything he ventured into, a strong hand reminding Ghost that you were here for him, a gentle hand grounding Gaz from his slight fears, a firm hand keeping Soap in check, and a protective hand holding you close. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He gave and never asked for more, taking what was given to him with a smile and warming eyes. 

While you liked the moments of shared animosity, clawing and biting at him, pressing him down on his desk and riding the life out of his cock, milking him for all his worth while he grasped and bucked into you, holding you captive under his burning gaze; you cherished these moments of domesticity, where he was neither captain nor were you his corporal. You weren’t restrained by duty or regulations, you simply held one another out of passion, one that had his heart soar and yours skip a beat. You loved him, you knew you did as much as he did, and he loved you so much that it hurt his old heart. He whispered your name, pressing his lips against yours, a soft and sensual act drawn out in lazy mornings and passionate gazes —he never failed to look you in the eyes when he expressed himself, telling you how much he cared and how much he would give for any one of you. 

“Love you, John,” you gasped, hips bucked up, searching for his cock to hit a certain spot inside of you, the gummy part of you that made you cry and mewl. “I love you.”

His kiss tasted like cigar and smoke, a woody taste similar to Ghost’s earthy bourbon, but Price’s was more powerful, a distinct taste of him. It laid heavy with love, it clung to you with such boiling joy that you smiled, eyes closed. Your fingers found his spine, the curve that went up to his singular wing, a vestige of an accident that left him crippled in the air, you pressed down, hitting a knot while he fucked into you at a steady pace. He groaned, his pace stuttering, jerkily bottoming out, his balls flush against your ass and his wild pubic hair scratching your throbbing clit. He shuddered and you knew he liked it, the relief it gave him when you pressed a certain knot in his back, the one that released tension and gave him more leeway to move about freely and without restraint. It was your way to give back when he wouldn’t take.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, brows furrowed and blinking away the daze you put him in, having his cock milked and his back popped felt amazing, the immediate relief painted on his face, “You’re a blessing.”

He felt like a blessing to you, his heart, his body, his mind, and everything about him was a blessing to you and his team. A gifting dragon to his hoard, keeping and protecting what belonged to him. Words wouldn’t be enough for you to show him how much you appreciate him, you used acts, favours and everything you had to show it to him. Whether it be a sudden kiss on his lips that brought a smile on his face, the skin under his eyes wrinkling from how happy he looked, or the massages you gave him, unwinding all the tension in his body after a hard mission, hearing his pleasured groan and his struggle to stay still, to stop himself from snatching you up and give you all the love he deemed you worthy of.

You murmured confessions, praises directed at his character rather than his duty, proclaiming little whispers of love. You raked your nails down his back, fleetingly touching the base of his tail, thick and robust, curled around your leg, holding it over his hip for deeper penetration, the rounded head of his cock kissing your cervix despite your prone position —a vanilla morning sex in missionary. Your hands slipped under his arm, roving over his hairy chest and pinching his perky nipples, rolling the rounded nubs between your thumb and index. You felt him twitch, a soft moan leaving his swollen lips, still kissing you with feverish need. His nipples were sensitive, especially in the mornings when his body reacted much more than at night, he’d succumb to your little tease, jerkily thrusting into you. Every drive of his cock thickened the ring of white around his cock, the ribbed girth of it catching the edge of your cunt when he pulled out, bringing you mind-numbing ecstasy. 

You could feel the coil in your core tightening, the unwinding pleasure that followed the first spasm, walls clinging onto him. You let out a shuddered breath, feeling the ribs rubbing your sweet spot and his leaky cock throb against your cervix. Slick oozed out of your hole with each thrust, the motion pushing out yesterday’s load, cream jostled out of you, squeezed around his shaft. 

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, bowing his head over your shoulders, his breath hot and mouth nipping at your skin, threatening to sink his teeth and mark you for the others to see, for them to strew in jealousy that he had you all night long and the following morning. He spoiled and cared for you. “I want to hear you moan.”

Moan, you did, thighs tensing when your fingers circled your swollen clit, rolling the twitching nerve in rapid motions. You breathed laboriously, panting and gasping into his ear, mewling his name with teary and burning eyes, rolling back from pleasure and the thin veil of grey smoke that rose from his lips. It smelled like cedar, a smoky incense mixed with the natural scent of cedar and his strong cigars, a soothing and bitter smell. It drove you off the edge, his smell, his warmth, his body, and his voice sent you careening over the precipice of your pleasure, an explosive fire blinding you in white light, stars dancing around your sight as you clung to him. Your walls gripped in him a vice, clenching down on his cock and hand stuttering on your clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive and slick. 

He was sloppy, growling out praises, telling you how good you were for coming for him, confessing how he lived to bring you over the brink of relief and much farther, and mumbling how he’d ruin himself for you. It was wet and messy, he came with a single buck, snapping into you, his green-tinted balls slapping your ass wetly, and bottoming out, his knot catching and inflating with a deep groan. Hot cum filled you, ropes of potent semen shooting out of his red tip, engorged and throbbing against your gummy cervix. You felt like you’d bloat from how much he was spewing, imagining the bump of cock and cum under your skin, poking out in an erotic sight.

His back slumped over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, face pressed under his chin and his wing covering you. You listened to his purr, a low sound meant to comfort you after sex or any other straining activity —similarly to a cat showing its joy and pleasure. Price always cuddled you while waiting out his knot, pressing his burning body against yours and spoiling you with words and kisses. His knot comfortably seated inside of you, keeping his load from going to waste, preventing his fertility from leaking out of you like the faucet-like jet of his tip, he murmured into your hair, nosing the few strands that clung to your forehead and kissed you deeply. You kissed back, fingers carding through his beard and bushy hair, nails scratching his scalp, being careful of his sensitive horns. 

“We have the day off, darling,” Price smiled conspiringly, blazing, amber eyes brimming with mirth, “Reckon we stay in bed a while longer?”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-222 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @kaelysia @mixplara @notspiders

[brokenpieces-72]

Monster!141 + Horangi and König x jackalope/wendigo Reader

New Recruits

Continuation of this one but not required

Holidays don’t last forever though, and soon enough both you and Soap are called back to base. You bring your gifts with you along with a few new clothes that his mom insisted you take. They’re old and if they get torn she doesn’t care, cause at least they’ll be used.

When you land you thank the others for their gifts, and then Price walks in. You’re about to thank him when you see the look on his face. He asks to talk to you in his office. The team goes a bit quiet as you nod and put your things in your room before going to Price’s office.

Your handler is missing. They don’t know where he is, or why he did what he did, but at the moment you were in the custody of the 141 until the program decided to move you. If anything was suspicious or off you had to bring it up immediately, and there was a chance you could be taken away from the base by the program. You had known about some of this before, but Price brought it up now because there was more information to give to the whole team. Two new hybrids would be joining the team, and if things went wrong with them there was a chance you would be removed. The base considered unfit for you to stay in.

When the two new members from KorTac landed everyone was there to greet them including Hunter. You were there as well, watching as they approached. Something odd came over you though. Maybe it was nerves or something but you moved closer to Hunter as did the rest of the team. You stepped a little closer to them, so your arms brushed. The rest of the team acted on it a bit stronger, with Price wrapping his tail around Hunter’s leg again. It was out of instinct, as Hunter had become a bit like the pack parent.

One was shorter and wore a mask but had a tiger tail. Didn’t exactly smell like a tiger though. His gear was a bit slimmer, likely the rest of it being stored in his bag. You could make out some muscle underneath his clothing. The other wore a mask but it was more like a veil with eye holes. With the helmet it made you think of a creepy sheet ghost. Not to mention he was far bigger and had an odd smell you weren’t expecting. It smelled a bit like sulfur. Price introduces himself and Hunter to the other two who react with arms crossed from the tiger and the larger one looking down toward Hunter.

The urge to stay close dissipated and you step away from Hunter. You go around the larger men to get a better look at the newcomers. They both look at you, but stay somewhat expressionless, even with their faces covered.

Neither Horangi or König had really been expecting such a young recruit. Horangi is surprised to say the least, knowing there was a sort of temp on the team but not a kid. König is uneasy, not by you but your general presence. He was aware of a younger hybrid but not this young. Your staring makes him shift a little in place as he breaks eye contact. The fact you have rabbit ears and antlers throws them off a bit more. At first look you seem quite innocent, but with your camo cap, black tee and cargo pants…you’re not what they expect.

[the-entitie]

Why didn't you say anything?

Poly TF 141 x sex-demon reader (male intended but has depictions of fem):

A|n: Based on this writer's amazing work and this artist's au. And now this is very long.... I can't just write porn can I? Of well.

Prt:2 is done <3 》》》》》

Be warned I use more Catholic or deamon depiction of our succubus(male) reader, so please expect some body horror esk depictions. Also, the 141 are all in a polycule in this story.

CW: NSFW halfway through after the line break, sex addiction or dependence depicted for reader, threats to health, kind of eating disorder esk, talk of threats/acts of noncon and dubcon to reader (not focused on), polyamory, some talk of religion, why is this so long? And angst??? Ok....

Thinking about being a demon who became the 141's spy. The blood of the damned that ran through you, making you that much more dangerous and that much better at your job.

You fell under the deadly sin of lust, but it's been so many decades that you can't quite remember how you came to be. Maybe reincarnation, maybe you were summoned. It doesn't matter anymore, but it still hindered your intake into the military. You were practically a veteran by the time Price picks you up and drags you into his team.

None of the 141 had ever worked with anyone demonic for an extended amount of time. There had been the call ins and times when they picked up failed missions, but none of them ever really worked with a demon.

Ghost, as a wraith, was the closest any of them had gotten to working with anyone similar to you.

You started out as someone they called to scope out information before a particularly threatening mission. You were just the help, the one they called when they needed a spy. Until they leaned about how every other task force would drop you within a month of calling you thiers.

Price had worried that it was something to do with you or your attitude towards teamwork when he had taken you in, made you one of his men.

That was before he noticed this kind of cycle you would go through. Just when a mission would start, you would pull back. You would separate from everyone, not cold turkey, yet you just wouldn't be present. The training room was one person short, or their would be one less person here on the quieter afternoons he didn't even know this team had.

It was after the missions that you would be more than present again.

You were there again when Soap wanted to run his lycanthopic body to exhaustion just so he could feel just a little more human with the pains it brought. When he was hyper, feeling like he needed to move, you were there to shove him. Drag him into a game of tag or chase or anything to help him move. Soap has never been good at sitting still.

When Gaz needed to be called from the purch he picked to preen his damp or irritated feathers on that was away from the busy noise of the base. Or when his Avian blood told him to take to the sky, you were happy to be taken for a flight or watch him loop around, watch him stretch his wings, across the star splattered skies.

And there you were outside with the nocturnal Ghost, saying you didn't need the sleep most nights and got bored. Even when his form would flicker, tendrils of shadows lashing around his open skin, something that made most run. You stayed with him, hummed a tune you can't remember the origin of, in a language probably only those as old as you would remember.

When Price was struck with phantom pain, when he would feel this pang on his wing only to realize it was from the one that didn't exist anymore. You were there with him. Happy to share a cigar with the smoke that smoldered was neither from his drag nor you. There to sit and fill in paperwork long into the night shift, to just exist around Price when the team was still settling in, or licking wounds.

In the more common areas where Soap would annoy Gaz into another game of cards. You were there to keep the peace.

It had taken Price longer than he was willing to admit to know what was going on. It wasn't some manipulative, carrot and stick, trick no. And it almost seemed like you hadn't consciously been doing it. Before it clicked.

You were a demon, a succubus, to be specific. You fed off of the emotion or the intent of sex.

And you only got that when you needed to get someone to talk. You only lean into it when it's needed for a mission.

He honestly felt stupid, like a leader that failed, but he was quick to right that failure. It wasn't like this team didn't run off and blow off steam together or that they left soap to struggle through his heat alone, nor did they leave Gaz to sit and brood alone. None of that.

And if you were a part of his team, this team, then you can't be starved. Can't be left to weaken, to crave, no. Price wouldn't stand it.

So he talked to the team. Told them his theory, his plan to fix it, and when the team had gotten over the hurt of leaving you alone and weak. They jumped at the opportunity.

Starting small.

Being more openly affectionate around you, never quiet reaching out but still letting the emotions linger.

Those play fights that Ghost would tap out of suddenly just kept going, and those thick visceral emotions none could quiet place the origin of; would hang so heavy in the air you could practically catch it between your teeth.

Those days Gaz would pull back, preen his wings alone; became fewer and far between. Now, the nearest team mate had a lap full of fluffled up wings and pleading eyes. And could Gaz use those honey coated eyes of his to glance up through his lashes and beg.

The quiet chuckles and this ever so pleased emotion would wind around Price's incisors, a satisfied thrill of the dragon flooding a palpable semblance of the satisfied job.

Price started talking about to the team, and they started trying to be more connected, more present, with you so you could have that nourishment. And if that meant that private room doors were left ever so lightly ajar during late nights spent with each other. No one mentioned it.

Soap was the first to notice the actual change.

Your eyes would flicker, puplis vibrating softly before it was shut down, and you would disappear. Or you would actually pull back. He was also the first to tell Price. And thier leader waisted no time.

"You good there, lutenent?" His voice calls softly into your quarters.

"All good Cap."

"Not so sure about that one soldier." Price presses on, taking a step further in to push the door more closed, "You don't play well with this team?"

"No, I have no qualms with any of you. Sorry if it seemed so."

"Ya do always talk so proper like you know?"

"Apologies, old habits."

Price steps closer, easily taking the space offered my your open thighs. Letting that simmering feeling flush his skin.

"Maybe we should start making new ones. What do you say, Sugar?"

His hand hovered just over your throat, careful to keep you feel safe. Price of all people knows what a demon can do when cornered, and it wasn't like he wanted you to feel put off.

He sees what Soap saw, just as his palm cups the edge of your jaw, your pupils flicker. Body dropping almost leaning agaisnt him.

"Why didn't you say something, Suguar?"

"Not of my use in this team."

"You don't need to be useful to eat." He sounded almost angry, calming all the more when you do lean into him, "you never need to earn a meal. Just ask. We all want to help."

That night, he let you ride him.

Laid back against your bed, held your weight by your thighs, and let you set the pace. Even if he was so hard it hurt, or if your dark lion-esk tail would flick across the sensitive inside of his thigh. Or when he's come twice and is practically drooling before he notice just how much more like your kin you look.

He doesn't stop you from flicking a forked tongue over the overwhelmed tears, he only noticed the change at the hitch of your breath when Price tangles his scared hands in your hair. Accidently tracing the curving rams horns that has twisted around your more pointed ears.

Singing your praise, even as you tried and failed to explain that you don't matter in this, just his pleasure.

He shut that down real quick.

[queermentaldisaster]

Oh...oh Ghost...

[femoso-seben]

Monster fic:

Human Shaped Monsters

Blood bathed the soil. It spans decades, and at this point, there is no way either side could turn back, and strike a deal for peace. The humans who have been enslaved and the monsters who were belittled and forced into segregation for centuries.

Blood soil the hands of both leading sides, eyes shrouded by hatred and rage. This was a war to end either species… and the humans were losing.

Two decades before the start of this war there was a faction of monsters pushing for equal rights and humans siding with them. Not even that solidarity could bring both sides together. It started with peace and ended in the blood of an innocent.

The human resistance was shrinking and the leading factions began to divide a plan. A last-ditch for freedom.

Rabies.

It was a slow race, the first to be infected were the werewolves and other beastmen. It was a long wave of modification by a small group of scientists. They made sure it could jump to every other monster, the only free of it were, mermaids, gargoyles, and shadow beings.

They made it with no cure.

It was an overnight success. Their militaries begin to fall into smithereens. One by one they had to kill their own forces and burn their corpses. New fear spread across the monsters.

The humans leaked the information.

The fear of humans was raised again.

Switzerland was the only country that allowed humans and Monsters to live together, of course, there were some apartheid laws but in all of was far better than other countries where they were actual slaves, broodmares, pets, and cattle.

It was a painful year for the Monsters before they decided to come to a ceasefire with the remnant of free humanity.

They meet up in neutral territory, Switzerland.

Laswell’s wing folds flatly against her back as she looks over to see her escort, Task Force 141, and shadow company’s Graves. “Are you sure about this?” Price was in his wings folding.

“I don’t like making concessions to them but if they have a cure—“

“I doubt it,” Soap snears, “knowing that vermin they were trying to kill us off.” He grips the door his long nails scrapping the metal door, his tail swishing angrily.

“Kate Laswell,” a feminine voice calls out, they all turn to see a young human woman standing there flanking her side is a monster in tactical gear. Laswell walked forward and they followed after them.

“Are you part of the delegation?” Laswell asks. The human looks up.

“Well, I’m part of the… welcoming committee, we in Switzerland don’t want war.” The human smiles her dark auburn hair was pull back into a low ponytail.

“A bunch of cowards and weaklings,” Soap smears. The soap didn’t always hate humans, he grew to hate them. In his youth, he was to stay in love with one until another human took her. He watched as they destroyed the world, their corruption throwing the world into a near-constant war.

He hated them.

“What would Santana think?” The human girl asks, Soap found himself sneering at the human woman for being up his old love.

“She’s not here because of you-“

“That was far before my time.”

“You’re young,” Gaz notes.

“Well, this country is made up of refugees, our parents fought to be free.” The human said side eyeing the Harpy.

Gaz didn’t like humans, he had no fold memory of that human or that human in his mind where they showed their famed humanity. He has only seen their bigotry. His home was napalmed by war. He hated humans too.

“Why aren’t we needing at the capital?” Graves asks looking around. The sun was setting and he could see the beautiful landscape of Switzerland’s countryside.

“Too many people live there, too many anxieties. Here if war breaks out not so many people be hurt.” Soap snorts but looks around the air is smooth and clean, far less dusty than the battlefield.

“Mother Maia,” the human woman calls out. There in the setting Sun of a large building, what used to look like a big retail store was a woman taking down hung sheets.

“As Jezebel,” the woman’s sweet voice calls out. “Are these the monster’s delegates?”

“Yup,” the group stops in front of this strange woman. She was in all black, with no skin showing beside her hands. She didn’t look Muslim just… like a Victorian woman in mourning. It was nostalgic for Graves he couldn’t stop smiling, her dark veil covering her hair and face. “How are the kids?”

“It’s dinner, you know how the little werewolves get, so territorial. Then the gargoyles want to sit at the top. The dragons are trying to hord people.”

“Is Michael sweet-talking people for food again?”

“Of course, you can’t stop young sirens from praying on others, especially on crawfish night.”

“Crawfish? Damn now I’m hungry-“

“We’ll take your group to the meeting point and if you get their fast enough and back we might still have some leftovers.” The woman in black tease.

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Jezebel said rushing the group of monsters.

“What is that place?” Ghost asks. There were monsters there? And a human talking so nonchalantly about them too.

“That’s an orphanage, government sponsored, that’s the head director, Mother Maia.”

“Is she a nun?” Soap asks. Jezebel cackles and turn to him.

“Nope she’s a former Sniper, before retiring only a few weeks ago.” A cold chill run down tje monster’s bodies.

“What was her name?”

“Something like the pale death.” The monster stopped walking Soap nearly ran back to that woman to kill her.

“Relax Johnny it’s a bad idea to kill her here.” Ghost said resting his stone hands on his friend’s shoulder. Soap bared his fangs but let his shoulder sag.

“That bitch has killed dozen of our men-”

“Hey,” Jezebel said, “you better be careful this is her boyfriend right here,” Jezebel pointed to the armed monster next to him. He was a humanoid monster, maybe a wraith… that would make sense at night he was the most powerful.

“Traitor,” Gaz glared at the shorter male who had a strange antenna coming from his helmet.

“C’mon, let’s keep going I’m missing out on delisting crawfish!” Jezebel practically jogged to the meeting point.

“Look at her, so carefree. Humans truly disgust me.” Soap whispers to Gaz who flew slightly above him.

“I know mate, they only care for themselves, and discriminate against those that differ from them.” The moment they got to the meeting Jezebel took off.

—————————— /\ ——————————

“Mother Maia?” The woman in black looks up and walks up to the group of monster. Walking into the giant old building. The inside was converted into a home.

“Yes?” She asks.

“They wanted to see the orphanage a little more,” assistant Andres said, his wolf tail swinging side to side.

“Of course come in—”

“That killer in in charge of our kind?” Soap sneers, walking up to her. His eyes widened she was quite tall for a human, 6ft.

A set of low growls ooze out from the back as a small group of five teenage boys stalked in, they were young Werewolf pups. They got in between her and him.

“Who the fuck are you pendejo?” One asks his accented English rolls off his tongue.

“She killed our kind—”

“You killed your kind! My parents were killed by cunts like you,” the Australian boy shouts.

Soap glared at the young boys in front of him. They were young, stupid, and weak. A few had missing eyes, and arms, and one missing a leg. In the order of monsters, they should be dead.

“Enough!” Mother Maia snaps loudly, pulling the young alpha back. She leans down. In a low tone, she said, “Go protect the other orphanage.” Soap frown, another orphanage? The young back sneered at him one last time and stalked off.

“Have some grace, most of them were maimed by the monster’s militia when their parents tried to flee. Most of their parents were either murdered in front of them or eaten.” A chill ran down 141’s back.

“Mate—”

“Of course, we have some monsters affected by humans, but humans wouldn’t let a single monster live. These survivors or victims of you.” Mother Maia said setting the basket closed down.

“So, pale death-“ Graves walk over a smirk on his face.

“Killed anyone of them?”

“They are my children, don’t you know? Human pack bond with anyone.” She said in the same flirty tone as Graves. She clears her throat and looks at the greater whole, “where would you like to begin?”

“What type of monsters do you have?” Gaz asks looking around, he can smell a plethora of monsters, even prey monsters.

“We have beast men, harpies, mermaids, fairies, shark born, dragons, gargoyles, vampires-“ a group of bats came flying in and transformed small little kids running up to Mother Maia.

“We’re hungry.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“How do you feed them?” Graves asks, there was about six of them the oldest no older than twelve.

“Donation of course, this country knows blood from monsters and humans are welcome. Of course, we have animals.” Graves subconsciously nods. “We have a few turned, they don’t want human blood.”

“We also have pray hybrids.”

“To feed-“

“No.” Mother Maia cuts off Price.

“Come I’ll show you the barn,” Mother Maia turned and led the group. There in the back was a large barn, it smelled like a barn.

“Lenard,” Mother Maia calls out, a figure jumps down and a young gargoyle appears, “we’re bringing in some guess, go tell Jin.”

“Jin isn’t gonna like this… not these unknown predators in his camp.”

“I know but go tell him,” The gargoyle nods and flies off.

Mother Maia turns to them, the veil is getting annoying, and the strange clinking sound as she walks. “Don’t eat anyone of them, I’ll kill you.” Her tone turns from sweet and welcoming to cold and cruel.

She opens the barn.

Screams erupt.

There was many cattle hybrids. Sheep, goats, alpacas, llamas, cows, and even some deer. They all backed up and only one thing approached a small girl screaming.

“Yumna-“

“Get out!” She shouts. She was a stout girl? And from the marking of her fur, honey badger.

“Do they have to be here?” A new voice asks in the arms of Lenard was a boy, Jin. The horns said it all along with the one wing, dragon. This was his hord.

“Quit,” Mother Maia said, silencing the barn.

“As you can see we have farmed more prey species since they don’t want to be killed or eaten. We’re leaving now,” she pushed everyone out and close the barn after Lenard who climb back onto his perch.

“So…” Price smiles blowing out his cigar smoke, “that’s his castle and hord?”

“Indeed.”

They begin to walk far into the fields small predictor hybrids poke their heads up and watch them leave before going back to playing. They walked for a few miles to the ledge of a cliff down below the ocean.

“We don’t have any big trees, so most of the Harpies live on the cliffs in huts, down below in our seaways are Merfolks and shark borns. Of course, as you see another gargoyle and in the water an eastern dragon born.” Gaz eyes widen seeing the little harpies flying around. It reminded him of home.

“Priscilla,” Mother Maia calls out, a young woman in her early Twenties or late teens walked up. Gaz thought she was human at first until he noticed her feet. She was a wingless harpy. Gaz felt feather’s raising anger boiling under his skin. She inched her way closer Gorgyle behind her.

“Since Harpies are communal and the boldest of the youth train the harpies to fly, but since Priscilla had her wings ripped off most of the young harpies don’t fly.” Mother Maia said.

“We can!” One shout, from the cliffs their small heads and raptor eyes glued on them. “We just… don’t want to.” The little boy said shyly.

“And in the small brush forest we have the smaller pray species and a pack of werewolves.”

“A pack?” Soap asks, “there’s more than one?” Mother Maia nods.

“We have five they like doing mock battles to see who gets five feet of territory into another’s back, it’s all friendly games they come together to defend this area when needed.” Soap couldn’t help but smile, maybe if he was younger this would be a great place to create a pack.

“I can teach them how to fly,” Gaz said mindlessly staring at the cliff where there were probably over 20 harpies. All the young children and the oldest were younger than him, they wouldn’t survive if they couldn’t fly.

“Really?” Priscilla said her shoulder feathers raising in excitement.

“We’re staying here a few days.” They two turn to another Maia for an answer.

“You have to ask Baihu.” Pricilla cringed and sighed, “As the most senior member of this community and the oldest, it’s your duty.” Pricilla nods.

“Alright let’s go asks him, c’mon.” She begins to walk to the cliff Gaz following suit.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have a human looking after a monster?” Soap ask.

“Not at all my counterpart is a monster taking care of humans, his hord.”

“This seems too perfect.”

______________________

Word count: 2.2K Would you be interested in this being a full fic?

Inspire by @bluegiragi @gremlingottoosilly

taglist: @kkaaaagt 

Part 2

[s0apmactav1sh]

Minors, fem alinged do not interact with this blog you will be blocked!!

Taskforce 141. A tight knit group made up of monsters. Soldiers who were on a whole other level to the rest all because they were supernatural. Price, the captain of the TF and a dragon hybrid. His boys were apart of his hoard, the things he found irreplaceable and precious. Even with one wing enemies trembled at the sight of such a large man coming towards them. Ghost, the lieutenant and a wraith. What could be said about him, with shadows at his mercy and the darkness being apart of him there wasnt a way to kill a man who was already dead. Soap, sergeant number one and a werewolf. All hell breaks loose when hes able to transform, the team being his pack so he does whats needed to protect them. And lastly, Gaz, the harpy hybrid. The taskforces eyes in the sky. A bird of prey as other soldiers call him.

Thats all the infromation you had been given when you were first introduced to Kate Laswell. You had been handed files but most of the information on them had been classified and blacked out. Laswell had mentioned breifly how she had to practically seek you out, going to people she assumed would have an idea on where you would be. However no one could tell her what you were or where you were mostly because you kept on the down low and only popped up on the map during certain times. How she had caught you while you were in a bar in blackpool was a question you held back from asking.

"Whats in it for me?" Your voice was gruff, not in the way johns was from his years of smoking and barking orders, but in a softer way like you werent expecting to have to talk tonight. Help always came with a price. Yours especially, since you'd be working with monsters you were unfamiliar with. It wasnt like you were different persay but mixing your type of monster with theres didnt seem like the greatest idea in your mind but with Kates promise of a large sum of money and the few pints she bought you it was enough for you to agree to work alongside the taskforce for a few weeks until you were no long needed and could slip back into whatever hell you came from.

-

A Nightcrawler, a monster so unheard of they practically didnt exsit anymore. A creatures that lurked in the darkness where it could lure its victims into it and get rid of them, feasting on them after. Price had to put down your file the minute he read what type of monster you were, everyone knew that trusted one of you would end with death. The shiver that crept down his spine had him removing himself from his desk and leaving his office going directly to the resting room he knew his boys would be in. If he was going to accept kate purposal of accepting you into the taskforce, even if it was for a few weeks, he needed them to voice there opinions first.

"No. Not a chance" Was the first answer he got from ghost once it was finally brought up. Soap was to busy tryna keep his tail still so Gaz could brush out the muck and dirt he had in it from the missions they had been on. "We'd never be able to trust something like it." Ghost was set on declining having another person invade his space. He had enough trying to deal with a werewolf a harpy and a dragon, thrusting a nightcrawler into the mist would cause chaos.

"Its not a good idea, nightcrawlers have a tendancy to go rouge and attack everything within range" was the next response price got from gaz this time, the harpy also turning down the idea of having a nightcrawler join them. Although he voiced his reason as to his decline a lot more clearly than the wraith did. Still Price was hoping atleast Johnny may say something positive so he doesnt look like an asshole for not listening to them even though Kate had went through the pain of trying to get you to come and help them. But with prices luck so far with getting his boys to agree to allow you onto the team there was little hope that johnny would agree.

"Are you mad? A nightcrawler on our team. Ain't no way thats happenin" like he expected he was instantly turned down by the werewolf. Now explaining to Laswell that none of them wanted you on the team because you were a nightcrawler would be the difficult part since the woman was so persistant on getting them another to work with them. Dialing her number once in his office, all price could do is hope she hadnt gotten a chance to even figure out were you were.

-

The sound of kates phone ringing knocked you out of your small buzz as you picked it up and handed it to her turning away and getting another drink for yourself in hopes of drinking yourself to sleep once more before you set off to this taskforce. The sound of irritation soon hit your ears as kate tried getting whoever was on the other end of the phone to agree and take you in even if was just for one mission. Clenching your jaw you reached over and took the phone listen to the sound of the voice coming through.

"Kate there isnt a thing I can do to get the lads to let him join. They dont want a nightcrawler on the taskforce I cant force them."

A small scoff leaves you before you hang up the phone and pass it back to kate. "Thought they were on board with me joining."

-

JDBSJSVDUDBDV i have struggled i mean struggled to finish this. I honestly hate it with a burning passion and I have half a mind to delete it all and start over but here is part 1 of a fic im not even sure Ill finish.

[darkworkcourier]

This is kind of a quick and dirty smut sampler for @cyber-nya's Monster 141 AU. It's kind of experimental and like an exercise in playing with styles, so hopefully some of it is cohesive?? We Shall See.

It's all gn!reader/the 141 doing their monster thing, and a bonus at the end. :)

(Also content warning for minor (very minor!) bloodplay in Price's section, chase roleplay in Soap's, minor mindfuckery and unreality in Gaz's, and safeword usage in Ghost's.)

---

With Price, it's all dichotomies. Pain and pleasure. Illumination before plunging into darkness. Aching and soothing.

Fangs pierce your neck—a cold metal sting before warmth floods your bloodstream, numbing you from the inside out. You hear your heart thrum like a plucked bass string, and you feel that odd, drowsy sensation that comes syrup-slow and sweet. His eyes flick up once, startlingly blue, and you hear his voice in your head.

I warned you, he says. He always says it, and it took you so long to realize it's because he cares.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand up to stroke his hair.

You always lose track of time when you're with him, hours smearing like oil, your circadian rhythm tripping and stumbling. At some point, you know he helps you out of your clothes until your skin is flush against his. His stolen heat soaks into you, and you moan as his fangs retract, tongue laving over your wounds. Then he kisses you, slow and copper-sharp, deceptively human—yet as inhuman as they come.

"Touch me?" you sigh against his lips.

Of course, he replies. In your head. In your ears. There's no difference. All that matters is his hand on you, working up a slow-moving heat between your legs, winding and coiling up the tension until it threatens to spring.

Sometimes he's quiet when he touches you like this. Sometimes he fucks you and snarls in your ear like an animal attempting human speech. Tonight, though, he turns wistful as his hand moves in long, lazy movements and you gasp against his jaw.

"One day," he tells you. "It's gonna be a bite that'll be your last."

This bedtime story. Your favorite of them all.

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod against his shoulder as he fucks you with his fingers. It takes everything in you not to sob at the sensation.

"You'll feel all your life drain out of you, and right when you think it's the end—when all this goes dark—you'll feel it. You'll feel something better than this."

This is punctuated by a stroke that sends you arching off the bed, pressing yourself against him as he works you up and up. You shudder and moan, and he rests a cheek against the crown of your head like he's listening to an orchestral piece.

"Life like you never lived it," he says. "I'll give you back some of what I took, a little bit of me in it. It'll be just like fuckin' you, but so much better. You'll wish it never ends."

You're close to wailing now, his hands moving faster than any human's, the friction a burn between your legs as you tremble in his arms.

"You'll be mine. Properly mine."

And you're over the edge—a burning bright light, something singing high and melodious in your shared blood, and then you fall back into the honey-sweet, velvet darkness.

You lay against him, panting, eyes squeezed shut, shivering in fits as you come down to the sound of him shushing you, the feeling of him stroking your hair.

"It'll happen," he whispers to you, then kisses you so sweetly that it aches. "I promise you that, love."

---

Soap plays with you at the outset. It's shared glances across rooms, quick smiles, come-hither looks. He makes a game out of following you around, then turns it into a pursuit. The aim is to get caught, but you're always given a better reward if you make him work for it. Sometimes you joke and say he's a working breed.

Today, you really make him put in the effort.

A light jog across base turns into a flat-out sprint once you get beyond the hangar. You hear Soap's boots behind you, then his grunt of surprise when you take off. It's thrilling, the burn in your muscles, the sound of Soap gaining on you, the potential of what might happen to you when he finally catches you.

You quickly turn a corner before reaching the easternmost hangar. Your boots skid on tarmac, and you nearly trip before catching yourself on the edge of a crate and using that to push off. Soap's seconds behind you, close enough that you can hear his heavy breathing, and as you round another corner leading to one of the old, disused hangars, you hear him growl.

Not playful.

The growl of something primal.

What starts as a fun exercise turns into a survival mantra—get to the hangar, get to the hangar. As your calves scream in effort and your heart threatens to punch out of your chest, you tell yourself that you'll get the luxury of making decisions so long as you reach the fucking hangar.

Adrenaline fuels every desperate step, but excitement rumbles through you at the sensation of heat at your back, the acrid sent of brimstone stinging the air. Fuck yes, you think. Come on.

You almost take the door right off its hinges, then slam it behind you just in time for Soap to impact it. The vibrations run up your arm and jar you, but you don't have time to be distracted. You sprint through the yawning empty space of the old Cold War-era hangar, the smell of burning dust hitting the air as you hear Soap actually take the door out of its frame with an otherworldly howl. Metal groans and rattles behind you, just as you finally find an empty office to hide in.

Most importantly, there's a lock on the door. Not that it matters, and not that it helps that you're effectively cornered. But that is kind of the point.

You hide between the dust-coated desk and a rusted file cabinet, counting your heartbeats and listening as claws scrape over concrete.

Thirty-one, you count, fingers on your pulse. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-fo—

Something scratches at the door, and you hear him sniffing at its base.

You clap your hand over your mouth and press your back against the desk, trying not to grin.

(You should be terrified, but that part of your brain is hardwired now to remember that Soap would never hurt you.)

"Come out," he snarls. It's impossibly deep, a black snarl of sound that sends tingles through your whole body. "I can smell you."

You wonder what he can smell, if he picks up the scent of arousal pooling between your legs at the thought of what he's planning to do—if he's planned at all. Sometimes, when he's worked up like this, he's beyond organized thought, and the results tend to be incredible.

A few more seconds and heartbeats.

Then you hear the hinges protest, screws stripping in their sockets, wood groaning from the pressure. The lock rattles, then snaps, and the door hits the opposite wall hard enough to make you jump.

Before you can peek up over the top of the desk, black smoke and red eyes fill your vision, and a clawed hand cinches around your throat.

"Got ya."

That's all you have time to register before you're thrown over the desk like you weigh nothing. Soap's at your back, body crackling like flames, hooked claws splitting the wood of the desk as his hands (paws?) bracket your head. You know without looking that he's half-transformed—human and hellhound combined so that he can hold you down like this, but can fuck you with the fury of hell as his fuel.

And enough of a hellhound for his teeth to shred your clothes, tearing them away until you're exposed to him. A long tongue insinuates against you, achingly hot against your skin, teasing you with every lap. Then it withdraws, and you moan in protest.

"No complainin'," he says, grin audible in his snarling voice. "We got a couple hours and I plan tae make the best of it."

---

Gaz is different. He seems to exist in two worlds—a split entity that relies completely on an image of a man combined with the reality of his actual body. You're never more aware of this than when you're intimate with him.

You're in his room, feeling the weight of him against your back as he drapes an arm over your waist. He kisses the nape of your neck, down to the first divot of your spine. There, he lingers, seeming to listen to your soft breathing, hand coming up to rest over your heart. You know he loves to feel your life under his hands, the sensation of your vitality fluttering in his palms like a bird.

"Close your eyes," he mutters into your ear.

You do without question, your trust in him absolute and infinite.

All at once, you fall into that here-and-not-here space that Gaz seems to occupy. You feel his hands roaming over your body, tugging your pants down in slow, methodical motions while his lips press against your neck and shoulder. At the same time, the vision behind your eyelids goes from dizzy phosphenic spirals and patterns to something concrete and clear.

You see a sword the color of burnished gold, handle intricate and polished to a shine from centuries of use. It hovers between the gauntlet-clad hands of a suit of ancient armor, proud and regal. As Gaz touches your thighs, the helmet moves, lending the appearance that the armor is watching you.

The sensation of this particular kind of scrutiny is exquisite, and the version of you that exists in this space moves around the armor to survey it from all sides.

(Gaz touches you at the apex of your thighs.)

The blade starts to glow with unearthly light, flickering like flame.

(His hands move with deep strokes as he licks a line up the column of your neck.)

The armor's torso moves along with you, watching you vigilantly. Always ready for to attack or defend, the sword as much a threat as it is a promise.

("Does it feel good?" Gaz asks you, voice low and lovely in your ear.)

You're at the armor's back, and you see your own hands stretch forward, fingers brushing over the metal—warm to your touch, like flesh. The helmet watches you, holding still, waiting.

(You can't speak, mouth open on a moan before your head falls back against his shoulder. Your hips move on their own accord, seeking him out.)

You return to the front, facing the glowing sword, watching strange patterns ripple over the sharpened metal. The urge to touch the pommel is overwhelming—a need, rather than a want. Something about the sword and armor calls to you in a way you can't explain, like you're being called home.

("That's it," Gaz says, encouraging. You can't tell if it's to you trying to fuck yourself on his hand or to the version of you in the in-between space.)

The helmet passively watches you. You take in the sight of it—intricate designs embossed above the visor, gorget nicked with old dents and scratches that tell of a long history. It's beautiful. More importantly, you know without any sense of doubt that it's alive.

(Something burns in you, bright and wonderful, coaxed forth on Gaz's hand.)

Your hand stretches out, reaching for the sword.

(You moan, and you hear Gaz answer it with his own.)

Heat radiates off the metal, feeling like sunlight on your skin.

("Come for me," he tells you.)

Your fingers touch the pommel—this sword in the stone, always waiting for your hand in particular. The moment you touch it, one of the armor's gauntlets gently covers the back of your hand with something like assurance.

(You shudder in his arms, bucking your hips against his hand, riding out this bliss that he's created.)

This was always meant for you, the armor tells you.

("That's it. That's it," he whispers into your ear, holding you close with his opposite arm. You feel his lips on your jaw.)

You grip the handle, lifting the golden sword from its place, spurred on by the armor's hand on you. Light floods this strange space, brilliant and resplendent.

(And then—)

And then your eyes open, gasps sharp as you come down from your orgasm. Gaz has you in his arms—decidedly human arms with flesh on muscle on bone. You feel so safe, endorphins flooding you as you relax into him and sigh.

"S'always yours," he tells you, kissing your jaw. "You know that?"

You nod, smiling, eyes fluttering closed again. Just there, beyond the cosmic dust behind your eyelids, you still see the sword in your hand.

"I know," you say, rolling over to press yourself against his chest. Your head goes up under his chin, and you smile.

---

Ghost is something else entirely.

During missions, he keeps something of a corporeal form, concentrating himself into the shape of a man. He moves as a human might—controlled gestures and motions that anyone would recognize. Only when he fights, when he truly throws himself against an enemy, does he allow even a portion of himself to loosen from the illusion. Black smoke unfurls from him, wraps itself around anyone unfortunate enough to get caught, squeezes the life from them and leaves a husk behind.

He keeps it controlled around the 141, and especially around you. Keeps his distance, lingering at the edge, like an animal prone to flight. You know what that smoke is capable of—what he is capable of, but not once have you worried he'd use it against you.

And when you finally learn what he can do to you—

You're in the showers, long after lights-out. Even if someone did come to find you, they couldn't see you. Ghost's made sure you're completely enveloped within him, lost in a cold smoke brushing like snow over your bare skin.

He's inside you— in every available place until it really is impossible to tell where you end and he begins. He fucks you relentlessly, but swallows up every sound from where one of those fucking hands plies your mouth open. You think he has you pressed against one of the tile walls, but knowing that would require sight, and he's covered yours.

There's something deliriously intoxicating about the thought of Death Itself fucking you like this, using every hole, taking your pleasure over and over and absorbing each moan like a soundproof room. Your legs gave out minutes—hours?—ago, but Ghost holds you upright, keeps you in just the right position as his presence ensconces you.

"You should see yourself," he says, voice coming from everywhere. He sounds like he's behind you, in front of you, whispering from each shoulder. "Fucked out like this. Barely able to keep yourself up."

You probably groan, but Ghost takes that, too. It feels like a kiss, something brushing over your lips, and you eagerly chase it, too blissed out to know what it is you're trying to catch.

"You'd take anything I give you, huh?"

A tendril follows along the curve of your thigh, up and up, then bridges over to the opposite leg in one liquid movement. It's cold silk on your flesh, making you shiver in his omnipresent grip.

It's almost too much, almost—

Your right hand moves, index and middle finger extended, tapping twice into the cool darkness.

It recedes immediately.

In a set of simultaneous movements, you're lowered to the floor and one of the tendrils reaches out to turn the shower on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough to tolerate. You catch your breath as the water falls over you, and Ghost wraps himself around you like a blanket, settling over your shoulders before nudging gently at your cheek.

Still trying to catch your breath, your trembling hand reaches up and strokes over the darkness, finding it soft and pliable under your fingers. "I just... I needed a break. Just a few minutes."

"Okay." Another nudge, this time from something that's nearly a hand. "You need anything?"

You shake your head, then lean into him. He takes more of a form now, human-shaped enough for you to lean your head against his chest. "You, mostly," you say.

"I'm here." He kisses the top of your head—one of the most human gestures he knows—and repeats it again. "I'm here."

---

"I don't care that it's incorporeal smoke," Dr. Adler says. "Sexual wellness is important, regardless of how you go about accomplishing... whatever it is."

You groan, watching her untie the tourniquet on your arm as blood flows into the tiny plastic vial. Within a few seconds, it's full, and she takes it and the syringe out in one quick movement before holding the vial up to the fluorescent light buzzing over your heads.

She taps the bottom of the vial twice with her thumb, and you watch with mute fascination as your blood turns bright blue, glows like a firefly, then turns back to what you think is still your blood.

Dr. Adler hums and tucks the vial into her lab coat pocket (with no indication of what she's planning on doing with it). "You're clean," she says.

"That's it? Don't you have to send that to a lab or something?"

"In a normal medical practice, yes," she replies with a shrug. "But not here. I don't have to pretend that I can't just do it myself."

"So your magic witchy powers cover checking for STDs?"

A brief look of annoyance crosses her face. "Not naturally, no. I learned it out of— Well, necessity."

You raise your brows. "Necessity?" you repeat.

"Military people. Always putting their genitalia in places where it doesn't belong."

"Oh." Gross. "Ew."

"Mhmm. Besides, I had to test it on myself a few times."

That gets your brows to a new altitude. "What?"

The look on Dr. Adler's face is the dictionary definition of enigmatic. Immediately, she goes to her office door and opens it for you. "Nevermind," she says. "I have another appointment waiting."

You glance out the door, but the waiting room's empty.

Still, she looks pretty insistent, and judging from hearsay from the other members of the 141, it's best not to pry too much into her business.

You leave, and the moment the door shuts behind you, you hear a soft, low, very much masculine laugh and a quiet mutter of what sounds like German.

Best to leave it be.

[bluegiragi]

he keeps his promises.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[drenix004]

𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘━━━ 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 141

❝𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲︙She was an odd one, as was her obsession with daisies. But, that made her unique in the eyes of the herd… she became the treasure of TF 141.

warnings: mention of alcohol, drugs, death, obsession, among others, if you are not comfortable, don't read it !

rating: 18+

pairings: Task Force 141, Köning y Horangi x Oc female.

Summary: the hunt for jewels had begun, so Laswell decides to pass her off as a human and send her to the British military base under the command of a colleague, all this without him knowing her true identity to protect her (sorry, I don't know how to summarize).

¡English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, don’t hesitate to correct me.!

wattapad -> here

●❯────────────────❮●

His footsteps echoed through the gray tiled hallways, he ignored whoever greeted him for wanting to get to the office where the woman works.

She even earned strange looks for not returning greetings as this was unusual for her.

Behind her came someone on her heels, also needing to get to the same office for the same reason she did.

He did get looked at with contempt and hatred for his nature, after all he was not human and those who were not, ended up being marginalized, despised or hated in whatever facility they went to.

She arrived at the woman's office and entered without warning, being followed by the man.

-Tell me it's not true, Laswell," she said as she set the letter, which she had crumpled in her hands on the way there, down on the table with a thump - "all that thinking for missions made you crazy?

The short-haired woman looked at her before answering after a sigh left her lips.

-The base in that place needs medical help, and you have it, besides, you are also a second lieutenant , you have combat training," she answered, "you are qualified for the transfer.

-Do you really think so? You are not only transferring me to the medical bay, you are also transferring their team, and alone," replied the woman, disgusted by the situation, "they are a gang, they will see me as an intruder, in the worst case scenario they could attack me. I'm a damned prey, I'm a human.

Laswell raised one of his eyebrows as he listened to her, glanced at the man next to her, who remained silent, before reconnecting gazes.

-We both know better than that, Harper. Nothing's going to happen to you over there, let alone with the team. Price knows how to control his boys, they're not monsters like the rest of them make them out to be, you have my word-when she wanted to protest, he stopped her-there are rumors that they're starting with the jewel hunt… again.

Harper froze in place, trying to process the last words.

-Hadn't that already been listed as a crime?" the man asked at last, as he placed his hands on his companion and made her sit down.

-That's not stopping them, there are more reports of disappearances-Laswell looked at the woman, who felt dejected by the new information-that's also why I sent you there, you'll be safer than here-he grabbed her hands and squeezed them carefully-this I'm telling you as a friend, I don't want anything to happen to you.

She sighed before nodding, if it was for her safety she would do it.

-Why can't Kamli come? He's my spirit familiar," the man squeezed her shoulders in comfort.

-I need him here, his ability to hide in the shadows can help me find information. We have to make sure there are no rats.

-She looked at her spirit familiar, kamli nodded determinedly.

Yes, as long as I'm connected to you I can visit you at night and re-establish the connection so it doesn't weaken.

-You see it's no problem? It will all be temporary, unless you tamper with the pack-Laswell smiled-and I'll reinforce the magic of the collar so nothing happens, just don't go near the water.

-Ugh, damn Banshee. You always get away with it-Harper held out the necklace with a daisy-shaped crystal charm he had to Laswell.

-This is the best Banshee you'll ever meet in your life," the short-haired woman floated the necklace and filled the flower with her magic, "That will do, you leave tonight.

-I won't even have time to pack everything-Harper sighed as he put the necklace back on.

-Kamli can help you later," she said simply.

-Witch.

-always-Laswell smiled at her before returning to his report, he had to finish it by today-closing it carefully.

-I heard you," Kamli helped her to stop and they both left the office, completely ignoring the woman's inner prayers that everything would go smoothly and without mishap.

That the dark forces would protect and take care of the little flower she had for a friend.

chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...coming soon

[thegnomelord]

Lending a Hand

CW:NSFW @bluegiragi Monster tf141au go give her some love!, Werewolf Soap!, Harpy Gaz!, Mage reader!, Dom top Male reader, sub bottom Gaz and Soap, gratuitous depictions of sex, heat/rut, Dom/sub, anulingus, knotting, dirty talk (attempts at it anyway), Poly!TF141,

3k word long af fic because I overwrote again :/ asks are always welcome lol.

Price and Ghost had left you three to entertain yourselves while they went on a mission, and like every thing in Soap's life, his rut come in swinging out of nowhere. One moment he's playing some old racing game, sitting on the floor while you and Gaz sit on the harpys' bed, and the next — his nose is twitching and he swears he can taste your scents on his tongue, the heavenly combination of Gaz's spicy sweet cologne and your own harsher smell making heat burn in every cell of his body.

He feels Gaz's leg brush against his back and it makes every strand of hair on his body puff up, a low sound like rumbling thunder ringing in his ears and an overwhelming need to scent you two clawing at his brain. The controller falls from his hands when he turns to nuzzle his face into Gaz's leg, huffing in his scent like a man possessed, his mind already imagining all the times they've fucked and how fucking good Kyle had felt wrapped around his knot like a proper mate. His cock grows hard in his pants and his skin flushes when he realizes the low rumbling sound is coming from him; a mating growl that neither of you can answer.

"Soap, you alright there?" He moans hearing your voice, the sudden sensation of your hand on his shoulder and your heavy scent — corrupted by magic and smelling of overwhelming dominance as if you're a part of the nature running in his blood — has his tail curling up without prompting and back arching with a high pitched whine, clawed hands grasping at both of your legs now.

"Donnoe mates... feeling hoht all of a'udden." Soap slurrs, sight and mind going hazy, mind buzzing with heat. His cock is hardening in his pants, and there's a slickness between his thighs when he rubs them together.

"Shit, think the git's going into rut." Kyle says under his breath, his feathers ruffling up when he reaches out to feel the heat of Johnny's forehead. Soap moans at the skin contact only for it to turn into a growl when he realizes he can't scent you both at once. His body feels like it wants to rip itself in half to hold both of you, to cover both you and Gaz in his scent and fuck, but with only one body he does the next best thing and pivots on his knees to shove his face where the scent is the strongest — your crotch.

"Fuck- MacTavish!" You hiss, immediately trying to shove him. He clings to you like a fly to shit, whining incomprehensible words and chest stinging from rejection. His body shakes and shifts, not the sudden transformation you're used to seeing on the battlefield but a minute gradual change parallel to his need. Clawed hands grip your legs, his clothes straining at the seams when he pants against your crotch, tail curled up in an desperate attempt to gain his mates' attention; to show how strong and good and ready he is.

"Shit, sorry lad." Kyle gives an awkward cough. "Help me with him yeah? My arse won't be able to handle him like this." He says and doesn't even have enough decency to look embarrassed about his words, reaching out to tug on Soap's hair like he knows Johnny likes, Kyle's attempts to tug him away only making him burry his face into your groin even more.

"You sure, won't I be taking advantage of him?" You go to ask if this would be too much, if you'd be crossing a line when Soap's like this — blissed out and barely himself — even if you feel your cock harden from his nuzzling.

"Yeah... you're fine— he'd had bit you by now if he was against it." Gaz says with a small awkward giggle all first time lovers make, not at all realizing it's not the best thing to say when you have a half transformed werewolf shoving his face into your dick. "We trust you mate." He admits; even if you've been on the team a few months, even if your past isn't all that reputable — they trust you. Both of them.

Soap's not paying attention to what's being said, how could he when he can smell you and feel your cock through your pants, and fuck he wants it needs it in him now. He mouths at your cock, uncaring and unaware of his fangs painfully scraping and digging into your skin through your clothes. All he wants is to taste that cock, his body growing bigger and clothes ripping at the seams as his mind conjured up thoughts of fucking and being fucked.

His insides clench pitifully around nothing and he needs a cock to push deep inside him and stretch him wide until he's knotted and round with pups. His knot feels hard and cold and he needs to feel tight heat of a mate around his knot that he can breed full of his cum. He needs... he needs—

"Fine! Fine!" You give in with a hiss when Johnny's teeth dig into your pants in an attempt to get to your cock. You tug him up by the hair your grip harsher and firmer than Kyle's, everything about you feeling so overwhelmingly dominant he doesn't even try to fight, only trying to get closer to you.

You have to brace yourself when he bears down on you, teeth going to mark up your throat the moment he can push his face into your neck. You groan when he bites down on your neck with sharp teeth and Gaz croons softly, pushing himself close to you both, his large wings twitching excitedly when Soap answers with a low whiny growl of his own. His attention pivots and now he's trying to scent and mark the harpy until you shift just a bit and his head ricochets back to your neck, teeth creating a warzone on both of your necks.

"Alright, Gaz, on the bed." You order and yank Soap's head back when he bites too close to your jugular. Gaz moves to follow your order and you have to hold Soap by the hips to keep him from lunging at Kyle because his mate is going away and he can't have that!

"Wait." Your harsh and rough voice falls on deaf ears as Soap continues to shift and get bigger, his shirt tearing off his body and the button of his pants popping open. The sudden release of his cock has Soap whining low and loud and rocking his hips into the air as if already mating and his tail smacking against your leg as a sign for you to just fuck him already. "What the fuck did I just say?" You growl and grab his clothed dick in a harsh grip.

"So- fock- ry, sorry!" Soap manages, his hips still doing small thrusts in an attempt to grind his slick backside against your crotch despite your chastising.

"Well aren't you bossy." Gaz teases and watches you two with a hungry dark look in his eyes, already naked and reclining on the bed, his back tensing as he forces his wings to retract into his body. God knows a rutting Soap doesn't have enough brain space not to crush his wings while fucking him.

Your eyes meet Gaz's. "How about he preps you?" Your question has Johnny's canine tongue lolling out of his maw automatically as if Gaz needs more convincing.

"Jesus, fuck yeah," Gaz breathes out, not even needing to be told what position to take. He flops on his stomach, laying his head on a pillow and pushes his knees beneath him to raise his arse into the air and spread his thighs wide open, vulnerable hole and hard cock almost shamelessly on display.

"God, look at you Gazzy, so eager to get your ass eaten out?" You coo, enjoying the view as much as Soap is. "Or are you imagining how pretty you'll look stuck on this big knot?" You ask, catching his eyes as you pull down Soap's boxers down just enough for his dick to poke out, already hard and wet and leaking pre like a faucet.

"How about it boy? Can you use that mouth of yours for something useful this once?" You tease Soap with your words, keeping him from lunging at Gaz. Your rough words and even rougher hold on him has Johnny nodding his head as fast as he can, unintelligent words rolling from his mouth.

"Get on with it you bloody git." Kyle demands with a blush, arching his back.

"You heard him, be good and stretch him out for your knot properly...or else." The slight edge of danger in your tone has Soap paying attention even when your words go in one ear and out the other and he dives face first into Gaz's backside the moment you let go of him. Soap wastes no time and immediately slobbers all over Kyle's skin, drawing surprised squawks from the other man as his tongue licks from his balls up to his arse and back again. It doesn't take long for Soap to concentrate on his hole, even less for Soap to bully his tongue inside Gaz flooding his hole with slobber and stretching him wide open.

"Oh fock, oh shit..." Kyle burrows his head into the pillow, trying and failing to hide his harsh moans and small chirps and sharp 'ah, ah, ah's with every twist and turn of Soap's wide and longue tongue. He doesn't care when Soap grip his thighs so hard that bruises bloom immediately, not when Soap buries his face deeper into his arse that Soap's nose is flush with his tail bone and his canine tongue abuses his prostate.

"Such eager lads." You chuckle and settle behind Soap, pulling what remains of his pants down his thighs and off him. He growls at you, before your presence registers in his mind and his tail is curling up and as soon as the pants are down he's spreading his thighs and arching his back and wiggling his arse like a trained whore. He's leaking like a tap on both ends, his cock rock hard and knot half engorged and slick staining his skin from hole to mid thigh.

"Already wet for me Johnny? And here I thought you're supposed to fuck bitches—" You grab his tail and tug it up making Gaz scream a loud-"Fuck!"- when Johnny jumps and his tongue pushes as far as it can go. "—not be one."

Soap's shaking and his dick's leaking from the rough treatment of his tail, but the appendage wags even as you manhandle it. "Shit, mate, don't stop talking." Gaz moans into the pillow, claws and talons desperately clinging to the bedding with every thrust and twist of Soap's tongue. It's like your words are a drug that push both of them deeper and deeper into lust, Soap's brain long since melted into his dick.

"Yeah? You like how good Johnny's eating you Gaz?" You ask, your fingers grasping and playing with Soap's ample ass. "Does he taste good Johnny? Just think how tight he's going to be around you, you'll stretch him good huh?" Soap can do nothing but whine at the absolute filth leaving your lips, each word urging and commanding him to shove his tongue deeper, to cover every inch of his spongy walls in spit, of bashing his prostate with his tongue until Gaz's moaning and squawking like a bitch in heat.

"Good boy," Your fingers trace against Soap's hole and fuck he's so wet for you that you don't even need to get lube, holding his tail by the base you hook and push your thumb into his waiting hole and Soap howls as his body clenches down so hard you'd think he was aiming to break bones.

"Biased much mate?" Gaz croaks and chuckles between his moans, his hips moving into Soap's face in a desperate attempt to cum, stray loose feathers disappearing between the sheets.

"Good boys." You correct yourself, pulling your thumb out despite Soap's desperate whines and pushing two fingers into him at once, setting a harsh and quick pace that has both of them whining and moaning and growling.

Your fingers are thick and calloused from years of magic use and they stretch Soap out so good he can't help but moan into Kyle's hole, barely able to pant with spit running down his lips. His rut made his prostate so big your large fingers find it as soon as you're knuckles deep and you're quick to rub and press on it with all the finesse of a tank. You keep firm hold of him by his tail and Soap cums as soon as you push three fingers down on his prostate, white ropes of cum shooting into the sheets and pulling Gaz into his own orgasm.

"Good lads, you did good." The pride in your voice has their hearts beating just a little quicker, reaching over you tug Johnny's head away from Kyle's ass with a lewd and depraved 'squelch' 'shlich' ringing through as Johnny rolls his tongue into his mouth. Shit, Gaz looks so wrecked already, wet sounds echoing through the room every time his hole clenches around nothing. Johnny's so big now, at least a foot taller than you now, but he submits so prettily to you...

Pulling your fingers out of Johnny earns you a rumbling growl, his cock not even having softened hips grinding back on yours. "Hush now." You order with your mouth close to his pointy ear, "Don't worry Johnny, you'll be nice and full of cock in no time."

Kyle shifts and gains your attention. "Kyle, you okay? Need to tap out?" You ask, pushing your absolutely drenched fingers into Soap's mouth to quiet his whining, you don't mind his teeth nicking your fingers and Johnny's so lustdrunk to care about who's slick he's tasting only that it makes his cock that much harder.

"That- nah." Kyle breathes, completely boneless but still managing to perk his arse up a bit. "Come on, just wanna feel 'im, please."

"You heard him Johnny." Pulling your fingers out of his mouth you guide Johnny to mount Gaz, one hand firmly on his tail and the other wrapped around the tip of his cock so all he can do is uselessly hump Gaz without penetrating him. Johnny doesn't even notice you teasing the both of them when you rub his tip against Gaz's hole every time his hips pull back, only to angle his cock up the second Johnny tries to thrust into Kyle.

"Focking git!" Gaz whines, and you don't need to see him beneath Soap's broad and large frame to know he's glaring at you. "Get on with it or I swear I'll string everything you own up in the trees." His threat would be a lot scarier if his voice wasn't weak and whiny from your teasing.

"Spoilsport." You tease back, blindly angling Johnny's cock tip against his hole, easing your grip and letting Soap slide his cock into Gaz in an agonizingly slow pace until only his knot remained outside of Gaz with your calloused hand clutching it. "Feels good?" You receive moans and low growls in response, Soap's mind so consumed by the heavenly heat around his cock he can do nothing but pant and thrust his hips forward. "Okay, okay, be good now." You laugh and let go of his cock.

The second his proverbial collar is taken off Soap wastes no time and begins fucking Gaz in earnest, biting down hard on his shoulder, hips and tail a blur of movement and all of his lupine strength going into jackhammering his cock as deep as fast into Gaz as he physically can. The bed 'thump, thump, thump's against the wall wall with every violent thrust, drowned out by Kyle's moans and whines and shouts Johnny manages to pull each time his balls slap against Gaz's. You can even see the way his knot stretches Gaz's ass, his hole greedily clenching around the bulb as it grows bigger and bigger with every hip shattering thrust that leaves Gaz grasping at clawing at whatever he can reach.

You don't even have time to finish undressing before Johnny's shoving his cock deep inside and cumming with a deep growl, his teeth firmly latched onto Gaz's flesh and knot keeping them tied together.

Kyle groans when Soap collapses on top of him, arms wrapped firmly around him and pinning him down to the bed as every bit of strength leaves the werewolf. "That was fast." You chuckle, going to turn them to their sides so Soap isn't crushing Gaz. You notice Gaz is still hard like a rock, a little bulge in his stomach where Johnny's cock and cum fill his insides. Even after cumming twice Soap still tries to fuck in his delirium but manages only small little shuffles of his hips that only succeed in making his seed slosh around inside Gaz.

"Insatiable monsters." You tease, one hand tracing the belly bulge and lifting Soap's leg up on your shoulder with the other, his thighs even slicker now than before.

"Man... shu'it." Gaz slurs, watching you stroke your cock a few times with hooded eyes, Soap's head buried in his shoulder and teeth creating more marks on his skin. Soap turns cuddly after a good rut, at least until it starts all over again. "Fuck, you gonna...?"

"Yep." You say, sliding closer. It's an odd position to take and your back is going to complain later, but it's more than worth it when you finally get to slide inside Johnny's soaking wet arse, pulling low groans from both of them as it makes Johnny's cock slide a bit deeper. "Shit, you're so tight Johnny."

Gaz can feel the cock inside him twitch from your praise and the vibrations of a purr through his skin as Soap tries to thrust his hips back into yours despite the knot and Soap's arms not willing to let him separate from Gaz. You begin with a slow pace and every rock of your hips has the knot inside Kyle pushing and pulling on his poor oversensitive insides, Soap's cum sloshing inside him. He already feels so full and like there's fire in his veins, but this slow and deep pace you set has his head tilting down and body fully relaxing and letting himself just feel.

Despite being mentally checked out for a while, a little bit of Soap's lucidity comes back now that he's knotted; Everything he can smell everything he can feel everything he is zeroes down on his groin, on the heavenly heat wrapped around his knot and your unhurried but strong thrusts. That's what he needs right now— to forget what it feels like to be empty and feel a hard cock spearing his insides and bullying his prostate and leaving him drooling on Gaz's skin.

You manage to push them into cuming again before your own climax reaches you and you cum deep in Soap, who in response bites down on Gaz's shoulder again. You try to pull away but Soap growls and whines, he doesn't want to feel empty again when you'd filled him so fucking good, he wants you to stay like this, keep him nice and full with your cum.

Gaz blindly grabs at you, vocalizing what Soap can't. "Stay." He manages to slur, looking like he's ready to fall asleep any second with Johnny already snoozing the moment you stop moving.

Despite the stickiness you're no doubt going to wake up with, you sigh and settle down behind Soap, throwing a hand around his massive frame and not even noticing when exhaustion claims you.

...

"Well would'ou look at that, really tuckered themselves out." Price's voice rings somewhere at the edge of your subconsciousness, though it's hard to tell when exhaustion has you so firmly by the throat you can barely open your eyes.

"Could have turned their mics off." It takes you a moment to recognize Ghost's voice somewhere near you, your body almost not your own as it nuzzles into the warm back in front of you.

This time a chuckle comes, "Don't say it as if you didn't like it." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, but your attention is stolen away when Soap moves and only now you realize that not only are you still inside him, but he's far from satisfied.

You don't even think he's awake yet his hips start moving again, pulling sounds from both you and Gaz because fuck your dick's so oversensitive you think it might fall off.

"Howa 'bout we leave them to it hmm? Looks like he's got his hands full." Price's referring to you, and you hear his snort when Soap whines and thrusts his hips back into yours again with enough force you swear you hear something creak.

God help you...and your pelvis.

[diejager]

Not gonna lie, love the Only Human Series and some of the fluff you do.

Thinking of including this in my own fanfics, but want to see how you would make it. Hunter is a medic and a smart one…

How soon until she exploits the 141’s monster weaknesses?

Soap pinning you down only to give out to belly rubs, Gaz getting preened and his feathers ruffling when you hit the relaxing sweet spot, etc.

Cw: teasing, using vulnerabilities, tell me if I missed any.

At a certain point, you’d gotten tired of their shenanigans, the small pranks and fright they pulled on you when they felt especially cheeky. Gaz and Soap were the biggest culprits, their streaks of mischief the highest than any. Soap would jump you when you lounged around in the Task Force’s personal red room, his round fingers finding a sensitive spot under your ribs and sinking into it with a conviction as strong as he had in battle. Gaz was the cheekiest of them all, throwing you a flirtatious grin before he swept you off your feet, pulling you left and right to appease his little need for attention, his talons finding comfort under your arms and teeth under your jaw. 

Whereas Horangi and Rudy were more… mellow, their mischief calmer and rarer than the two first. Horangi, being a stalking feline, stealthily made his way around you, feet carrying him from shadow to shadow with utmost silence without alerting you of his presence and jumping at you when the moment was perfect. Rudy was the least problematic, his gentle soul a being of tenderness, yet still full of eager teasing, whispering sweet words in your ears while you worked, drawing your mind elsewhere until you shooed him off, still squirming in your seat.

You swore the others knew —you knew they did. Ghost’s shoulders would shake in silent chuckles, his eyes warmly staring at you and Soap fighting on the couch after you fell down. Price smoked his cigar while he watched you, his shoulders slumped down and posture relaxed, unbothered by your screeching and Gaz’s cackling. Alejandro, for all his sugary smiles, did little to hide his wide grin, enjoying watching your thighs clench and bite your lip when Rudy pressed himself against you, breathing flirtatious words in your ear. And König, the giant percht was consciously acting as a wall between you and Horangi, helping him get an upper hand into scaring you, his low rumble and big hands caging you between them after a scare, wandering over you until you scolded them.

You would get back at them —you did. Soap was your first victim, the first out of eight that you would make him regret ever tiring you. You knew his tail was sensitive, the soft furs and the nerves connected to his spine made it especially prone to overstimulation, which made it your perfect weapon against him. When you found him relaxing on the couch, his body draped over it, tail swaying softly, you stalked towards him and pulled on it. He jumped, a loud moan slipping from his lips, his back shuddering as your brushed your hand from the base to the tip of his tail, his fur bristling up.

Horangi had the same vulnerability, his tail standing out like a red signal, dangerous and weak. This time, you used Königagainst him, walking as quietly as you could behind the percht, following them and only sliding aside when you found his tail curling upwards. You’d never heard him screech as loudly as he did, his ears raised so high as he whipped around, cheeks flustered and eyes wide as he stared at you, his pupils dilated. Your stroked his twitching tail, smirking at his dark blush as he stumbled on his words, forcing him to curled towards you with shaky hands clutching your arm and waist. You turned a big, bad tiger into a small house cat.

Gaz was more tricky, you knew his wings were sensitive, the pin feathers prone to feeling the change of air current or touch but the muscle of his back, between both wings, was the most sensitive, it was robust, but a weak point for most flying hybrids. You teased him when he came for a check up, realising his wings had a few new feathers, short and young, still so new as they grew out of its root. You unconsciously brushed your fingers over them, gazing at his bare back ripple and tense, his sculpted back jerking and muscles moving at the slightest touch, then you found an excuse - you couldn’t even remember - to knead his pectoralis muscles and watch him stiffle his moans and squirm beneath your touch.

Rudy was the hardest to pick at, he didn’t have any animal characteristics or sensitive spots a monster would have, he - essentially - was a human with special powers. Then, you figured that you might as well give him a taste of his own medicine, turning the tables against him and tease him red. You had no qualms in hissing out promises and filthy secrets into his ear, your hands running over his shoulders and sliding down his arms, holding him still by the hips. You couldn’t hold down the smile that kissed his lobe, feeling the skin warm with a fiery blush, listening to him stammer and choke down any whimpers that threatened to slip. It was your turn to leave him squirming and blushing, biting his lip to stop himself from following the sway of your hips, eyes bleeding out his need for your touch and affection. 

Revenge tasted the sweetest when served cold. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[eldritcmor]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

Demigods x monster! 141 au

Because it would be funny. I love the fics of demigods being a bit more monster than initially lead on but it doesn’t really manifest til they either get to camp (a safe place) or hit puberty. Think about it! Zeus children who smell like ozone and seem permanently caught in a storm, eagle feathers growing in. Children of Athena with too big eyes and the ability to swivel their heads like an owl, owl down growing in. Children of Hephaestus who run incredibly hot, oil in their veins and metal for skin in some places. Their hearts ticks and their fingers whir. Children of Apollo who are hard to look at, who literally glow from the sun in their blood. Who sing like birds, and predict plagues. Children of Aphrodite whose appearance changes daily. Whose eyes never settle on a color and well maintained claws. Whose honeyed words can bind or break someone.

Now add in monster! 141. A one winged dragon, a harpy, a werewolf, and a wraith. Who see these children or adults presenting monster like features but humans look at them in confusion when it comes up in conversation.

A team who gets surprised when a bronze knife is pressed into their ribs a teenager because “I swear that’s a harpy.”

A task force who goes to investigate when manhattan goes completely dark. Only to find monster children in ancient battle armor dead, dying, or fighting for their lives against creatures not seen in centuries.

A task force that gets dragged into the fight with each demigod war. Who try to help the little monster children when the weight of the world is too much. Who reach out to allies and contacts because these are children who react like soldiers when faced with a threat.

Tags: @diejager @skylordgrey @isthatafuckinggayangel @josieguts

[eiraeths]

little scene from the monster magic au installment

y’all i can NOT figure out what layer that line by ghost’s head is on so it’s apart of the sketch now ig