#preternatural predators

[scattergoriesofevil]

Burrow’s End party names

Episode 1: Stupendous Stoats

Episode 2: Mystical Mustelids

Episode 3: Excellent Ermines

Episode 4: Wondrous Weasels

Episode 5: Vicious Varmits

Episode 6: Preternatural Predators

Episode 7: Invasive Investigators

Episode 8: UnCommon Carnivores

Episode 9: Little Guys

Episode 10: Stupendous Stoats

Aabria you did such a good job!

[inthemosss]

I don't want anything to do with body horror, unless it's a D&D campaign courtesy of Aabria Iyengar featuring stoats puppeteering Carlos Luna-voiced doctors

[gayandtrashy]

A tale of "us vs them" you say Aabria? Give me my Last Bast battle map then, or is the them humans?

[sarah-chasm]

Stoated with the sauce fs

Oh wait they’re stoated

[pin-k-ink]

LAST RESORT ⋆✦⋆ kaji ren

synopsis ➸ you’ve got a habit of getting yourself into danger, and he’s done with it. if making you his in every way possible keeps you safe, so be it. he’s ready to show you just how serious he is.

tags ➸ posséssive!kaji, graphic violénce/assáult, sorta tóxic behavior, degrádation, heavy breéding kínk, manhándling, rough séx, unprotécted séx, belly bulge, fingéring, dírty talking, praise kínk, squírting

wc ➸ 6.3k

The dank alleyway reeked of stale vomit, spilled booze, and acrid smoke - remnants of the scuffle that had clearly occurred not long ago. Kaji stood in the center of the grimy passage, chest heaving slightly as he stared down at the two unconscious forms crumpled at his feet.

One of the men sported a rapidly blooming black eye and split lip from where Kaji's fist had caught him square in the face. The other looked even worse off, a trickle of blood leaking from his nose and soaking the collar of his shirt a rusty crimson. Kaji's own knuckles were purpling into mottled shades, skin split in a few places from the vicious impact.

He barely registered the dull throb as he flexed his hands, a muscle in his jaw ticking with barely restrained fury. If these two low-life dirtbags had managed to actually lay hands on you before he intervened...Kaji wasn't sure he'd have been able to control the full force of his rage.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the tension cloaking the alley. Already knowing who was on the other end, Kaji snatched it up and stabbed the answer button without preamble.

"Talk," he growled into the receiver, the single clipped word more threat than greeting.

"I got [Y/N]. She's holed up somewhere out of harm's way for now," came Hiragi's measured baritone, devoid of any flowery preamble. He knew better than to screw around when Kaji was in one of these black moods.

Kaji felt a miniscule sliver of the towering fury seething in his chest ease at those words. At least you were unharmed for the time being. Inhaling a grounding breath through his nostrils, he forced his next words to emerge slightly more even.

"Then why the hell are you calling? Get her home and wait for my—"

"There's been...a situation," Hiragi cut him off, something in his gravelly tone instantly rekindling the rage simmering in Kaji's veins. "With the thugs."

In an instant, Kaji's entire frame went preternaturally still - the coiled stillness of a feral predator zeroing in on potential threat to its kin. His spare hand clenched unconsciously into a white-knuckled fist, split skin pulling taut over the abraded ridges.

"What happened?" The words emerged in more of a feral snarl than any recognizable language. "Spit it out!"

A tense pause stretched out for several agonizing heartbeats as Kaji waited for Hiragi's response. He could easily envision his old friend squaring his broad shoulders, dark eyes narrowing as he carefully considered how to phrase whatever had gone sideways without setting off Kaji's hair-trigger temper any further.

"Got jumped when their reinforcements rolled up," Hiragi admitted at last in a low, matter-of-fact rumble. "Heat of the moment, she must've gotten spooked and decided to try finding you on her own while I finished mopping up over here."

Every tendon and cording muscle in Kaji's torso went rigid at those blunt words, jaw clenching tightly enough to grind molars. He opened his mouth to let loose what promised to be a torrent of obscenities aimed squarely at his idiot friend—

Only for the vicious tirade to shrivel on his tongue the second his gaze snapped back to the two unconscious men at his feet. His slate-hued stare widened fractionally as realization slithered through his scorching anger like an icy serpent's caress.

There were only two bodies when he distinctly remembered three would-be assailants from earlier. Which meant...

"Oh fuck..." Kaji exhaled in a low rasp that seemed to emerge from the deepest pit of his stomach. Nausea roiled through his core, warring with the volcanic surge of adrenaline that instantly lashed his senses into killing-edge clarity. "Hiragi, how many of those bastards were there total?"

Even across the tinny cell signal, Kaji could practically taste the weighted pause before his friend answered - resignation and bitter acceptance lacing each syllable.

"...Three," was Hiragi's laconic but utterly damning response. "Should've been three."

White-hot panic detonated through Kaji's neural pathways with the ferocity of a thermobaric blast. His phone dropped from nerveless fingers, battery casing clattering against the filthy concrete as he pivoted on his heel and took off at a dead sprint.

Screw backup, screw lingering to get more intel from Hiragi - every accelerating stride carried Kaji deeper into the delirious spiral of worst-case scenarios blooming like nightmarish visions. If one of those twisted fucks had somehow slipped the net while he'd been distracted...

No. He refused to even entertain the possibility of you being hunted alone and vulnerable while Kaji hadn't been there to shield you from the sick underbelly of this world. He'd burn this whole rot-infested town to the bedrock before allowing you to suffer that sort of torment on his watch.

Kaji's boots thundered over the uneven pavement with piston-like cadence, singularly focused on tracking down that elusive third scumbag by any means necessary. A murderous force of nature solely driven by the towering compulsion to locate and neutralize any threat to your safety with extreme prejudice.

Because if even a single hair on your head was so much as ruffled when he finally reached your side? May whatever forgiving deities existed have mercy on any wretched soul caught in the oncoming cataclysm of Kaji's full, unrestrained wrath.

-

The night air felt heavier than usual, laden with an unsettling undercurrent that set your nerves on edge. You tugged the thin jacket tighter around your frame as you made your way down the deserted sidewalk, footsteps echoing in the tense quiet.

Part of you recognized how utterly foolish it was to be wandering these sketchy back streets alone in search of Kaji. He would be furious if he knew you'd disobeyed Hiragi's Instructions and potentially put yourself in harm's way. But the icy dread pooling in the pit of your stomach simply wouldn't allow you to stay put, not with your boyfriend out there dealing with those predators all on his own.

Ever since those turbulent teenage days when you first fell for the hotheaded delinquent, worries over Kaji's safety during his "business" had become an omnipresent ache. You knew he could more than handle himself - had witnessed firsthand the impressive fighting skills and sheer ferocious determination he brought to every brawl. But that did little to ease the frantic pounding of your heart whenever you imagined him squaring off against those vicious gangs without backup.

As the years pressed on and the stakes grew increasingly higher, your fretful vigil only intensified in turn. Kaji might scoff at your overprotective tendencies if he were aware of them. But you simply couldn't fathom the alternative of not having his solid, unyielding presence by your side through it all.

So you pressed onwards into the looming darkness with heightened alertness, straining to catch any hints of the conflict you prayed was already over. If you could just locate Kaji and confirm he was unharmed with your own eyes, maybe then the bitter taste of dread would—

A rough hand clamped over your mouth from behind, dragging you backwards into the fetid embrace of a yawning alleyway with startling force. You instantly began thrashing and kicking out, but your assailant easily outmatched you in size and bodily strength.

"Keep squirmin' around and see what happens, bitch!" The man's rancid snarl filled your senses as he jerked you flush against his whipcord frame. Hot, moist exhales ghosted across the back of your neck as he sneered close enough for you to see the yellowed teeth and rheumy, bloodshot stare. "Now you just gonna keep nice and quiet while I figure out what I'm gonna do with—"

Whatever vile threat he intended to make died on his lips as you threw your full weight into one more vicious jerk to break free. Eyes burning with desperation and defiance, you brought your heel down in a vicious stomp directly onto his instep with everything you had.

The howl of agony split the night as the lowlife instantly crumpled backward, releasing you from his sour hold in favor of clutching at his brutalized foot. You scrambled back onto your palms, wheezing for breath and preparing to make a break for the street when his twisted expression of pure fury snapped back in your direction.

"Stupid fuckin' bitch!" he roared, already scrambling upright with murder glinting in his beady gaze. "I'mma mash that pretty face into—"

You tried to backpedal as he launched himself towards where you were sprawled. But your retreat proved sluggish and clumsy thanks to your disorientation and his greater momentum. One meaty hand lashed out to seize a fistful of your hair and yank you forwards before the other clamped like a vise around your throat.

White-hot panic detonated in your chest as his full weight bored down on top of you, the crushing pressure around your windpipe cutting off any hope of crying out. Grunts of exertion punctuated your struggles, his saliva-flecked snarl leering just inches from your face as you battered and clawed at his arm with growing feebleness.

Just as black splotches began swimming across your vision and every synapse burned with the screaming need for oxygen, a thunderous detonation split the silence like a sonic boom. The vise-like pressure maintaining its relentless stranglehold around your airway abruptly evaporated as your assailant's bulk was bodily hurled off of you by an unseen force.

You immediately curled onto your side in a choking, hacking spasm - grateful lungfuls of air scorching their way down your abraded throat in between rattling convulsions. When you finally managed to lift your bleary gaze at last, the scene that greeted you made what little breath you'd regained stall in your chest.

Kaji stood in a low, predatory fighting stance, every corded muscle and sinuous tendon standing out in stark relief beneath his tanned skin. The overhead streetlights cast his expression in chiseled strokes of black and gold - features twisted into a mask of such apocalyptic, unrestrained fury that it stole your very voice to behold it directly.

Your eyes tracked his movements with horrified fascination as he stalked towards your now-prone assailant, who cowered and backpedaled with hands upraised in feeble protest. Kaji's hands clenched into granite-ridged fists, posture becoming more low-slung and beast-like with each prowling step until it felt like you were laying witness to humanity's primordial roots rising to the surface.

Suddenly, with zero preamble or warning, Kaji exploded into a lethal flurry of blurred motion - fists, elbows and knees battering into his terrified opponent in a frenzied tempest of shattering impact. Sickening crunches and pained howls filled the night as he unleashed the full unfettered fury of his savagery without mercy or quarter.

You flinched instinctively with each thunderous collision, dimly aware of cradling your ravaged throat as Kaji swiftly reduced the other man into a limp, unmoving heap on the filthy asphalt. Yet still he rained down abuse on the unconscious form, monstrous growls of animalistic rage echoing from the deepest pit of his chest.

That's when his blazing steel-flint stare snapped up and caught yours at last, twin pools of mercurial promise and retribution burning into your very psyche. In that fractured instant, you caught a glimpse of the unmistakable beast Kaji could become when inflamed by undiluted wrath - unrestrained, unholy, and unmerciful towards anything that dared threaten what he'd so utterly claimed as his to protect.

The last coherent memory you retained before the world spun into velvet blackness was that of Kaji prowling towards your sprawled form with the same lethal, purposeful grace of an apex predator finally reclaiming its chosen prize.

-

The first tendrils of awareness filtered back in slowly, like wading through a dense fog. Your eyes felt heavy, weighed down by lingering disorientation even as shapes and shadows gradually coalesced into recognizable forms swimming above you.

"...ink she's coming around. Hey, can you hear me?"

That familiar gravelly baritone finally pierced the cottony haze as Hiragi's concerned features solidified into focus mere inches from your face. You managed a feeble groan in response, head lolling towards the source of his voice.

"Oh, thank goodness!" A feminine timbre chimed in - higher and distinctly more upbeat despite the underlying worry coloring the lilt.

Kotoha leaned into your periphery a moment later, hazel eyes wide and lips pursed into a small "o" of consternation. Despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn't quite smother the reflexive twitch of fondness at her typically exuberant presence.

"We were so worried when Kaji showed up carrying you all roughed up like that!" she fretted, delicate brows furrowing slightly. "Are you hur—?"

"She needs space," a low, dissonant rasp cut across whatever else Kotoha intended to say.

Your lungs hitched in a breathless stall at the sound of that voice - still hoarse and graveled from the sheer animalistic ferocity laced through its tones. Slowly, you rolled your throbbing head to the other side until your vision snagged on Kaji's imposing silhouette hovering above the couch where you lay.

He stood with arms tightly crossed over his chest, every line and sinew of his muscular frame exuding a barely leashed menace even in repose. The stark planes and angles of his face were thrown into harsh chiaroscuro by the dim lighting, chiseling his expression into an inscrutable, unyielding mask that made your heart skip a frantically.

But it was his eyes that truly ensnared and pinned you into place like a frozen animal before the barrel of a rifle's scope. Those glinted steel chips bored into you with the same scorching, relentless intensity you'd briefly witnessed at the alley's other end - untamed and hypervigilant, as if daring anything or anyone to make the slightest aggressive move against its chosen quarry again.

It made your breath stall in your battered throat, a sense of primal trepidation slithering through your consciousness at being caged under that raptor's scrutiny once more.

"Both of you," Kaji growled without preamble, turning that razored glare momentarily towards Hiragi and Kotoha in a clear dismissal. "Take a walk. Me and my girlfriend need to have a little...chat first."

Hiragi opened his mouth, jawline tightening in a telltale sign he meant to protest or offer advisement. But something in the frigid gunmetal promise flickering behind Kaji's stare seemed to leech away whatever objection he might have voiced. After a prolonged beat of silence, he gave the barest dip of his chin and rose to his feet with a low exhalation.

Kotoha hesitated a fraction longer, worrying her full lower lip between her teeth as those vivid hazel orbs flitted between your prone form and Kaji's unmovable silhouette hovering over you both. But she eventually followed Hiragi's lead and trailed after him, her small hand reflexively twining into your periphery to give your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Only when the sound of their departing footfalls had completely dissolved did Kaji finally unfurl from his rigid stance with a low, rolling expulsion of breath. Slowly, he pivoted towards the couch, unhurried strides eating up the distance until he loomed directly above where you lay.

That unrelenting, tempered steel stare continued blazing into you without compromise from this extreme proximity. Every cording tendon and bunched muscle reflecting the lethal tension coiled through his entire being - not quite given free rein yet...but not far from doing so either.

One calloused hand reached out, fingers splaying possessively over your sternum in an authoritative brand that seemed to sear straight through the thin cotton separating his scorching palm from your rapidly pounding heart. Still, Kaji said nothing. Simply maintained that fraught, weighted silence thick with all the volatile undercurrents and unvarnished promise of what was about to unfurl between you both.

Like a merciless tempest hovering in its full and terrible glory...awaiting the slightest provocation to unleash its brutal, cleansing force without quarter.

The weighted silence stretched out between you both in a rapturous, fragile suspension - charged particles practically crackling through the static-swept atmosphere like stray bolts of lightning.

Then Kaji's calloused fingertips began tracing a blazing path along the battered column of your throat.

You instinctively flinched at the initial searing contact, unable to repress a tremulous whimper as his pads grazed over each lurid, blossoming weal. Every mottled blemish and inflammation stood out in livid discoloration - a visceral reminder of how narrowly you'd slipped fate's clutches this night.

Rather than react to your plaintive noise, Kaji simply continued his unhurried exploration with the sort of granular intensity usually reserved for assessing gunshot trajectories. The pad of his thumb mapped the deepest imprint scored across your windpipe with an almost clinical meticulousness, as though committing every ridge and contour to permanent memory.

When he finally did speak, the words emerged in little more than a hoarse, frayed rasp that made you shiver despite the sweltering undercurrents rippling from his formidable frame.

"You ever stop and wonder why I fell for a stubborn, reckless little thing like you?"

The unexpected query - coupled with that deceivingly mild delivery - caused your brows to knit momentarily in bewilderment. But Kaji simply continued musing in that same gravel-tinged drawl, eyes flickering with some unreadable emotion.

"Was a total pain in my ass from day one back in high school," he murmured, knuckles ghosting featherlight swirls along your feverish skin. "This mouthy brat who never missed an opportunity to get all up in my business, no matter how many times I brushed you off..."

Despite yourself, the faintest curve tugged at the corners of your mouth at the transparent nostalgia coating his cadences. You couldn't even begin to count the number of times your brazen refusal to be cowed by the infamous Kaji Ren had nearly gotten you throttled back then.

The barest whisper of a chuckle rumbled through Kaji's chest at your reaction. For a fleeting heartbeat, the specters of the harsh lines etched into his visage seemed to soften infinitesimally - enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of the easy, cocksure teenage rebel he'd once been peeking through.

Then his expression abruptly shifted on a dime, thunderous scowl reappearing like the casting of a shadow as his tone plunged into something far more low and dissonant.

"Should've known back then what an absolute magnet for trouble you'd turn out to be..."

Instinctively, your senses went on high alert at the razor-edged undercurrents in his rasping murmurs - every hair along your nape prickling as the precarious tension swelled through the stifling atmosphere once more. Kaji's free hand reached out, palm searing like a brand against your flushed cheek to carefully tilt your face upwards, ensuring his smoldering stare pinned you ruthlessly in place.

"All these years later, and you're still the same goddamn problem child who won't listen to a word I say," he growled, voice lowering into a predatory rumble that seemed to reverberate against the bruised staves of your ribcage.

"Never stops to consider putting herself in the line of fire at every turn, even when that pathetic death wish puts the people protecting her at just as much risk..."

An animalistic snarl twisted his full lips into a rictus of pure fury, grip tightening fractionally until the vicelike pressure bordered on bruising. Not that you dared so much as part your trembling mouth on a whisper of protest. Not when Kaji's entire frame had gone utterly, preternaturally rigid with a towering umbrage that seared into you with all the blistering might of a solar corona.

"Do you have ANY idea what would've happened if I got there even a second later?" His words detonated in a psychic percussive force that pummeled you straight down to your marrow, even without raising his voice an octave.

"How close I came to watching that sadistic fuck rob you of everything that makes you MINE while I was stuck chasing decoys like a fucking amateur?!"

Kaji's thunderous inhale raked through his gritted teeth with a labored, hissing rasp - clearly battling to throttle his raging fury back into some manageable configuration. When next he loomed over you, teeth bared and every bunched sinew straining like a hair-trigger bowstring, you could practically see the detonation wavefront smoldering in those achingly familiar steel-bright irises.

"I would have razed this cesspool down to fucking bedrock," he bit out in a cadence rendered molten by sheer hatred. "Every miserable lowlife within a hundred-mile radius would've drowned in their own blood before they took you away from me."

Blazing manifolds of retribution and delirious vengeance cascaded between each stygian syllable clawed from his chest - so blindingly intense you could practically taste the bitter ash saturating your own tongue. For several fraught, suspended heartbeats, you remained utterly transfixed by the spectacle of such apocalyptic, unholy apotheosis simmering at the very precipice of unchaining itself wholly upon this mortal plane.

Then, with a guttural snarl that seemed to attenuate all the violence, rage, and obsessive need coiling through him into a single searing crescendo...Kaji slammed his forehead against yours with punishing force. The shock of dizzying impact jarred through every synapse, effectively blanking your mind of all thoughts beyond submitting to the impending tsunami.

"But you just had to jump the leash again, didn't you?" he growled against your trembling mouth, chest heaving against yours with every ragged inhalation. "Because deep down, you still don't actually trust me to keep you safe like I promised all those years ago..."

Somehow, that final blistering accusation sliced even deeper than the molten lashings of blame and fury preceding it. You drew a ragged breath, hazy vision refocusing just in time to watch Kaji's lips slant over yours in an utterly dominating, punishing deluge that robbed whatever feeble protests might have slipped free.

There was zero hesitation or restraint in his movements - only the punishing, all-consuming need to possess and dominate you fully in this moment. His thick tongue immediately surged past your parted lips, tangling with yours in a lush, devouring dance that stole the air from your lungs with its ferocity.

You couldn't repress the desperate little whimper that slipped free as his calloused palms roamed over your sides and hips with possessive fervor. The weight and heat of Kaji's powerful body pinning you to the couch's unforgiving surface made you feel deliriously consumed and caged by his virile presence from every angle. Any feeble attempts at squirming or seeking even an inch of relief only resulted in him anchoring you more ruthlessly in place beneath his hulking mass.

When finally Kaji tore his mouth from yours in need of air, you gulped down ragged breaths in a dazed rapture - scarcely able to track the slick glide of his lips trailing a scorching path along the thundering pulse at your throat. His gravelly rumbles of approval vibrated deliciously against your sensitive skin as he lavished the exposed column with rasping drags of his tongue and soft nips.

"Yeah...that's what I fucking thought," he growled in a tone made rough from the sheer intensity blazing between you both. "Can't get enough of having me take control and put that greedy little body in its place, can you?"

To emphasize his point, Kaji rolled his hips in one purposeful grind that dragged the painfully rigid length trapped within his sweats against your molten core in a lash of electrifying friction. Your back arched with a needy mewl, already feeling the slick arousal gathering at your entrance as he pinned you open with the bracket of his powerful thighs.

"Get you so worked up just from a little dry humping and rough kisses," he husked against the glistening column of your throat, tongue laving a lush, openmouthed path to the hollow between your collarbones. "Should've known you'd go all reckless and fuckup like this again just to get my hands all over this perfect body as punishment..."

One large palm drifted up to engulf the lush fullness of your breast, giving it a firm, possessive squeeze before brushing over the peaked bud with tantalizing lightness. You squirmed and whined helplessly, rapidly becoming undone by his ceaseless carnal praise and handsy lavishing. Kaji's deep chuckle of undisguised gratification at your unraveling vibrated through your very bones.

"God, look how fucking desperate you are already," he grated out in clear satisfaction. "Bet you've been craving this since storming off on your own like an idiot earlier – getting put back under my full control where your dumb ass belongs."

With that crude observation, Kaji ducked his head to mouth hotly over the nipple he'd been teasing, swirling that wicked tongue in tight, maddening circuits. His free hand snaked down to boldly palm the clothed swell of your mound, fingertips digging into the rapidly dampening material to find your slickened folds through the barrier.

"Yeah, feel how soaked you're getting just thinking about me punishing that reckless little body into submission again..." He punctuated his low rasp by easing two thick digits past your panties and into your drenched folds in a torturously measured glide, burying them to the last knuckle in your clenching sheath. "Like it's the only damn way to get it through your thick skull that you never leave my side without permission, understand?"

All you could do was nod and whine as Kaji began to steadily pump those calloused fingers in a gliding, purposeful cadence explicitly designed to milk every shocked keen and shudder from your overstimulated form. Each searing retreat ended with his palm grinding against your swollen clit, the muscles of his arm and shoulder rippling powerfully from the effort of slowly dismantling your coherence in the most exquisite manner possible.

"Fuckin' lucky I'm even considering letting you off easy with just a hard-earned dicking down this time around," he growled between lavishing your panting mouth with messy, biting kisses. "Should be tying you to the bed the second we get home, cuffing those wrists over your head so you're stuck staring at the ceiling and remembering who you fucking belong to while I breed this greedy pussy over and over..."

The vivid imagery coupled with Kaji's rough dominance and crude narration had you rapidly dissolving into a squirming mess of desperation and need. Whines and cries punched free with each mind-numbing plunge and retreat of his thick digits working your silken interior into an overwrought frenzy. You could feel yourself rapidly teetering right on the shuddering precipice of blissful release with every harsh grind of his palm into your straining bundle of nerves.

"That's it...let go and come all over my hand like a good girl," Kaji rumbled in clear satisfaction, drinking in your glassy-eyed unraveling with rapt focus. "Might actually keep you half-sane and out of trouble for a few hours after pumping that heavenly little pussy full of my load..."

He leaned in close to growl right against the swollen bow of your trembling lips, smoky amber gaze swallowing you whole. "At least until all that cum really kicks in and has you crawling right back for another hard reminder of why you'll never leave my side again..."

The harsh grating demand of his words, combined with one last unforgiving curl of his fingers against that shockingly snug internal cluster, detonated your teetering release into blinding delirium. You came undone around Kaji's pumping hand in a helpless convulsion, crying out against the branding heat of his mouth swallowing each keening noise. He drank in your rapturous shattering with undisguised gratification, continuing to steadily work you through the rolling paroxysms until the final quakes gradually ebbed away into boneless lassitude.

Only then did Kaji slowly withdraw his glistening digits from your sated depths, lifting them to his lips to lave the musky evidence of your shuddering release with clear relish. His smoldering gaze held you utterly transfixed and caged even as he sat back slightly, swiping his arm across his slick mouth with a rumbled chuckle.

"Good girl..." he husked, thick cock visibly twitching in a way that made your spent channel spasm reflexively. "From this point on, I'm gonna make sure you're either pregnant or getting there every single night."

Before you could even process the blunt statement, let alone formulate a response, Kaji's hands shot down to grip the hem of your panties and skirt. With a rough jerk, he roughly peeled the clinging garments off in a single yank. A low, primal growl rolled through his chest as his ravenous stare landed on your slick-soaked folds, the engorged lips already glistening with renewed arousal.

"You're gonna be begging me for this cock every day until your belly swells up with my kid," he muttered in a low, almost wondering timbre. The reverence coloring his rasping words made a flush crawl up the column of your throat, even as your eyes widened at the unabashed filth spewing forth.

"Don't try fighting it. I've made up my mind - that fertile little body is going to stay swollen with fresh batches of my seed one after the other," Kaji grated out, reaching down to impatiently drag his sweatpants down and kick them off. "You get off on tempting danger, I get off on the thought of you barefoot and glowing, swollen with multiple loads I've pumped into that greedy womb."

Any lingering objections or attempts at logic died on your tongue when Kaji's massive erection sprang free, rigid and throbbing against his abdomen. Even now, the size and sheer girth of that pulsing monster made a shiver run up your spine in primal recognition of the thorough, unrepentant fucking it always promised.

His calloused palms wrapped around your hips, gripping the delicate span firmly to drag you closer, allowing him to notch the broad head of his length against your slick entrance. Then, with one punishing, unrelenting thrust, Kaji sank inside the silken, fluttering walls until he was buried to the hilt in your shuddering depths.

You threw your head back with a choked cry, instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips and locking ankles to pull him closer. Every straining nerve ending lit up with electric fire at being split open by his impossibly massive cock. It took several seconds of ragged, heaving breaths for the overwhelming fullness to gradually ease into something less deliriously acute.

Kaji groaned against your parted lips, hips twitching and thighs shaking with the sheer effort of restraining his urge to simply hammer into your pliant form and claim you in the most savage way possible. Still, his rasping words emerged in a low, uncompromising growl.

"Fucking hell, you're tight...even after all this time, it's like sinking into pure heaven..."

When you could finally manage a shaky breath, he drew his hips back slightly and began to build into a steady rhythm. Every measured roll and grind of his thick girth against your swollen channel stoked the molten pressure simmering anew at your core, sending sparks shooting along every straining nerve ending.

"Oh god," you panted, barely able to register anything beyond the delirious sensation of him filling you to the brim and dragging every last shred of rational thought out with each slow, measured stroke. "Ren...please..."

Kaji's teeth snapped together with a growl, clearly struggling against the same primal instinct to simply give in and drive into you with wild abandon.

"You better be asking for this dick like a good girl," he husked out, leaning down to nip sharply at your kiss-swollen lips. "Or else that smart mouth of yours is gonna stay too preoccupied moaning for me to fuck another breeding into you to risk any more misbehavior."

With that final threat, his hips abruptly picked up into a rougher, faster pace, each snap of his pelvis slamming home against your cervix in a lashing assault. Your nails dug into his muscled shoulders, leaving deep red welts across his taut flesh as you struggled to find any anchor to ground you amidst the onslaught.

"Fuck," Kaji groaned, clearly reveling in the punishing force he was able to unleash without the constraints of a public environment or the threat of an audience. "Can't believe how tight this perfect little pussy gets for me every damn time..."

He reached down to grip one quivering thigh, hooking his arm under your knee to spread you open even wider and allow him to sink deeper. His heavy balls slapped obscenely against the supple flesh of your ass, the slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked core echoing around the room.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he husked against your parted lips, clearly reveling in the hazy desperation clouding your vision as he drove you higher and higher towards release. "Come all over this cock while I give you the first load of my cum for the night..."

When you could only gasp and keen in reply, Kaji's grip on your hips tightened fractionally, ensuring his pelvis ground against your straining bundle of nerves and clit with every ruthless snap forward.

"Come on, I know you're close...just a little bit more," he muttered in a low rasp, pupils blown wide as he stared down at your flushed features. "Need to feel this sweet pussy milk me dry and squeeze every drop of my seed straight into your womb..."

One of his hands drifted down to your abdomen, fingertips pressing down lightly over the spot where his cock bulged obscenely through your taut flesh. The gesture somehow managed to magnify the sensation of his brutal thrusts, drawing a choked gasp from your chest.

"F-fuck, Ren..." You were rapidly spiraling towards the edge, unable to resist the pull of the inevitable tidal surge. "Oh god...I'm gonna..."

"Yeah, you are," he bit out, voice rough and uneven as his hips began to slam into you with a punishing force. "So do it - come all over my cock like the good girl I know you are, baby..."

His command and the raw authority underlying the words shattered the final vestiges of your resistance. Your entire body went taut, straining as though suspended from some invisible wire as a seismic ripple began to radiate outwards. The first gush of release erupted around the thick length still pumping into you, slick and scorching.

"Fuck, yes!" Kaji hissed, the sound strained and almost tortured as his powerful hips faltered for the briefest heartbeat. "That's it – take my fucking load, sweetheart...so goddamn perfect when you're creaming all over my cock..."

With that final praise, his entire body went rigid against yours, a choked growl spilling forth as he began to spurt thick, heavy ropes of his essence deep within the clenching vise of your channel. The sensation of his release bathing your quivering depths, along with the sheer knowledge that Kaji had just emptied a fresh load of his seed straight into your fertile womb, sent you careening over the edge a second time.

You clung desperately to the broad span of his shoulders, keening as the waves of release wracked your shuddering frame. Kaji's own groans of ecstasy mingled with yours, the two of you drowning in the raw, unfiltered carnality of the moment.

Eventually, the final aftershocks began to ebb, leaving behind the blissful lassitude and bone-deep satiation. Kaji slumped against your prone form, careful not to crush you with his massive bulk, and buried his face into the crook of your neck with a ragged groan.

You felt him inhale deeply, the scorching brand of his nose and lips brushing over your salt-dampened skin as he seemed to drink in your combined, musky scents. A shudder rolled through Kaji's powerful frame - one you weren't certain originated from the lingering throes of pleasure or something more visceral entirely.

When at last he shifted enough for you to glimpse his features, the intensity burning behind those steel-flint irises momentarily stole the breath from your spent lungs. Gone was the razor focus of his earlier, primal dominance. In its place, an inscrutable cocktail of residual hunger and...something darker, more haunted than you could immediately parse.

"Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again," Kaji rasped in a low rumble that seemed wrenched from the deepest pit of his diaphragm. There was no mistaking the undercurrent of quiet ferocity threaded through his gravelly tones, nor the slight tremor betraying the sheer unvented intensity still simmering beneath the surface of his controlled cadences.

One of his broad palms came up to cup the side of your face, calloused pads ghosting over the feverish winged curve of your cheekbones and temples in a shockingly tender caress. You instinctively leaned into the searing brand of his touch, trapping it against your flushed skin as you searched his shadowed gaze for answers to the enigma playing out behind them.

"You have any idea how close I came to..." Kaji started huskily, only to trail off as his jaw clenched until Herculean cords and tendons stood out in stark relief. His amber stare bored into you with smoldering intensity for several suspended heartbeats before the words finally emerged in a low, rumbling exhalation. "I could taste the bloodlust when I realized one of those fucks had slipped the net. Could practically feel every strand of control starting to splinter apart at the thought of losing you to those sadistic pieces of shit."

Despite the explicit menace suffusing his murmurs, you felt your breath hitch at the naked admission blazing there. Witnessing Kaji openly acknowledge the maelstrom of possessive, protective obsession that had nearly lashed free upon encountering such grievous stakes was...sobering. But also reaffirming in a way that both terrified and thrilled you down to your marrow.

"So I'm going to get what I want, one way or the other," he husked with quiet, unapologetic conviction - punctuating the matter-of-fact declaration by hooking one of your legs over his powerful hips once more. You whimpered softly as the dense ridges of his still-hard cock twitched within your swollen, over-sensitized folds with casual insistence. "Because from here on out, there won't be a single opportunity for you to stray into the line of fire again."

[1800bitchcraft]

more dom-reader?

A/N: Yes!! So excited for this, I have way more fun than I should writing dom!reader tbh. Also thought this would be a good opportunity to write more vampire!reader and I threw in a little primal play for good measure! Anon, I hope you don't mind! If, of course, this isn't to your liking I'd be more than happy to write you something different! Don't be afraid to reach out, lovely! I hope you enjoy either way~

CW: sub!Ford, dom!reader, vampire!reader, monsterfucking, blood drinking, pinning, marking, strength kink, blood play, mild pain play, primal play, edging, orgasm denial, whiny Ford, desperate Ford, nipple play, begging, aphrodisiacs, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise, hand jobs, overstim, kind of chasing??, there's a small amount of running

!!! MDNI OR ILL GET THE BROOM !!!

Smut under the cut!

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Your incredulous tone matched the shock written out on your features as you turned your head to stare at Ford. Ford, who was resolutely not looking at you, instead staring rather intently at the open book in his lap but you knew he wasn't reading any of it. The blush you so adored was making it's appearance, crawling across his cheeks and you could hear the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.

"...you heard me," he mumbled. He was clearly embarrassed and you softened your expression. Standing from where you'd been perched at your vanity, engaging in your usual before-bed ritual, you crossed over to the bed. Standing at the foot of it, you lifted a knee, placing it on the bed and using that to leverage yourself. You crawled over the comforter, pleased when he immediately spread his legs to accommodate you.

"I did," you admitted, tone soft and gentle. He shivered when you slid a hand up his leg, starting at his ankle. "But, I want to make sure I heard you correctly." He still wasn't looking at you, but you heard his breath hitch when your other hand came to rest on his inner thigh, nails scratching lightly over his skin. You waited until his eyes flitted to yours, finding your expression open and eyes darkening with desire. "Humor me, darling. Please?" You murmured, and he swallowed. You fought against the smile, trying to pull at your lips when he looked away again, flush beginning to crawl down his throat.

"I-" His breath hitched again, nerves making his belly flutter as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt spread open, pinned beneath your gaze. Vulnerable. And even though he knew you'd never make fun of him for anything, it was hard not to feel embarrassed by admitting his less than conventional desires so openly. "I want you... to... ch-chase me- oof!" His breath left him in a grunt as suddenly your hands gripped him behind the knees and pulled. Yanking him from his reclined position on the bed to lie flat on his back, your weight settling over his hips as you pinned him beneath you. He couldn't have escaped if he wanted to, your preternatural strength keeping him captive. It made his heart rate, heat suffusing his veins and making him squirm. You grinned, sharpened fangs glinting as your slitted pupils dilated, expanding like a creature on the hunt.

"Do you want me to chase you or..." You trailed off, leaning closer just to hear the way his breath quickened, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. It made the predator in you roll and roil, wanting to sink your teeth in and mark him. Claim him in the most primal way. "Do you want me to catch you?" Your lips were at his ear, and you were pleased when his head shifted, baring his throat before he could think better of it.

"Yes," he said in a rush, voice breathless and choked by desire. "I want it, want both, want it all." Your chest rumbled with a pleased purr, and Ford arched into you, seeking out the press of your fangs when you let them graze his skin.

"You know I would deny you nothing," you murmured softly and the boundless love Ford felt for you warmed his chest. Your thumbs stroked along the insides of his wrists where you held them, pinned to the bed in your hands. "But I worry you don't really know what you're asking of me." Ford began to protest, wanting to insist that he was a grown man, thank you, and though you had many, many years over on him he was more than capable of knowing what he wanted, goddamnit. He was silenced, though, by his own instinctual whine when you nipped gently at his throat. The points of your double fangs catching his skin.

"Hush, puppy," you murmured, voice fond and teasing. You knew the face he was making would be equal parts flustered and indignant from the rarely-used nickname. You wanted to look him in the eyes, needing to see his face for the conversation, but you were loathe to leave the soothing cloak of his scent that enveloped you. You nuzzled at his throat, placing a kiss against his racing pulse before you finally pulled away, looking down at him as you sat over his hips.

"I only mean that you have a habit of asking questions but not the right ones." Your voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that caught his attention. He kept his eyes on you, even as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and he turned his face into the touch. You smiled, wholly in love with the beautiful man beneath you, and stroked a thumb across the top of his cheekbone. "Have you really thought all the way through this request of yours?" You arched a brow, considering how best to word this. "I think sometimes you forget I'm not human anymore. Haven't been for a long time. This... act I put on is just that, an act. If you run, I'll chase you. If you hide, I'll find you. I... can't promise I'll be gentle when I do. Or that there will be any stopping me if you decide it's too much. At least, not with our usual ways when we play." Ford swallowed thickly. He had considered that, of course, but hearing you say it, admit to what he could have only guessed at, brought it all into stark, startling clarity. You watched him, watching you. Saw him consider the weight of your words before his gaze flickered back to yours and held it, lips parting.

"I'm okay with that," he said, voice unwavering and strong in its conviction. Your belly fluttered, anticipation turning your blood hot in your veins. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, forging onwards. "I'm well aware of your nature, and that's part of why I want this. I want... to experience you, all of you." He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, and you swallowed, a shaky smile on your lips.

"And the other part?" You asked once you were sure your voice wouldn't tremble. Ford blushed, biting at his lower lip, and you could smell the shift in his scent. The way desire made it sweeter, thick, and cloying on your tongue. He nuzzled at your palm, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"I want to feel you, all of you," he murmured softly. Want laced his low voice, and you shivered atop him when large palms came to rest on your knees. Sliding up your bare thighs, feeling your soft skin beneath his touch. "I want you to hurt me, to hunt me. I-" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as your eyes darkened, tracked his every twitch and movement. "I want to know what you're like when you lose control. You're always so careful, even when you tie me up and make me beg. Is it so wrong for me to want to know what it's like when you're not?" Your hand shifted, thumb moving down to trace over his lower lip, and he nipped lightly at it, flashing you an impish smile. You were quiet for a few, long moments, and the nerves in Ford's belly rioted every second. He was grateful when you finally broke the silence.

"We'll be having a more in-depth discussion about this before we do anything," you said finally, carefully. Ford nodded, eagerness tightening his throat. "I'm serious, Ford. I'm not leaving anything to chance; the last thing I want to do is hurt you in a way you don't want." His hands flexed, squeezing lightly at your thighs. He nodded, eyes bright.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less." You chuckled softly, shifting to allow him space when he sat up suddenly, crowding into your space. He hummed softly in pleasure when you held his face in your hands. The slight chill of your skin sending a shiver up his spine. "Kiss me?" He asked and you were all too happy to oblige, deciding the necessary conversations could wait for now.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Ford's breath came out in soft, short pants. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation crawling up his spine and making his skin prickle. Around him, the woods were silent, save for the usual noise and chatter of the more nocturnal creatures that called it home. The air was warm, a light breeze blowing through and making him shiver. He felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched, knowing you were hiding somewhere nearby, silent and deadly. But, unlike the paranoia and fear this would normally instill in him had it been anyone else, he only felt anticipation and desire churning hot and heavy in his belly.

"I'd start moving if I were you," your voice, low and heavy, interrupted his thoughts and the relative quiet of his surroundings. He whirled around, turning a big circle as his eyes scanned the tree and darkness. He couldn't see you, however. Wherever you were, you intended on staying hidden from him a little longer. His eyes darted left, in the direction of where he knew your house was waiting, tucked amongst the trees. You chuckled, and the sound reverberated through him.

"If you're going to run, I'd do it now, darling. I'm afraid I don't know how much longer I can hold back; I can taste your desperation," the word trailed into a low, near feral growl, and Ford broke out into a run. Your laughter seemed to follow him, taunting him, and it only made the heat in his belly grow hotter. You'd fed before your little game, and the aphrodisiac of your venom was starting to burn through him, making his knees feel weak and sweat dampen his forehead and the back of his neck. He could've sobbed with relief when your cabin finally came into view.

He had just managed to shimmy in through a low open window when he felt you. Almost as if you'd materialized out of thin air. He felt your hand, skin warm with the blood you'd taken from him only an hour before, as your fingers curled around his ankle. He fell back to the ground with a soft oof and a dull thud. The impact of his knees hitting the hardwood flooring of your cabin might've hurt if a dull, throbbing need hadn't begun to settle just under his skin. Rising to the surface and heating him from the inside out at the first touch of your hand on him. Your other hand planted itself between his shoulders, shoving him to the ground. Your knees settled behind his, pinning his legs, as you gathered his wrists in either hand. Stretching them over his head and pinning them, too. Your claws pricked at his hypersensitive skin, and the moan he let out was shameful, though he couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed. He pressed back eagerly into the cloak of your warmth when you settled your front against his back, and he blushed to realize you were practically mounting him right there on your living room floor. That thought was quickly wiped from his mind, however, when you planted your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply and rumbling a low, pleased growl.

"Look what I've caught," your every word was tinged with a growl and your voice was thick, like you were having trouble talking. It wasn't until you dragged your mouth along his skin that he realized why; your fangs had grown well past what he was used to seeing when you fed from him. So much so it felt like they were crowding out of your mouth, poking past plump lips and scraping across the skin of his neck. He shuddered beneath you, pressing back into you on instinct. A gasping whine ripped itself from his throat as suddenly the heat that had been just a low simmer beneath his skin melted into a blazing fire, like it had been waiting for your touch.

"Such a sweet little treat and so desperate, too." You nuzzled at his neck, fangs catching and making him whimper. His cock, which had been half hard since the start, was now rigid and dripping down his thigh. You released his wrists with a low growl of stay, and Ford nodded, eyes fluttering and rolling back as you dragged your hand down over his skin, still frustratingly clothed.

"H-Hot, s'too hot, please," he moaned, gasping as his thoughts were clouded by a thick haze of desperate need. The noise you let out was pleased, and his hips bucked when your seeking, searching hands slid under his shirt, finally touching bare skin.

"So pretty like this," you sighed against his ear. "So desperate; just a needy little toy, aching to be played with." Your words stoked the fire in his veins, arousal burning through him. Your hands groped along his belly, the soft fuzz of his happy trail, and up towards his chest. Wicked fingers found sensitive nipples and he whined, jerking and arching forwards into your touch, filling your clawed hands with the meat of his chest and you squeezed appreciatively.

"Oh, oh fuck," he gasped out. He writhed beneath you, nerves sparking with pleasure as you teased and toyed with his nipples. You shushed him gently, a soft coo leaving your lips.

"Shhh puppy, don't fight it. Be a good little toy, and let me play with you." Your voice wormed its way through the sticky molasses of his thoughts, and he clung to it, a lifeline amidst the dualing sensations washing through him. His body obeyed before his brain could catch up, and his overzealous squirming beneath you ceased. You rumbled a purr in your chest and licked at the throbbing of his pulse in his throat.

"So good for me," you cooed and the praise was almost like a physical caress, making him shudder and moan. "Love you like this; all pliant and desperate, bet I could make you cum just like this." He throbbed where he was trapped behind his zipper, hips bucking into nothing with a pitiful whimper of your name. You could smell his desperation, so thick you could almost taste it, and it made you ravenous. Made the incessant chanting of your instincts louder, a dull roar of fuck, claim, mate, mine, mine, mine.

"Yours. Yours, all- fuck, all yours, please," he was panting the words, lips hung open and almost drooling. The need coiling at the base of his spine ready to snap but unable to, not without you. You squeezed roughly at his nipples in a sharp pinch, soothing the sting with your thumbs, and he sobbed. "Please! Please please please darling, mistress, wanna cum, want- wanna be good for you, please please let me cum." You moaned, gritting your teeth against the sudden urge to bite, to mark him as deeply as he'd marked you. You trailed a hand down, not giving Ford a single moment to mourn the loss of stimulation before you were cupping long, slender fingers around the shape of him through his trousers.

"Fuck!" His hips jerked into your hand and he sobbed your name, desperation clawing at his throat. You let him buck and grind into your hand, simply holding it there and squeezing around him. He tipped his head back against your shoulder, throat bared to you completely, and you were helpless to resist the siren call of it. Not like this, not when you were so lost to your baser instincts already. Ford lifted a shaky hand, threading it through your hair and tugging you to plant your face firmly in the curve of his throat.

"Bite me," he begged, breathless. "Bite me, please, please bite me, mark me, claim me. I need - I need to be yours, please, please, mistress." You couldn't stop the snarl that ripped out of you, and it only seemed to spur Ford on. Your beautiful, perfect Ford. How could you deny him anything? You couldn't, really. He had barely a moment to think when he felt the prick of your fangs, and then they were sliding in. Cutting through skin and muscle like butter, flooding his veins with your venom. The keening, desperate cry caught in his throat as his hips bucked and grinded into your hand and he was cumming. His orgasm tearing through him so forcefully it left him dizzy. You growled against his throat, jaw clamping tighter as his blood seemed to turn sweeter in your mouth. You drank him down in heavy, greedy gulps, hand idly squeezing at his still hard cock just to hear him whimper.

When you released him, tongue laving over the mark left behind until the blood clotted and the wound started to close, you slid your hand up to splay over his belly. You stayed like that for a moment, both of your panting as the desperate, clawing need seemed to subside for the time being. Though it stayed a low, steady thrum in your heads and veins. Ford was the first to crack, breath coming faster as the heat began to build again, encouraged by the new flood of venom through his system.

"Let me- I want to see you, please?" He asked, voice soft and slightly cautious, unsure of how you'd react. You paused, hesitating.

"I'm not- I don't look... the same," you said haltingly, unsure how to prepare him for the way you looked now that you had dropped your usual glamours, unable to keep them up as you tapped into your more primal instincts. Ford huffed, and you thought you could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"Really, I had no idea," he deadpanned, and you nipped at his ear in retaliation for his cheek. You nuzzled at his throat, feeling the mark your teeth had left behind when you'd bitten him.

"It might scar." You murmured, only just now realizing. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Good. I want it to." He huffed a laugh when you rumbled a low, pleased purr despite yourself. You lapsed into silence once more, seemingly content to nuzzle and lick and kiss over his throat as you let the heat build up once more, slower this time. Ford allowed you to avoid his request for a few moments longer before he spoke up again, voice gentle.

"Darling, please? For me?" You paused again, the heaved a long-suffering sigh. He had barely a moment to bask in his success before you were pressing him gently to the floor, shifting back and your weight up to allow him to turn over. You straddled his hips then, and his hands came up to rest on your thighs, reminiscent of the night he'd first brought this up.

"Look at me. Please?" He lifted a hand and held it up, halfway to cupping your cheek, letting you close the rest of the distance. After a brief hesitation, you did, leaning forwards and into the press of his palm. You looked down at him through lidded eyes, and Ford's heart thudded in his chest.

Your fangs weren't quite as large as they'd first felt, though definitely larger than usual. He could see the sharp tips, then at least half an inch more, before they disappeared back behind your lips. Your secondary pair glinted slightly in the low light, tips just barely visible where, normally, he wouldn't be able to see them at all. His blood was smeared over your mouth, giving your full lips a flushed, deep red color. Your ears were longer, larger, and he vaguely thought they resembled something of a bats, but he couldn't be sure as they were largely hidden by your hair. Everything about you seemed... sharper, wilder. More dangerous, but no less alluring. Perhaps most striking was your eyes. They glowed stronger than he'd ever seen them, seemingly lit from within. The whites of your eyes had gone black, and your pupils were slowly returning to the thin slits he normally saw.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, and you might have scoffed. You might have brushed off the compliment and reverent tone of his voice if you couldn't see in his eyes how true they were. Your heart swelled with love for this beautifully strange man beneath you. He curled his fingers around the back of your neck, threading through your hair, and tugged you gently towards him. "Kiss me? Please?" You sighed and leaned down, letting him guide you where he wanted you.

You took your time learning how to kiss him like this, and it felt like the first few months of your relationship all over again. How nervous you both had been, though, for different reasons. You enjoyed the slower pace. You liked that you got to savor each other, let the heat build slowly. It was when you slid your tongue into his mouth, and he felt the long split through the middle, that the low, simmering heat in his veins kicked up, and he whined into the kiss. His hands gripped roughly at your hips, and you rocked yourself down, grinding against where you could feel him, throbbing and hard against you. You wound a hand through his hair and wrenched his head back so you could look at him, gratified by the flush on his cheeks and the way his mouth hung open, panting.

"Awww, look at you~ haven't had enough yet?" Your voice was edged with a low, rumbling quality like a growl. It made him moan, cock twitching where it sat, still sticky with cum, in his boxers.

"Never." He murmured breathlessly. Mesmerized by the feral grace you exuded. The next few moments passed by in a blur, punctuated by flashes of sensation. The cool warmth of your hands on his skin as you divested him of his shirt. The feeling of the hardwood against his back as you pinned him, pressing bodily against him just to shove your tongue down his throat. The way every part of him started to ache and burn with the sweetest pain the longer he went without your hands, your mouth, or, oh god, your cunt. He could feel you, wet and soaking the gusset of your panties as you rocked against him, long skirt hiked up to your hips before it was gone, too. When your clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, both of you naked as you could be, he seemed to come back to himself. Aided by the sight of you between his legs, wicked grin curling your otherworldly features as you ran a long, split tongue over the curve of his cock, tasting him.

"Fuck!" He shouted, hips flexing against the hold you had on them, though he was no match for your strength. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the floor beneath him, heaving out soft, gasping breaths. "Fuck fuck fuck, darling- darling, please," he sobbed, high and breathy. You hummed softly and wrapped your lips around his dripping tip. Mindful of your fangs, you hollowed your cheeks, tongue flicking at the sensitive spot just under the head that had his toes curling. He fell back on his forearms, head dropping and baring his throat, bringing the bite mark on the curve of his neck out in stark relief. "Darling, I- darling, I can't, I can't- please," he huffed, voice edged with a whine.

"You can," you rumbled lowly, already knowing what he was whining for and wrapping your fingers around the base of him tightly. Squeezing, cutting off the orgasm threatening his sanity as he sobbed above you. "And you will. I want you crying with how badly you need it, and I won't settle for less." And with that, you set back to your task, lapping at the precum beading along his slit.

Ford moaned above you, sagging back against the floor. He knew there was no dissuading you. He'd seen that feral little glimmer in your eye enough times to know that. And you always kept an ear out for the safeword, but it never came. Only his desperate moans and whines of your name, pleas for your touch. You used the flexibility of your tongue to your advantage, widening your jaw to allow the split muscles to wrap around the shaft of his cock as you kept your lips around the head. Ford jerked under you, unable to get far with you, pinning his hips. But you felt his muscles tense and bunch beneath your touch. He brought his hands down to tangle in your hair, and you hummed around him, pleased. You brought him to the edge and back, over and over, just like this. You didn't have to wait long for him to break.

"Fuck, fuck please darling, please please I need it, need you now, I- I can't-" he cut himself off with a desperate sob, and you glanced up at him through your lashes. The sight of him was breathtaking. Cheeks red, eyes dazed and glossy with tears as his mouth hung open, moans pouring out freely. It pleased you in a vicious, primal way. You pulled off of him with an obscene pop! All but prowling your way back over him, until you were able to slot your dripping cunt over his cock. His hand immediately went to your hips, squeezing and moaning.

"Darling, please," he panted, then groaned when you rolled your hips. A moan pagted your own, and, like that one noise had broken the floodgates, you couldn't stop more from pouring out. You kept up your steady rocking, unable to stop as the desperate, clawing need you felt for him built higher and higher. He sat up abruptly, one hand supporting himself and the other wrapped around your neck, tugging you forward as his knees came up to support your back, giving you further leverage. "I need to be inside you like I need to breathe, fuck, please. Please, I- shit, I can feel how fucking wet you are, let me take care of you? Please? Use me, use me however you need to, I'm yours." He panted the words against your open mouth and you could taste the desperation in them.

Nodding, unable to find your voice, you lifted yourself up on your knees. Taking him in hand, you lined him at your entrance and sank down in one smooth glide to the hilt. You moaned in unison, and Ford pressed forward until he had you beneath him. Your knees hooked over his shoulder as he pressed down, down, down into a filthy mating press, and waited. You flashed a filthy, fanged grin. Even now, when he had you pinned beneath him and your needy cunt clenching around him, he knew who was in charge.

"Well? What're you waiting for? Be a good puppy and breed me."

[tosahobi-if]

GAME OUT NOW

Misfortune begets misfortune; evil will prey upon itself. Just as how the fox cannot live without the rabbit, the predator must understand what rises will fall.

Long before you were born, the Great Calamity, a calculated effort by Magyo cultists nearly wiped out the entirety of the Jungpa sects. If not for the noble sacrifice of the peerless Sword Saint of the Mount Hua Sect: the Divine Blade, Yeo Jinhu, demonic forces would have rent the heavens and the earth asunder.

Despite his triumph, nothing would ever be the same – the losses were staggering, the task of rebuilding the sects to their former glory seemed to prove an insurmountable challenge. Yet nearly two decades after his death, peace returned to the land once more.

After the death of your parents, you lead an ordinary, if not monotonous, life as the playmate of the spoiled young master of the Mount Hua Sect. However, all is not what it seems. Following the mysterious arrival of an amnesiac with strange abilities, whispers of a plot brewing in the shadows start to surface, and the world as you know it begins to fall apart around your feet.

Suddenly confronted with the uncertainty of the future, you must unravel the tragedy of what truly conspired all those years ago before you risk losing all you hold dear.

tosahobi (18+) is a muhyeop choose-your-own adventure game centered around elements of korean folklore and taoism in a tale of family, grief, and heritage.

play as a customizable main character: choose their physical appearance, gender, pronouns, sexuality, and more.

explore different relationships: from platonic to romantic to familial, build a variety of relationships with the cast (and hopefully make more friends than you do enemies.)

choose from different skill sets: pick between medicine, weaponry, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat. each field comes with its own advantages and disadvantages that affect multiple scenarios as the story progresses.

choice-driven story: with several routes and (many) choices, fail or succeed and find your way to an ending (whether it be happy or not.)

something is incredibly wrong: can you feel it too?

THE YOUNG MASTER

Yeo Jinwol of the Mount Hua Sect, is the youngest son of the sect leader. Contrary to his charming public demeanor, he has a childish side and can be extraordinarily stubborn. Having grown up in the shadow of his elder brothers he is fiercely protective of those he considers precious to him and struggles to measure up to the expectations placed on his shoulders. Assigned his playmate at a young age, whether you consider it fortuitous or not the two of you have been stuck together for years.

THE ENIGMA

Yul is your sajae, a disciple under the same master as you. Despite their amnesia, they're preternaturally talented at whatever they set their mind to. With strange yet unexplainable abilities that seem to stretch far beyond the scope of their powers, their missing memories may be the key to unlocking the answers you seek. Reclusive yet dedicated you'd almost think they were far, far older than their age if not for their intense sweet tooth and their tendency to follow you around like a very clingy second shadow.

THE PRODIGY

Baek Iseul, the Frozen Blade, is the rising star Emei Sect and has long been hailed as the next Sword Saint. Contrary to her cheerful personality you've never met anyone with a sharper gaze before. Hailing from obscurity, her power rivals even those who have trained for years and years, and has amassed an ever-growing collection of heroic feats under her belt. Popular and well-liked with a mischievous streak, you're really not sure why someone with such a promising future has taken a liking to you.

???

if to transcend means to leave the world behind, bind me to the soil so even long after my death, long after my body has turned to dust, i can find you once more.

[theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming]

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 9

Week [1] [2] [3] [4/5/6] [7] [8]

The fics are kind of everywhere this week.. enjoy!

Sterek: 9 Buddie: 9

What Every Firefighter Needs by sofonisba_found (2013•T•2.8K)

Every firehouse needs a Dalmatian, right? It just so happens that the Dalmatian adored by the men and women at engine 603 isn't quite what he seems.

Mångata by artemis69 | @artemis69 (2018•GA•7.4K)

The place chosen for the speed dating is nice, close enough to the shore that the sun warms the shallow waters and washes everything in blinding white light. Long, thin shadows crawl all over the hills, dancing over pinkish sand and pale rocks, following the swirls of the surface. When he looks around, Stiles can see various spots marked out with colorful stones, all organized in a loose circle and numbered with small shells. In the center of it all is a massive signboard in human plastic, glinting under the sun. It is, objectively, the nicest place Stiles has ever been this miserable in. - Or the Sterek mermen speed dating AU where Stiles is unlucky in love (until he isn't).

hey asshole by everchanginginks | @everchanginginks (2018•M•15.6K)

The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet his best friend's big brother, Derek, who’s been attending college in New York. When Derek comes home for the summer he makes less than a stellar impression. And vice versa.

Good Intentions by yodasyoyo | @yodas-yo-yo (2018•T•6.4K)

In which Stiles thought he fake wolf-married Derek twenty-six years previously. Turns out it wasn't as fake as he thought.

You're moving me around you (I said darling hold me) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie) | @dearericbittle (2019•T•14.5K)

Derek is the only beta in a pack of two, blaming himself for the loss of their entire family. When his sister pays someone to get him used to human contact again, Derek preps himself for a couple unwilling handshakes before he kicks the stranger out of his den. Stiles is… not what Derek expected.

The Cabin by sororexitium (2017•T•12.3K)

Derek sees the fox for the first time one late winter evening, just as the sun is setting over the tree line and the colors of the sky light up in pale purples, brilliant oranges, and burning reds. It stands out vividly against the periwinkle shadowed snow that dusts the porch, the little predator’s red fur illuminated golds and auburns by the sun with a luminous halo around its black tipped ears. Derek watches it through the window for several minutes, the way its plush tail swishes back and forth, sweeping away the snow. Every so often the head will turn and the fading sun will light up the small fox’s eyes, amber glowing with preternatural focus and intelligence, even for a fox.

A Wild Heart's Desire by mikkimouse | @mad-madam-m (2015•T•13.4K)

If there's one thing Stiles Stilinski knows, it's that Deputy Derek Hale absolutely Does Not Like him. The only reason Derek even tolerates him is because their kids are worryingly codependent. So Stiles is understandably confused when a very feral Derek shows up in his backyard after a call gone wrong and proceeds to move in with him.

He Takes His Coffee Black by orphan_account (2012•M•16.8K)

On the cusp of actual, responsible adulthood with no ambitions to his name, Derek Hale (soon to be Derek Hale, Master of Physical Therapy) is faced with the dishearteningly underwhelming notion of his future. For his final winter break, Derek returns home to his family's coffee shop where he spends the dry winter days filling aggravating orders for equally aggravating people and burning his hands with scalding milk. It's the last place on earth he expects to find a kindred spirit, but some twitchy kid named Stiles-- with his simple order of one black coffee and a wry little grin-- turns out to be just that.

Don’t Leave Me Behind When I’m Still Learning How to Run by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | @isthatbloodonhisshirt (2021•T•16.1K)

He’d just set it back down when the door opened, and a shadow appeared in front of him, taking the seat across from him. Jackson’s name was on his lips as he rose his gaze from his drink, but the word stuck in his throat, because it wasn’t Jackson. “I’m really sorry, can you be my boyfriend?” Derek asked breathlessly, panic on his face and looking seconds away from losing his shit. Stiles didn’t even have the chance to reply, because the second he saw crazy lady walk into the coffee shop, he just immediately leaned over the table and planted a kiss right on Derek’s lips. The other man seemed startled, but he recovered quickly and brought one hand up to press against Stiles’ cheek. He made sure to keep the kiss short, and relatively chaste, because this was all for show and he didn’t want to make Derek more uncomfortable than he already was.

could you be mine? by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•T•4.2K)

Eddie loves Buck, though. He knows he does. It’s just…he can’t have Buck be his mate. He can’t. OR: An innocent question from Buck sends Eddie spiraling.

H-E-A-T-A/B/O: A Buddie Anthology by Bucksbelly (drarryweasley) | @bucksbelly (2025•E•51.7K)

An anthology of Buddie one-shots based in omegaverse settings. These stories are NOT connected; they each have slightly different lore and can be read in any order!Brought to you by I wanted to write my favorite trope but couldn't decide how to do it so I wrote a bunch of them

It's all in my head, but I want nonfiction (2025•E•10.5K)

Eddie's never quite let himself be at home in his skin. Buck finds this unacceptable and tries to fix it in the only ways he knows how: research and sex.

that 👅🍑 chat by disasterbuck, Veronae | @disasterbuck @veronae-buddie (2025•T•1.5K)

A bored Buck bombards an unexpecting Eddie with a series of images containing funny typos. It leads somewhere neither of them anticipate… Eddie: did you order it Buck: NO Buck: it's a pic I found online Eddie: brings a new meaning to "eating ass" I guess

don't fuck with ghosts by lecornergirl | @clusterbuck (2025•E•1.6K)

“Hold on,” Buck says, holding a hand up. He lays the palm of his other hand flat against the wall, then lets out a— Eddie blinks. It almost sounded like— Buck does it again, his body spasming, and Eddie’s never heard Buck have sex, but it sounds like— He says Buck’s name again, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with it, doesn’t know what on earth he’s supposed to say when Buck is holding the wall and moaning like— Like something Eddie has certainly never imagined before, and absolutely never will in the future. Definitely not with a newly hyperrealistic soundtrack that is burning itself into his memory with every passing moment. Buck tears his hand away from the wall, dazed, a flush climbing up his cheeks.

day five hundred sixty-four (and it feels like you just left my side) by BekkaChaos | @bekkachaos (2025•T•8.3K)

Eddie made the move to El Paso, Buck isn't coping so well so he takes to doing research and texting Eddie random facts and thoughts instead of saying all the things on his mind. Or, 5 times Buck texts Eddie with weird trivia/thoughts and 1 time he send him something genuine (by accident).

moving on from him is impossible by playinginthunderstorms | @playinginthunderstorms (2025•E•3K)

“Sure,” is Eddie’s sarcastic comeback, “What are you going to do, help me get off?” Buck opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s just… Silent. Shit. Shit. He needs to say something, otherwise this’ll get awkward real fast. It’s just that… It’s that he could, is the thing. He’d do that. For Eddie. Really, he wouldn’t mind. At all. [Or, Eddie is stressed and has trouble... unwinding, while in El Paso. Buck helps. Like a good friend would.]

fall right into me by woodchoc_magnum | @woodchoc-magnum (2025•E•26.6K)

In which Buck and Eddie fall into bed together without thinking anything through, and minor shenanigans ensue.

Anosognosia by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•T•7K)

When ER Nurse Evan Buckley meets Firefighter Paramedic Eddie Diaz, he is instantly smitten. They hit it off quickly, and begin seeing a lot of each other. It takes him a few weeks to realize they're doing more than just hanging out.

I Can’t Describe Who You Are To Me, To Anyone by Reason_to_hope (2025•M•62.7K)

“Are you new?” “Y-yeah.” Evan stuttered before his brain connected with his mouth. “My names Evan…er Evan Buck-Buckley.” The corner of the boys mouth twitched up in an almost smile, “Eddie Diaz.” He told him. “Nice to meet you Evan Buck-Buckley.” “Oh, er, it’s just Evan Buckley. I just—“ “I’m going to call you Buck.” Or Buck and Eddie meet in High School, fall in love and choose each other through everything life can throw at them. My childhood sweethearts fic.

[constantcrying]

Ersatz, baby

m!shape-shifter!yandere x gn!reader. 4k words. yes. I'm so sorry.

TW: Obsession, possessive thoughts and behaviors, mentions of violence, gore, consumption of humans, idk how to tag it but the shape-shifter eats humans and has considered eating the reader so like heads up about that

Heeeeey

Somebody PLEASE tell me if the length of this piece is detrimental to the experience of reading it it’s like 4k words. Here’s something I’ve been kicking around for ages. Frankly I am shocked I have something at all after a year

“Odd couple” is the best way to describe the friendship between you and Sasha. You’re awkward and responsible and outwardly boring. He’s highly social, wild, and intriguing. You’re genuine to a fault. He’s an expert in facades; he is a facade. You’re human and he’s something utterly not.

The freak accident of affection between you two is...still hard for him to wrap his head around. It seems to be your fault. If you weren’t so pitifully earnest toward him he would have just gotten rid of you. You were aware of his true nature, and definitely scared of it, but you kept going out of your way to be the Good Roommate™, to play friends. He had to let you live, just to see what the fuck your deal is. Now it’s too late. Now he wants you around.

You are the only person in the world that he has shown his real body to.

Some of his victims have seen it, but you’re the first person he intended to see it. The decision was quiet, perhaps a little impulsive. A simple exchange of “What are you, Sasha?” and “I don’t know. Wanna see?” had you both going to your bedroom and locking the door.

For the first time in his life, his heart pounded as he shed his clothes. He almost didn’t want you to turn around and look. It might be better if you only knew the carefully curated version of him, the handsome appearance he painstakingly crafted for the easiest social life. Even though you already knew he wasn’t human and pretended it didn’t matter, what if you saw him now and knew with absolute certainty that you didn’t want to look at him ever again? He would have to swallow you whole. He wasn’t sure if he could do it.

Regardless he said, “turn around.”

He showed you the unvarnished form that he had inherited from his mother. To be frank: It’s a predator’s body. Worse that that, it’s a monster’s. There are features and junctures of him so uncanny it must hurt the logical mind to observe them. If you were ever looking for the perfect rebuttal to the existence of a loving God, look no further than his cruel mouth.

He crept onto you bed looking like this, towering over you, your bed-frame screaming to protest the weight. He’d have to cut you off at the source, if you were to scream. And though he could smell the fear wafting from your skin, could practically feel the constricting blood vessels and tightening muscles in you, you still asked him, “Hey, is it more comfortable? Do you prefer being like this?”

Honestly? He isn’t sure there’s a body that’s comfortable and natural to him anymore. He’s so used to a human state that anything else feels awkward, even when it’s easier to shift to. As you took his massive claws into your hands and examined them with gentle curiosity, though, he was struck by the warmth of you. It was a long time since anyone had really touched him. It might’ve been even longer for you, loner that you are. Which meant you were the only person who could understand the way he felt in that moment.

He flopped over next to you, letting out an embarrassing dog-like whine, but you just laughed sweetly, and shifted pillows around to accommodate his bigger size. His feet and tail still dangled awkwardly off the bed. “You can relax in here,” you said. “You’re always welcome, since you’re my friend.”

You rambled about your classes and professors until all the adrenaline had left your system. He didn’t say much in response, but you didn’t mind. After a while, you could almost meet his preternatural gaze. You even dozed off like this, with a monster beside you, you utter weirdo. He put his head closer to your chest and felt your sleeping breaths for hours, thinking that your throat would be butter-soft under his teeth.

Sasha knows very little about what he really wants. He’s not sure if he’ll stay in his major, or in school, or even in human society. He knows for certain, though, that he wants more time to study you. He wants just your quiet voice and humble body heat and the understanding that, whatever he is, it isn’t going to chase you away.

So you two keep doing this. Every few days he’ll skulk over to where you are and make room for himself, and the two of you will talk for hours. Sometimes he shifts. He doesn’t always want to, but you get more comfortable with him that way. You...seem more keen to pet him when he looks and acts like an animal, and he wants you to touch him so bad he’s worried he’ll start asking for it. Could he ever live it down, if he started asking to be coddled? No. So he wags his tail and butts his head against you like that isn’t it’s own special brand of pathetic.

It’s not like you’re one to judge, though. You’re just so happy to have a friend that comes to hang out with you. You’ve never had very many of those, but of course Sasha knows he’s extra special. There’s much he’s learned about the world from his strange perspective, and you’re always excited to listen to his stories.

You do understand that he needs to eat a lot. You see him clear out four bacon cheeseburgers as a snack once, and he cracks jokes about how breakfast was red bull and adderall, but you know that it’s just a part of his biology that works against him. So you go out of your way to cook more meat, and give him bigger portions than anyone else, ignoring the way your blatant favoritism must look to the other roommates and occasional visitors. He doesn’t bother explaining that your idea of a big meal is like his idea of an appetizer, and he never will.

He doesn’t talk about the people he eats, either. He’s starting to think you don’t realize he does that.

(If you really don’t know, if this is the way you treat him when you don’t know, there’s no fucking way he can tell you.)

As for you, you talk about your courses and your classmates. From the way you talk around it, he’s mostly figured out the sad shape of your childhood and he decides that’s why you’re so weird and naive.

Mostly, you tell him about your hobbies, and your taste in TV shows. That’s when something in you is unlocked, revealing you to be more witty and giggly than your initial impression. It’s gratifying to know most other people don’t discover that side of you, like being the only prospector who knows where gold is. You tell him about everything you used to watch and play with your best friend, back when she had time for you. He’s a little confused by just how fervently you love things, how you start to care one day and then never, ever stop.

He never did it before, but now the two of you watch garbage TV together. (You tried to invite your best friend to join you, but to Sasha’s satisfaction, she gave you that cringing sort of smile and told you she didn’t have time.) Every Friday comes a new episode of Crater County, this schlocky supernatural police procedural, so every Thursday night you ask him to watch it with you. He’s a busy man, of course, but he’ll fit it into his schedule since he knows you so look forward to it.

This Thursday you must have forgot.

Somehow, in the early morning on Friday, you slip away without Sasha noticing. He wakes up to the honks of geese and distant cars, and the ever-present hum of electricity. As he thinks of pestering you to make ham and eggs, just to watch you get annoyed, he notices the conspicuous lack of your heartbeat.

He knows better than to doubt his hearing. But he still goes into your room across the hall to find the bed unmade and unoccupied. He almost goes to check your pillow for warmth, only stopping when he realizes it’s...stupid, to do that. He stays in the doorway for a long moment, overly-conscious of your scent. Then he goes to pace in the empty kitchen.

It hadn’t occurred to you to say goodbye to him, or leave him a portion of breakfast as you usually do, so you must have been in a hurry. Distantly, he remembers your fast food job. You probably got called to cover for someone at the last minute. Even so, shouldn’t you have said something to him? So that he wouldn’t wonder? Because he’s—

—well, you called him your friend.

It bothers him the more he thinks about it, while he showers and gets coffee and goes to class. The two of you haven’t talked since Monday and it feels weird. You always tell him when you’re going out, so what happened? Where can he even find you?

Not that he would need to find you. Sasha isn’t clingy. Clingy is his ex making alt account after alt account to pester him on instagram with stupid questions like, “are you seriously trying to ghost me you asshole?” And Sasha isn’t doing that. He hasn’t even texted you yet, because you haven’t texted him, and you always text first. If you don’t go through with the trouble of asking for him, he absolutely will not bother coming.

You haven’t sent so much as a “hey!” in the last seventeen times that he’s checked, so. Guess you guys aren’t hanging out. Whatever. It’s not like he doesn’t have stuff to do. He’s behind on several classes, a habitual skipper, and there are four other people begging him to come out tonight. He hasn’t hunted in a while so he should probably do that too.

He should go and talk to other humans, re-acquire their speech patterns and body language. He should catch himself when he makes gestures you would make, stop himself from making them. That’s why he goes to lunch with a friend group he met last month, and fits in with them seamlessly—or, almost seamlessly. No one can say he isn’t a good talker, slick as oil and quick with comebacks, but he’s a little more sensitive than usual today. While he’s in the middle of charming them he slips up and says something you would say.

“Isn’t that a Crater County reference you just made?” One girl says to him, stopping the conversation cold. “I thought you hated nerdy stuff like that.”

Sasha laughs shortly. “What? Says who?”

“Says you. You laughed at someone’s Supernatural tattoo at the party, remember?”

“It was a fucking horrendous tattoo. And I don’t like Crater Country or whatever, either, I just know some lines because my,” his throat feels like a desert, but he continues, “my roommate is obsessed with that shit.”

They brush over that thought soon enough, shifting focus to upcoming concerts, but Sasha can’t get comfortable again. He feels like he forgot how eyes work, and his are going to slip and turn reptilian in the middle of this well-populated restaurant. He’s scared his hands are going to morph into paws. In the end, he excuses himself before he can finish his meal.

Since he’s still quite hungry, Sasha decides he’ll drop by the butcher and get a few pounds of beef chuck to tide him over until dark. He’ll go to that fancy shop with all the grass-fed cruelty-free organic stuff, because he’s passionate about the well-fare of livestock, and definitely not because it’s just down the street from your job.

But since he’s there, anyway, he’ll pass by and peek through the windows to see what’s happening there.

Your restaurant is packed. A sports team, or special event or something, has filled every table in sight, and more people queue up at the register. You’re boxing fries and passing them over to waiting customers’ trays. Even though you’ve got mountains of food to work through, you’re smiling. It takes only a few seconds to find out why, following the arc of your eye up to a man in the same uniform as you.

The guy is tall and average-looking, and he keeps leaning toward you to talk like he doesn’t know how to speak loudly even though he works in a goddamn kitchen. Sasha doesn’t know him by face, or by word of mouth, since you’ve never told him about a co-worker that can make you giggle so much.

Why hadn’t you told Sasha about the funniest man of the century, huh?

More importantly, why hadn’t you noticed the way this asshole was looking at you? Staring so intently, exaggerating his expressions, mirroring you. All the same tricks Sasha has used before but with none of the grace, and yet somehow you liked it from this guy when Sasha had seemed scary to you.

He just can’t understand. That wouldn’t be such a problem if he hadn’t believed that he did understand you, and the way your mind worked. You had said Sasha was your friend and you had sat in the truth with him, relieved to see him for what he truly was, and you had been asking after his health and his happiness, wasting nights with him, cooking for him, cuddling up with him, and now here you were forgetting about his existence with another friend that he didn’t know about.

Sasha has been cheated on by a partner in the past. They left him one night and came back in the wee hours smelling like a fresh shower, with traces of someone else’s odor still clinging to them. It hadn’t felt like anything, to know that they were sneaking behind his back. Not a betrayal, no sting or ache in the heart he supposedly had. He broke up with them a week after, and that, like all his other breakups, was simply annoying. Sasha had always felt like he wasn’t with any of the people he was with. He was watching them, and touching them, and living among them, but there was some kind of invisible barrier between him and all the world. So when they broke a connection, well, what was there to even break? How could he care?

And why did being cheated on come to mind when he saw you happy with some other guy?

Sasha would later find out that you pulled a twelve hour shift that day, and, pushover that you were, you didn’t take a break long enough to check your phone. But he doesn’t stay to watch you, he really couldn’t. A pit had formed in his stomach, some void, some black hole that he had to attend to.

He leaves you there in your job and your apparent fun, none the wiser, and goes to the butcher. He gets himself a rack of ribs, and a few pounds of steak, and a heart just because the shop had one on hand and they were happy to serve a customer with such deep pockets as him. He gets a couple of cheeseburgers for the ride home and finishes them in a few bites.

As soon as he knows your other roommates aren’t home, he tears into the paper packaging of the prepared meats and gorges himself over the kitchen sink, soiling his shirt with myoglobin. It all tastes like ash, disappearing into him the way so many things do. When he’s done, when every last shred of flesh and sliver of bone has been swallowed, his stomach growls.

He’s always been this empty. Maybe that was the thing you saw that made you so afraid upon first meeting him—the bottomless trench that he actually was.

You said he was your friend. You knew what he was and didn’t back away. But you have so little else in your life. If you gained anything more, real friends, real family, a lover, wouldn’t someone as hollow and alien as Sasha be easily discarded?

There’s nothing for it. He has to go and hunt now.

Your co-worker is pitifully easy to discover. By checking the likes on your posts, he finds the creep has been hounding you for three weeks now. His unmitigated social media addiction leaves the entirety of his existence splatter across the internet. Sasha learns and forgets his name. He knows exactly what place he’ll be at tonight, with whom, for how long. He shifts to look exactly like you, heads out and stops at the right street corner with a bulky gym bag, waiting.

It’s so easy. Sasha can play You, but this guy hardly deserves all that effort. It’s enough to show up magically with your face, even if your clothes and piercings seem out of place. All Sasha has to do is bat lashes and flash a smile that he has already memorized—your stupid sincere grin that had made you, like the sun, difficult to look at directly—and this idiot thinks the person in front of him is really you, out on the same night by coincidence. He’s happy to see you, and happier still that you want to go somewhere together. He lets Sasha take him by the hand, convinced that the two of you are going out for drinks through innocuously empty backstreets. It doesn’t strike him as weird that you’re so energetic and flirty all of a sudden. Asshole.

He at least has the decency to carry the bag, no doubt hoping to come off as a gentleman.

“Why a duffel bag, anyway?” He marvels.

“To change clothes before I go home, silly,” Sasha tells him, leading him further into the night.

It turns out the co-worker is deeply uncomfortable with silence. He cracks jokes that aren’t funny, to which Sasha politely chuckles for what is only ten minutes but feels like an hour.

“When you kept turning me down,” he says, predictably, “I was worried you had a boyfriend or something.”

“Why would I not tell you if I had a boyfriend?” Sasha croons in your voice, fighting with all his will-power to not crush your co-worker’s hand. They’re finally on a quiet street, between two condemned houses, where there are no cameras and no pedestrians.

“Haha, I don’t know. You’re like, really private. That roommate you talk about all the time? The one going to the same school? I honestly feel like I know more about her than I know about you.”

“You mean, ‘him’? Sasha?” Sasha blinks owlishly with your eyes, his heart melting a little when he imagines you gushing about him to other people.

The guy laughs nervously. “No, I mean Maya. Is Sasha another roommate? Have you mentioned her before?”

Really. Maya. That “best friend” who basically pretends you don’t exist, who takes up valuable real estate in your mind when some people who have spent months getting to know you don’t even get a text.

Sasha gives up on looking friendly.

Your co-worker has finally sensed something is off, wincing as he tugs his hand out of Sasha’s vice-grip. Stretching out his fingers, he asks, “Hey, how much farther ‘til we get there? I swear we’ve passed like, three bars already...”

He doesn’t get to say more because Sasha lets out his teeth and goes for the throat.

It must be said that a warm meal always beats a cold one, but other that that it’s a shitty fare, gristly and lacking in flavor. This guy’s blood, fresh from the veins, is flat and forgettable. Even the marrow of his bones disappoints. At least he didn’t put up a fight...though maybe some enrichment could have saved this boring dinner.

Sasha feels more bloated than full when it’s all over. He wipes down and changes into fresh clothes, stuffing all the bloody garments into the duffel bag. He still feels kinda gross, and considers a long, hot shower while picking muscle fibers from between his teeth.

Are you going to worry about your co-worker? Are you going to miss him? Will you cry if they identify his blood on clothes found in the dump? Will you even tell Sasha why you’re crying?

Sasha snaps out of his deep thoughts when his phone buzzes. The text from you reads:

hey! i forgot to ask, are you on for crater county tonight?

What the fuck. Renewed frustration flushes through his system. What is he, your backup plan? He has a life—actually, many more lives than you! You should know better than to screw around with his time. He shouldn’t even dignify your bullshit with a response, but he does anyway—

At a party

And your answer is,

oh ok

we’ll watch it some other time

have fun!

…

Stay safe ok! Call me if you need something

It’s such a low blow he has to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose: you’re telling him all the same things he’s heard you tell Maya when she blows you off. He can hear the disappointment and embarrassment in your voice, the way you assure her of your eternal affection and concern while she practically dismisses you. Once he’s imagining your face, then, all he wants in the world is to look at it.

He’s a good runner. He’s barely out of breath when he arrives home, tossing aside his sweaty hoodie and kicking off his shoes while he quietly closes the door behind him. The dishwasher is running. He can just make out the low moan of the central air system, and one lazy heart thumping in the living room.

For a moment you don’t notice that Sasha is there. He gets to watch you quietly. You’re languishing on the couch in your bedclothes, staring blankly at the No Signal screen on the TV with a bowl of popcorn untouched on the coffee table. It surprises him. He hasn’t seen you with an expression this dull in a while.

But it disappears in an instant.

“Sasha!” You bolt upright, your face brightening like the sky at dawn when you find him standing in the doorway. “Did the party end already?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

You glance back at the TV. “Um, I swear I wasn’t going to watch without you! I was just…”

“Were you waiting for me?” He asks.

Your expression flickers, betraying the anxiety in your eyes before you have the chance to look away. Why did he even bother to ask? You’re here for him, like a puppy waiting for their owner, and suddenly he’s flushed and queasy—no, it’s not sickness that he feels, it’s butterflies. He’s so delighted he feels dumb, all of his frustration and embarrassing angst vanishing in an instant because all he can think of is how sweet you are.

“Ah,” he laughs dryly. “I’m screwed.”

Before you even know to cry out, he’s thrown himself at you, arms coiling around your waist. The two of you fall back on the couch.

When you get your bearings, you scold him. “Sasha, don’t just do that! You scared me!”

He mumbles, “I had a bad day.”

“...you did?” Your left hand cups his head, almost protectively, and your right strokes his back. “What happened? You’re not hurt, right? Are you hungry? I have some stuff in the fridge—”

“Can we just stay like this?” He asks.

“U-um. Well...” You must be thinking of your other roommates, who could walk in on this scene and “misunderstand” the relationship you have with him. You don’t want to cause weird rumors or tension. But he wants you so much he can’t pretend to be above it anymore. He squeezes you just a little bit, betraying his own desperation, so you say tenderly, “Of course we can.”

It’s scary to be honest. Sasha considers it contrary to his nature. However, he has never in his life avoided adapting or transforming to get what he wants. If he has to bare himself again to endear himself to you, he’ll do it.

“You’re the best friend I have,” he admits, “and I didn’t see you all day, and I missed you.”

Your heart quickens. “Sasha…”

“I know I’m being clingy. I just can’t help it. Say you missed me too. Say I matter to you.”

“I did miss you,” you murmur, your smile bleeding into your voice. You pull him closer. “It feels wrong when we don’t talk all day. And I worry about you, you know. I never see you make a proper meal.”

“I like it better when you make it. So keep cooking for me. Please.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” you say.

His whole body thrums with satisfaction. You care about him so much he can feel it all the way through. He’s soaking up your warmth and savoring your smell, face pressed into your neck. Twisting his hands into your shirt, he finds that he resents your clothes. He even resents your flesh and bones for barring direct access to your heart. Right now, though, he’s almost content with a body in his grasp, a pulse fluttering under his lips.

God help him, he’s been starving for this.

[urfavoritewriter]

Werewolf Appetite

A commission for an anonymous user over on Discord, a long read (~15,000 words) so grab some snacks.

Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Digestion, Multiple Prey, Unwilling Prey, Cruel Pred, Sentient Fat, Permanent Fat, Teen Wolf, Incest, Forced Body Worship

The thick canopy of the forest cast dappled shadows on the forest floor as Tyler, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for ruthlessness, stalked through the undergrowth. His movements were calculated and deliberate, each step cautious yet purposeful. He wore dark camouflage cargo pants that were stained with dirt and grime from countless hours spent in the wilderness. His boots, heavy and sturdy, crunched softly on the fallen leaves beneath him as he moved. A black tactical vest adorned with an array of pockets and pouches hugged his muscular frame, the weight of his arsenal distributed evenly across his torso.

Tyler's face was set in a grim mask of resolution, sweat beading on his brow despite the coolness of the forest. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. A thick layer of stubble lined his jaw, evidence of days spent in pursuit of his elusive quarry. Strapped across his back was a sleek crossbow, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees, a common weapon of choice for werewolf hunters.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush caught Tyler's attention, and he whipped around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. "I know you're out there, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Show yourself, or I'm fucking shooting you where you stand!"

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for action. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent testament to the deadly game of cat and mouse that was about to unfold. And then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.

It was Peter Hale, his lithe form darting between the trees with the agility of a wild animal. His clothes were simple yet elegant, a fitted henley shirt clinging to his muscular frame and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his powerful thighs. His hair was tousled and unkempt, the sunlight catching the subtle highlights in its dark strands. And in his eyes burned a fierce intensity, a primal hunger that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

But before Tyler could react, Peter was upon him, his movements a blur of motion as he deftly dodged the bullets Tyler fired in rapid succession. Each shot rang out like thunder in the stillness of the forest, but Peter moved with a preternatural speed and agility that seemed almost impossible to comprehend. He hoofed between the trees with the grace of a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and effortless as he closed the distance between them.

Despite his best efforts, Tyler's shots went wide, each bullet finding nothing but empty air as Peter continued to evade his every move. Panic surged through Tyler's veins as he realized that he was no match for the supernatural creature before him. He was just a man, armed with nothing but a gun and his wits, while Peter was something else entirely—a being of raw power and primal instinct, driven by a hunger that Tyler could scarcely comprehend. And as Peter closed in for the kill, Tyler knew that he was truly and utterly fucked.

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Tyler huffed, out of breath as he grabbed his crossbow now that his gun was out of ammo. “We hunt those who hunt us,” He repeated, almost as if he was reassuring himself and reminding himself of all the hunter training he’s successfully gotten through.

As Tyler fumbled with his crossbow, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, he felt a sudden weight slam into him from behind. With a cry of surprise, he stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the forest floor. Before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Gasping for breath, Tyler struggled against his unseen assailant, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He could feel the hot breath of his attacker on the back of his neck, the scent of earth and pine filling his nostrils as he fought to break free. But whoever—or whatever—it was, they were strong, far stronger than Tyler had ever imagined possible.

"Get off me, you bastard!" Tyler spat, his voice laced with fear and defiance. But Peter only laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

"You think you can stop me, little hunter?" Peter growled, his grip tightening around Tyler's throat. "Not so tough without your neat little weapons, eh?"

Tyler struggled to speak, his words choked off by Peter's vice-like grip. He clawed at the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something—anything—that he could use to defend himself. But it was no use. Peter was too strong, too fast, too...inhuman.

As Tyler's vision began to swim with black spots, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He could feel the strength draining from his limbs, his body growing weak and sluggish as Peter's hold tightened around him.

As Tyler's struggles began to weaken, Peter's grip on him shifted. Instead of tightening further, it loosened slightly, and Tyler felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like a wave of hunger, raw and primal, crashing over him with such intensity that it stole his breath away.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter considered ending Tyler's life then and there, the thought of his blood staining the forest floor sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. But as he looked down at the helpless hunter beneath him, something else stirred within him; Although his primary goal was to end the lives of anyone involved in the Hale House fire, his predatory werewolf instincts have taken over, irresistibly so.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of Tyler's neck as he inhaled the heady scent of his fear. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, demanding to be sated, and Peter found himself unable to resist its call. Without another thought, he pressed his lips to Tyler's skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of sweat and adrenaline.

Tyler gasped at the sensation, his body tensing beneath Peter's touch as a shiver of adrenaline-filled pleasure through him. He could feel the heat of Peter's mouth against his skin, the rough scrape of his teeth as they grazed his flesh, and a shudder of fear.

As Peter continued to lick and bite at Tyler's neck, his hunger grew more intense, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light, their color shifting from deep brown to a piercing shade of blue as his werewolf instincts took hold. His sideburns lengthened, his muscles rippling with newfound strength as he hovered over his prey, his breath hot and heavy against Tyler's skin.

With a low, feral growl, Peter leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Tyler's ear as he whispered words that sent a shiver of dread down Tyler's spine.

"You taste...delicious," Peter murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I'll have you for dinner."

Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Peter was about to do, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Peter's mouth descended upon him.

As Peter's mouth closed over Tyler's head, he could feel the hunter's hair brushing against his tongue, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the metallic taste of blood as Peter's teeth grazed against his skin. With a low, guttural growl, Peter swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat contracting as Tyler's head disappeared down his gullet in a single, ravenous gulp.

"What the fuck!" Tyler's muffled voice echoed from deep within Peter's throat, his protests cut off as Peter's esophagus closed around him, sealing him inside the darkness. But despite his frantic struggles, there was no escape for Tyler now, no hope of salvation as he felt himself being pulled inexorably downward into the depths of Peter's belly.

Next came Tyler's shoulders, his clothes tearing and ripping as Peter's jaws stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his prey. With each swallow, Tyler could feel himself being compressed, the pressure mounting as he was forced further and further down into the pit of Peter's stomach. He thrashed and struggled, his fists pounding futilely against the walls of flesh that surrounded him, but it was no use—Peter's grip was too strong, his hunger too overwhelming to be denied.

As Tyler's abdomen disappeared into the darkness, he could feel the acidic burn of Peter's stomach acids beginning to seep into his wounds, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. He screamed and cursed, his words becoming increasingly muffled as he was swallowed deeper into the abyss, his body contorting and twisting as it was crushed and compressed by the sheer force of Peter's appetite.

As Tyler's thighs disappeared into the darkness of Peter's throat, he let out one final, desperate cry for help, his voice barely a whisper as it was drowned out by the roar of Peter's digestive system. And then, with one final gulp, Tyler's legs vanished from sight, consumed by the darkness within.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Peter's satisfied burp as he settled back on his haunches, his belly swollen and distended from his recent meal. And as he rubbed his hand over his full stomach, feeling the faint movements of Tyler's struggling form within, a satisfied smile curled his lips.

"Delicious," Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and contented. "Absolutely delicious."

Under the cover of darkness, Peter sat beneath the sheltering branches of a tall oak tree, the hunter's crossbow clutched in one hand as he idly played with it. With his other hand, he rubbed his distended belly, feeling the weight of his recent meal pressing against his palm.

As he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, Peter let out a satisfied burp, the taste of the hunter's flesh still lingering on his tongue. He smirked to himself, realizing just how delicious humans truly were, their succulent flesh providing a tantalizing feast for his insatiable hunger.

Turning his gaze towards the night sky, Peter chuckled softly to himself, his voice carrying on the cool breeze. "Looks like you failed your mission," he taunted, his tone mocking. "Guess that means lots of people are going to end up just like you—swallowed up and digested alive."

As the nights passed in Beacon Hills, California, a sense of unease settled over the small town. Men, one after another, began to disappear without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fearful whispers among the remaining residents.

Families fretted as their loved ones failed to return home, their absence a glaring absence in the close-knit community. Rumors swirled through the streets, whispered conversations speculating about the mysterious disappearances and the dark shadows lurking in the shadows.

Some claimed it was the work of a deranged serial killer, while others whispered of supernatural forces at play. But no matter the speculation, one thing remained certain: people were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clue as to their whereabouts; Only leaving behind a tangible reminder on Peter’s growing belly as he digested more and more.

"Come on, come on... Shit!" Stiles muttered under his breath as he crouched in front of the door to Peter Hale's penthouse, the thin metal of the hex wrench feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hand. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching him attempt to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the most legal activity, but Stiles was desperate for answers.

Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Peter Hale. It wasn't just the way the man had been putting on a bit of weight around his midsection, though that certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. It was also the sudden string of disappearances in Beacon Hills, particularly among young men. Stiles had a knack for piecing together clues, and something about Peter's behavior just didn't sit right with him.

Focusing his attention back on the lock, Stiles cursed softly as the hex wrench slipped again. He knew he was taking a risk by breaking into Peter's penthouse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. If he could just find some evidence to connect Peter to the disappearances, maybe he could stop whatever was happening before it was too late.

“Fuck, how difficult is it to get into one old man’s house?” With a determined sigh, Stiles refocused his efforts, his fingers working deftly to maneuver the wrench into the lock. It was slow going, each movement careful and deliberate as he tried to coax the tumblers into place. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, the tension in his muscles making his movements slightly shaky.

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles felt a satisfying click beneath his fingers. With a triumphant grin, he twisted the wrench, and to his surprise, the lock gave way with a soft snick. Stiles froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened for any signs that he had been caught.

When no alarms sounded and no footsteps approached, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside Peter's penthouse, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He was finally going to get some answers.

As Stiles cautiously made his way into Peter Hale's penthouse, he was immediately struck by the decor. The space was adorned with sleek mid-century furniture, each piece carefully selected to create an atmosphere of sophistication and elegance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that swirled in Stiles' mind as he took in his surroundings.

Navigating through the living room, Stiles couldn't help but notice the meticulous layout of the space. The clean lines of the furniture and the strategically placed accent pieces gave the impression of a well-organized and thoughtfully curated home. But as he moved further into the penthouse, Stiles began to notice something unsettling.

Scattered throughout the rooms were mementos, seemingly random items that appeared out of place among the carefully curated decor. A baseball cap hung on a coat rack in the foyer, a pair of sunglasses sat abandoned on a side table in the living room, and a leather wallet lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. Each item seemed innocuous enough on its own, but as Stiles pieced together the puzzle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

These were the belongings of Peter's victims, the men who had disappeared without a trace from Beacon Hills. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the significance of what he was seeing. These were not just random items left behind by careless guests; they were mementos, trophies collected by a predator.

As he moved from room to room, Stiles couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a heavy cloak. Each item he encountered served as a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills. And as he paused to take in the scene before him, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave.

"What the hell..." Stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he surveyed the room. The realization of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. How could Peter be capable of something so monstrous? It was a question that lingered in the air, unanswered and ominous.

With a heavy heart, Stiles tore his gaze away from the scene before him and pressed on, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew he had to find answers, no matter the cost. But as he ventured further into Peter's penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.

As Stiles hurriedly made his way toward the exit, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him like a vice. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with questions and fears. How could he have been so blind to the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills?

Just as he reached for the doorknob, a voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Stiles?" The voice was smooth and taunting, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine.

Stiles turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as Peter Hale emerged from the shadows, his presence looming like a dark cloud. "Peter," Stiles stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I was just..."

Peter's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Before Stiles could react, he found himself pinned against the wall, Peter's bulging belly pressing against him with a force that left him gasping for air.

"Mind your business, Stiles," Peter purred, his voice dripping with malice. "You've done an impressive job of deducing who's behind the disappearances. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say."

Stiles swallowed hard, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch as Peter's words sent a chill down his spine. "Well, I take after my pops," Stiles retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his fear. "He's in law enforcement."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sarcastic, even at a time like this?" he mused, his tone mocking.

Stiles shrugged anxiously, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "It's all I got, man," he replied, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Pale skin and a little bit of sarcasm."

As the weight of Peter's gaze bore down on him, Stiles couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settle over him like a heavy cloak. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain: he was in way over his head.

Peter's smirk widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close, his eyes sufficed with malice. "You know, Stiles," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "I think I'll make an exception for you. I'll take my sweet time digesting you, longer than any of the others. After all, you've been such an entertaining little detective, and it’ll be rude not to give pack members special treatment."

“Y… You what?” Stiles' eyes widened in horror at the realization of what Peter was suggesting. He struggled against the grip of Peter's belly, his heart pounding in his chest. Stiles' mind raced as he frantically searched for a way out of his predicament. How could he have been so foolish to think he could outsmart Peter? The truth was staring him right in the face, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.

Peter's smirk only widened as he saw the realization dawn in Stiles' eyes. "Ah, I see it now," he taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You didn't figure out as much as you thought, did you, Stiles? But don't worry, you'll get to experience it firsthand."

"No, no, you can't!" he protested, his voice trembling with fear. "You-you can't just...swallow me whole like that!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Stiles' spine. "Oh, but I can, Stiles," he replied, his tone laced with malice. "And I will. Consider it a...reward for your persistence."

Stiles felt a cold chill run down his spine as the full weight of Peter's words settled over him. He was trapped, at the mercy of a ruthless predator who had no qualms about devouring him whole.

Peter chuckled darkly as he observed Stiles' futile struggles, his enhanced werewolf strength making it effortless to overpower the younger man. With a swift motion, he grabbed Stiles' legs and forced them upward, beginning the process of swallowing him feet-first.

Stiles thrashed and kicked, his fists flailing wildly as he shouted defiantly, "You won't fucking eat me, you hear me? I won't let you!" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, filled with a raw mixture of fear and anger.

But Peter paid little heed to Stiles' protests, his focus solely on the task at hand. With each gulp, he felt Stiles' body slide further down his throat, the sensation both exhilarating and satisfying. He ripped open Stiles' pants, revealing his underwear, and pulled them down to expose his manhood, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Stiles continued to fight, his struggles growing weaker as he realized the futility of his efforts. "You fucking bastard!" he spat, his voice choked with emotion. "I won't let you do this to me!"

But his words fell on deaf ears as Peter continued to swallow him down, relishing in the feeling of power and control. Stiles' protests grew more muffled with each passing moment, until finally, with one last gulp, he disappeared entirely into Peter's gullet.

Peter smirked triumphantly as he rubbed his distended belly, feeling Stiles' struggles growing weaker with each passing moment. He had claimed another victim, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

Peter paused, relishing in the sensation of Stiles squirming helplessly within his belly. He could feel the young man's struggles growing weaker with each passing moment, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the inevitability of his fate.

But instead of continuing to swallow him whole, Peter decided to have a bit of fun. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he focused his attention on Stiles' exposed manhood, stroking and teasing it with a wicked grin as his mouth navigated around his balls and hard shaft.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief as he felt Peter's touch. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.

Peter merely chuckled darkly in response, his fingers dancing lightly over Stiles' sensitive flesh. "Just enjoying the view, Stiles," he replied casually, his tone dripping with amusement. "After all, it's not every day I get to play with a meal as tasty as you."

Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he struggled against the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his body. "Stop it," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go."

But Peter paid no heed to Stiles' protests, his touch paired with the licking of his tongue becoming more insistent as he continued to tease and stroke. Stiles' resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of sensation, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt himself growing more and more aroused.

And then, with one final, desperate cry, Stiles succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his body trembling as he released his load under Peter's skilled touch. He collapsed against the wall, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he tried to catch his breath.

Peter smirked triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Stiles' reaction. "Fucking bitch, enjoyed that didn’t you?" he remarked casually, his tone filled with amusement.

Peter's laughter echoed through the room as he continued to swallow Stiles down, his belly expanding with each gulp until it protruded out like a rounded bulge. With a satisfied smirk, he reached out and cupped Stiles' face in his hand, holding him in place as he leaned in closer, his mouth gaping wide open.

Stiles squirmed and protested, his muffled cries falling on deaf ears as Peter positioned him directly in front of the mirror. With a wicked grin, Peter met Stiles' gaze in the reflection, his eyes glinting with amusement as he slowly lowered his head into his waiting mouth.

Stiles watched in horror as his head disappeared past Peter's lips, the sensation of being swallowed whole overwhelming his senses. He struggled against the tight confines of Peter's throat, his frantic movements only serving to hasten his descent into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

With a final, satisfied gulp, Peter swallowed the last of Stiles down, his throat convulsing around the struggling figure as he disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall, his hand resting lightly on his distended belly as he let out a contented burp.

"Fucking delicious," Peter remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on his reflection in the mirror. "You're the best I've had yet, Stiles. Shame you won't be around to enjoy it."

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted.

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted. He stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a satisfied smirk. He glanced over at the corner of the room where Stiles’ underwear memento lay, torn and cum-soaked from his prior release.

"Looks like they've called a meeting to find you," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Funny how you'll most likely be dead by the end of it."

Stiles groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled against his restraints. "You're sick, Peter," he muttered hoarsely, his words barely audible.

Peter chuckled darkly, turning back to the mirror to straighten his tie. "Perhaps. But at least I'll be entertained while I wait for your demise."

With a final smirk at Stiles, Peter left the penthouse, and headed towards the designated meeting spot– Derek Hale & Noah Stillinski had called for an emergency meeting, as one of their members had suddenly disappeared without a trace.

As Peter sat in on the pack meeting with Derek and Noah, the tension in the room was palpable. Noah's usually calm demeanor was replaced by an air of frantic worry, his brow furrowed and hands clenched into tight fists. Derek, ever protective of his pack members, especially Stiles, was visibly agitated, his posture rigid as he leaned forward in his seat.

"So, any leads on where Stiles could be?" Noah's voice was strained, betraying his desperation as he addressed the group.

Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Nothing yet. I've been trying to pick up his scent, but it's like he's vanished without a trace."

Noah let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Stiles wouldn't just disappear like this. He's not the type to run away."

Peter, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin, interjected, "Perhaps he's just off on one of his little adventures. You know how Stiles can be, always getting himself into trouble."

Derek shot Peter a glare, his eyes flashing with irritation. "This is serious, Peter. Stiles wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone. Something's not right."

Noah nodded in agreement, his gaze hardening. "Exactly. Which is why we need to figure out what happened to him, and fast."

“What if he fell victim to the same disappearances that have been happening around Beacon Hills?” Peter said, “Maybe what got them, got him.” He added, feigning concern and intending it to be an indirect tease to the almost-fully-digested Stiles in his gut, having to hear them mutter about his fate when he’s only a few feet away from them.

“Don’t say that.” Noah said, not wanting to comprehend the possibility that he will never find his son again.

The group fell into a tense silence as they pondered their next move. Noah's mind was racing with worry for his son, while Derek's thoughts were consumed with concern and determination to find Stiles and bring him home safely.

Finally, Noah stood up from his seat, his expression grim. "I need to attend to my duties as Sheriff. Derek, I'm trusting you to lead the search for Stiles. Find my son, Derek. Bring him back to me. Please."

Derek nodded solemnly, his resolve hardening. "I will, Sheriff. I promise."

With that, Noah left the meeting, leaving Derek and Peter to plan their next steps in the search for Stiles. But as they began to discuss their strategy, Derek couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at him, a sinking suspicion that whatever had happened to Stiles was far more sinister than any of them could have imagined.

“You might be right, Peter.”

Peter watched as Derek's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his stoic facade. He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Derek's sudden intensity.

"You think my suggestion is true, don't you?" Peter asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a glint of amusement danced in his eyes.

Derek hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Noah, but... yes, I think you might be right," he admitted, his voice low and serious.

Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why is that?"

Derek sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Stiles... he told me he had a hunch about who was behind all this. He wanted to investigate further, but before he could..."

His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities.

"And he disappeared," Peter finished for him, a note of understanding in his voice. "Without ever knowing if his hunch was right."

Derek nodded grimly, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'm almost certain his hunch was right," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "And now... now he's gone."

Peter studied Derek's expression carefully, sensing the guilt and remorse that lingered beneath his steely exterior. He knew Derek blamed himself for Stiles' disappearance, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

"Well, we'll just have to find him, won't we?" Peter said, injecting a note of false optimism into his voice. "And when we do, we'll make sure whoever's responsible pays for what they've done."

Peter's confident facade faltered as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, his stomach churning violently. He clutched at his abdomen, grimacing as a series of guttural gags and deep burps erupted from his throat, each one more forceful than the last. Saliva dribbled down his chin, mingling with the bile rising in his throat.

Derek watched in concern as Peter doubled over, his face contorted in discomfort. "Peter, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Peter waved him off, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his rebellious stomach. "Fine," he managed to choke out between gags. "Just... a momentary... hiccup."

But the spasms only intensified, each one wracking his body with increasing ferocity. His vision blurred with tears as he struggled to contain the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, with one final heave, Peter expelled a thick wad of saliva and bile, followed by a sudden burst of pressure from his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he felt something solid lodged in his esophagus, blocking his airway.

With a desperate groan, Peter reached up to his mouth, his fingers probing frantically at the obstruction. And then, with a sickening squelch, he felt it give way beneath his touch, sliding up his throat and into the open air.

Derek's eyes widened in horror as Peter withdrew a half-digested jacket from his mouth, its fabric stained and sodden with digestive juices. The sight of it made his stomach churn, bile rising in his own throat at the realization of what had just transpired.

Peter's face paled as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, a cold shiver coursing through his veins. He had never experienced anything like this before, never lost control of his own body in such a humiliating manner. But Derek didn't need an explanation. The truth was plain to see, written in the horrified expression on Peter's face and the undeniable evidence clutched in his trembling hands.

Stiles was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

"I..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had just happened. But he didn’t need to; 

Before Peter could utter a word, Derek was upon him, his fist connecting with brutal force against Peter's abdomen. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through Peter's body, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward with a pained grunt. The force of the punch was enough to warrant another, abrupt burp that erupted from Peter’s mouth–

BuuUuurRrP!

–surprisingly just as loud as his previous one. Peter hadn’t anticipated how fast it happened: Derek's transformation was swift and violent, his fangs elongating into razor-sharp points and his eyes blazing a furious shade of crimson. The air crackled with the raw power of his Alpha aura as he surged forward, his movements fluid and predatory.

The force of Derek's blow was enough to drive the breath from Peter's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes.

"Derek, I—" he began, but Derek cut him off with a fierce growl, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage.

"Don't you dare try to deny it," Derek spat, his voice low and menacing. "You fucking ate him, didn't you? You swallowed him whole like some goddamn monster!"

Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Derek advance, his gaze filled with a primal intensity that sent a chill down his spine– But it wasn’t out of fear, it was pounding out of the intense excitement that he gets to swallow Derek, too. He could feel the weight of Derek's accusation bearing down on him, the truth of it echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.

But even as Derek loomed over him, his fists clenched in fury, Peter had to tease. “Didn’t think Stiles had it in him to be so loud,” He said, “Guess he wanted his final words to be heard.” He had consumed Stiles, yes, and he had burped up Stiles’ last effort at wanting to be seen.

"Save it," Derek snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. "I trusted you, Peter. We all did. And this is how you repay us? By eating one of our own?"

“You should be thankful” Peter replied, lifting up his top to show Derek his churning gut. Loud, fattier, squishable, and the most prominent change: A tattoo of Stiles's face around his naval, a permanent reminder of what he had done and a power symbol to brag about. “I’m one-for-two now, Stiles is still here. Just, different.”

“You fucking…” Derek growled, “…You fucking got his face tattooed?!”

“On the contrary,” He spoke, giving the place where Stiles’ face was imprinted a squish. “He got it tattooed, must’ve liked what happened enough in there to want to stay on it.” Subtly implying that this was simply a byproduct of the digestion.

“W-Wha–?!” Derek stuttered before being cut off by the predator.

“That punch you gave me earlier? Stiles felt it as much as I did. Can still faintly hear him in there.” He taunted, rubbing in the fact that beating Peter is indirectly beating his friend-turned-fat.

With a guttural roar, Derek lashed out again, his fist striking Peter's face with bone-crushing force. Peter was in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from keeling over.

“Stop fucking with me!” The alpha shouted, jumping in for another punch– He wasn’t buying Peter’s shit, thinking what he said was either intended to rub it in or discourage him from beating the shit out of him.

Derek's fist sailed through the air with deadly intent, but Peter was already moving, his reflexes honed by years of survival instinct. He dodged Derek's punch with a swift sidestep, then retaliated with a powerful kick to Derek's abdomen.

The force of Peter's blow sent Derek staggering backward, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to remain upright. With a growl of frustration, Derek dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists as he glared up at Peter.

"Now now, you really want to hurt your boy this much?" Peter taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Derek's anger flared, his instincts urging him to launch himself at Peter in a blind fury. But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over him. Even if he didn’t believe Peter, what if he hurt Stiles in the process? What if it was real? The thought paralyzed him for a split second, just long enough for Peter to seize the opportunity.

With lightning speed, Peter swung his fist forward, his knuckles connecting with Derek's jaw with a sickening thud. Derek's head snapped back, pain exploding behind his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.

Before Derek could react, Peter was upon him, his weight bearing down on Derek's chest as he pinned him to the ground. Derek struggled beneath him, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure of Peter's bulk, his belly.

"You think you can stop me?" Peter taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing, Derek. Just a weak little Alpha who couldn't protect his own pack."

Derek's chest heaved with exertion as he strained against Peter's hold, but the weight pressing down on him was relentless. He could feel his strength waning, his limbs growing heavy with fatigue.

But just as he was about to succumb to the suffocating pressure, a surge of determination flooded through him. With a fierce roar, Derek summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and pushed against Peter with all his might.

For a moment, it seemed as though Peter might be overpowered, his grip faltering ever so slightly. But then, with a final burst of effort, he tightened his hold, his belly pressing down even harder on Derek's chest.

"You're going to– Uunngh… Pay for what you've done, Peter," Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I swear it."

Peter's taunts cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with malice as he leaned in closer to Derek, his smirk widening into a cruel grin.

"You know, Stiles was still alive when you came in for that meeting," Peter sneered, relishing the anguish that flickered across Derek's face. "Who knows if he died from digestion mid-meeting as we obliviously discussed where he went during his final moments, unable to help as he died... Or if your punch was the one to finish him off?"

Derek's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a tight line as he fought to hold back the wave of despair threatening to consume him. "Fuck you, Peter," he spat, his voice thick with emotion.

But Peter merely chuckled, the sound grating on Derek's nerves like sandpaper. "Oh, don't worry, Derek. You'll be joining your pack member soon enough," he taunted, his tone dripping with sinister promise. "The pack’ll reunite, as fat on my fucking belly."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sending a shiver down Derek's spine. He knew he had to find a way out, to break free from Peter's suffocating hold before it was too late. But as he struggled against the crushing weight pinning him down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he might never escape from this nightmare.

With a cruel smirk, Peter leaned in closer to Derek, his eyes glinting with malicious intent as he spat on Derek's face, the spittle landing in a disgusting splatter. "You're going to make such a nice, fat addition to my belly," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

He continued to rub his distended belly against Derek's chest, the pressure making it difficult for Derek to breathe as he forced him to hear the sickening gurgles emanating from within. "Just imagine how much fatter you'll make me once I've digested you and Stiles together," Peter teased, his tone mocking.

Derek gritted his teeth, his fists clenched in impotent rage as he struggled against Peter's overwhelming strength. He knew he was no match for the werewolf in his current state, but he refused to give up without a fight.

Peter pushed his belly further against Derek’s chest and up on his face, forcing him to listen to the gurgles of digestion and feel the remaining weight of Stiles in his beer belly.

But before he could muster a response, Peter's tone shifted, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. "But not now," he mused, almost casually. "I think I'll save the best for last. Noah Stilinski seems like he'd be a delicious appetizer, don't you think?“ He said, ”Family first, right? Poor dad must be missing his son.“

And with that, Peter delivered a swift, powerful punch to Derek's jaw, the force of it knocking him unconscious in an instant. As darkness closed in around him, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light of day again.

Peter's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he effortlessly lifted Derek's unconscious form from the ground, his strength belying his lean frame. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Derek's limp body over his broad shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping.

With Derek's weight settled against him, Peter began the journey back to his penthouse, his steps purposeful and steady as he navigated the dimly lit streets of Beacon Hills. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.

As he approached the entrance to his building, Peter's pace quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through him at the thought of what awaited them inside. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and stepped into the opulent foyer, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.

Carefully, Peter carried Derek through the spacious penthouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the makeshift holding area he had prepared in the basement. With a grunt of effort, he lowered Derek onto the sturdy metal cot, his muscles straining with the effort as he secured the restraints around Derek's wrists and ankles, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to escape.

Once Derek was securely bound, Peter stepped back, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With Derek safely restrained, he could finally focus on his next target: Noah Stilinski.

"Now, off to Noah's workplace..." Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and menacing as he turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs.

The Beacon County Sheriff Station stood as a sturdy fortress against the encroaching darkness of the night. Its exterior was composed of weathered bricks, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and the elements. At the lower few meters of the building, the bricks transitioned into a different type of tile, arranged in a neat pattern that offered a subtle contrast to the rough texture of the bricks above.

A dusty, old sign adorned the top of the double-sided glass doors, its letters slightly faded from years of exposure to the elements. The white frames of the doors gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the street lamps that flanked the entrance. Two additional lamps, one on each side of the doorway, cast pools of light onto the cracked pavement below, their buzzing hum adding to the eerie ambiance of the night.

Peter approached the entrance with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on the illuminated interior beyond the glass doors. Despite the late hour, the station was still abuzz with activity, the sound of ringing phones and hurried footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Most of the deputies had already ended their shifts and gone home for the night, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the quiet hours of the evening.

As Peter pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped into the station, he noted the tired expressions of the few deputies who remained already packing their things to leave, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion as they went about their duties, while most had already gone home far earlier, after their shift ended. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the linoleum floor, illuminating the worn desks and filing cabinets that lined the walls.

At the far end of the room, Peter spotted Sheriff Noah Stilinski, in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the late hour, Noah seemed to be working overtime, his dedication to his duties evident in the way he tirelessly poured over the files spread out before him.

Peter's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way toward Noah's desk, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty station. Tonight, he would pay a visit to the sheriff, and nothing would stand in his way.

As Peter approached Noah's desk, the sheriff looked up from his paperwork, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Peter," Noah greeted, a note of relief in his voice. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Peter offered a sheepish smile as he leaned against the edge of Noah's desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not here with any groundbreaking leads," he admitted, his tone apologetic. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."

Noah nodded, understanding. "Well, it's always good to see a friendly face," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Especially on a night like tonight."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over Noah's fatigued expression. "You look tired, Sheriff," he observed, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Noah chuckled softly, a weary smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. But sometimes, being here helps take my mind off things, if only for a little while."

Peter nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get that," he replied, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a distraction, even if it's just for a moment."

Noah offered a grateful smile in return, appreciating the sentiment. "Exactly," he agreed, his eyes meeting Peter's with a hint of camaraderie. "Besides, it's all part of the job, right? Gotta keep pushing forward, even when things get tough."

Peter nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Noah's weary form. Despite the sheriff's outward strength, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the man who carried the weight of the town's safety on his shoulders.

The sheriff chuckled, “…It’s funny, because as much as I used to bicker with him, I miss him like crazy.” He looked thoughtful, “I say I try to get my mind off things, but truth be told, I couldn’t focus on shit today.” Performance suffered, and working overtime was not just a way to distract but a way to make up.

Peter glanced around the now-deserted sheriff's station, ensuring that they were alone before turning back to Noah with a solemn expression. "You know, I think I might have a lead that could help ease your mind for a bit," he began, his voice low and serious.

Noah's eyes widened with hope, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the prospect of finally getting some answers about his missing son. "You do?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where did he go? Did you find him?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze flickering with a mixture of guilt and determination. "He's right here," he said quietly, reaching down and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of Stiles' face etched into his skin.

Noah's brow furrowed in confusion, his initial excitement fading into frustration. "Peter, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is not the time for jokes," he replied sternly, his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that getting a tattoo of stiles’ face now was bad timing.

But Peter's expression remained deadly serious as he lowered his shirt, his eyes locking onto Noah's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sheriff's spine. "I'm not joking, Noah," he said quietly, his tone devoid of humor. "I swallowed him whole."

Noah's heart skipped a beat as the full weight of Peter's words sank in, his mind struggling to process the horrifying truth of what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you swallowed him whole?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he recounted the gruesome details of Stiles' fate, his words dripping with malice as he described the agony of his son's final moments. Noah's stomach churned with revulsion as he listened, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of Peter's actions.

"You monster," Noah spat, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at Peter with loathing. "How could you do something like that? How could you take my son away from me?"

But Peter remained unfazed by Noah's outburst, his expression cold and impassive as he shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing personal, Sheriff," he replied casually, his tone devoid of remorse. "Your son just tasted fucking delicious." He said, licking his lips and clutching his fat belly.

Noah's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to contain his anger, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from lashing out at Peter. But deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to bring his son back, nothing he could do to make things right, and with his most effective werewolf weaponry far away, nothing he could to avenge.

Peter forcibly rushed, rapidly transforming to his werewolf form as his predatory instincts took over, pinning Noah against his desk with a strength that was impossible for the sheriff to resist. Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the weight of Peter's massive body pressing down on him, his muscles straining against the powerful hold, and his belly pushing against his body– The same belly that relentlessly digested his son.

Despite Noah's tough exterior and years of training as a police officer, he felt utterly powerless in the face of Peter's relentless assault. His mind reeled with shock and disbelief as he realized the true extent of the danger he was in, and he was weak; Mourning his son’s death, his squirms and struggles were instinctual, but he had long given up.

With a savage growl, Peter tore away Noah's clothes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath his predatory gaze. Noah's skin burned with shame as he lay helpless beneath the werewolf's relentless onslaught, his muscles tensing with every agonizing second that passed.

But as Peter's tongue traced a path of fiery heat across his exposed flesh, Noah's resistance began to crumble, his senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through his body. Despite his best efforts to fight it, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering force of Peter's touch, his defenses crumbling beneath the weight of his own despair.

Peter licked down to Noah’s exposed member, licking it all the way down to his balls. Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he felt Peter's lips close around his dick, his body wracked with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the werewolf forced him to submit to his desires. He continued to suck on it, Noah’s dick growing hard in the werewolf’s mouth, his veins rubbing against the fangs.

Before Noah could find any reprieve from the unwanted pleasure, Peter abruptly withdrew his attention from his groin, leaving Noah gasping for air and shuddering with a mix of relief and lingering arousal. But his moment of respite was short-lived, as Peter's tongue trailed up Noah's body with a ferocity that sent shivers down his spine, leaving a slick trail of saliva in its wake.

With a low growl, Peter leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Noah's face as he licked and nipped at his skin with reckless abandon. Noah could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at the werewolf towering over him, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of fear and desire.

As Peter's lips brushed against his own, Noah could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. "Reuniting son and father," Peter teased, his voice dripping with malicious intent. "Isn't that what you wanted, Sheriff?"

Noah's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the words to respond, his mind spinning with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out in anger and defiance, to fight tooth and nail against the fate that awaited him, but he had no leverage; Peter caught him at a most unfortunate time.

"Please," Noah begged, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper. "Don't–"

But before he could finish his plea, Peter's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him with a forceful gesture. With a savage grin, Peter shoved Noah's face into his gaping maw, his lips stretching wide to accommodate the sheriff's head as he forced him down into the darkness of his throat.

Noah's world erupted into chaos as he felt himself being swallowed whole, his body writhing and convulsing with a mix of terror and revulsion. He could feel the walls of Peter's esophagus closing in around him, squeezing him tight as he was dragged down into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

As Peter's jaws clamped shut around him, Noah felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him. He could feel himself being drawn inexorably downward, his body slipping and sliding against the slick, saliva-coated walls of Peter's throat as he was swallowed whole.

First, it was his head, squeezed tightly between the muscular walls of Peter's esophagus, the darkness closing in around him like a suffocating blanket. Then came his shoulders, his arms pinned tightly to his sides as he was pulled further and further into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

Noah's chest was next, compressed and constricted as he was forced deeper into Peter's gullet, the pressure mounting with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of Peter's stomach looming ever closer, the acidic tang of digestive juices burning at the back of his throat.

Finally, it was his legs, his feet kicking and flailing uselessly as they disappeared into the gaping maw of the beast that had consumed him. With one final, desperate gasp, Noah felt himself vanish entirely into the darkness, his entire body enveloped by the relentless grip of Peter's insatiable hunger.

A deep, rumbling burp echoed through the chamber as Peter swallowed Noah down, the sound reverberating off the walls with a sickening finality. With a satisfied grin, Peter patted his distended belly, the outline of Noah's form visible beneath his stretched skin.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter chuckled, his voice muffled by the layers of flesh that separated him from the outside world. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheriff. Hope you enjoy your stay." He said, before correcting himself teasingly. “–Er, and what little consciousness left of your son.”

Peter positioned himself on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly protruding obscenely as he straddled the wooden surface. His legs dangled over the edge, his feet grazing the floor below as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on either side of Noah's abandoned chair.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter began to grind his hips against his swollen belly, the pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust punctuated by a low moan of satisfaction as he reveled in the sensation of his distended stomach pressing against his groin.

"Mmm, you like that, Sheriff?" Peter purred, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it? Knowing that you're just another meal for my appetite."

He continued to hump his belly with increasing fervor, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. His moans grew louder, more urgent, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment.

"God, I love the feeling of a full belly," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And you, Sheriff, you're going to make the perfect addition to my collection. Your son and now you, all snug and cozy in my gut."

With each thrust, Peter could feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his arousal building to a fever pitch. He could practically taste the sweet release that awaited him, the culmination of his twisted desires.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his orgasm washing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure. He collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he basked in the afterglow of his release.

"That was... fucking hot," he panted, his chest heaving with exertion. "Seems like you’re good at three jobs, Sheriff."

Peter sprawled out on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly rising and falling with each labored breath. His skin glistened with sweat and his clothes were rumpled and disheveled, evidence of the intense pleasure he had just experienced.

With a contented sigh, Peter shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the hard surface beneath him. He stretched out his limbs, his muscles relaxing as he allowed himself to sink into the desk's worn surface.

"Don't mind if I nap here a little, do you?" he murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids offering a welcome respite from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.

As he drifted off to sleep, Peter could feel the gentle rocking of his belly as it churned and gurgled around him. It was a soothing sensation, like the ebb and flow of the tide, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Peter's eyes fluttered open as the early morning light streamed through the windows of the sheriff's station. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning as he glanced around the dimly lit room.

Checking the clock on the sheriff's desk, Peter muttered to himself, "Shit, almost got caught by your underdogs. I'm one lucky wolf." He chuckled softly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he thought about how close he had come to being discovered.

With a satisfied sigh, Peter climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his collar. He took a moment to admire the sight of Noah's empty office, the memories of their encounter still fresh in his mind.

As he made his way out of the station, Peter's belly churned and gurgled loudly, a constant reminder of the meal he had consumed the night before. He could hear Noah's faint groans of pain echoing from within his gut, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins.

"Looks like your old age is catching up with you, Sheriff," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Barely lasting in there, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, relishing in the thought of Noah's suffering as he continued on his way, eager to start his day, as his belly’s occupant barely had any air to breathe in.

Peter lazily strolled down the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he whistled a tuneless melody. The early morning sunlight cast long shadows across the pavement, warming his skin as he ambled along.

With a leisurely pace, Peter made his way to a nearby café, where he ordered himself a large coffee and a pastry, not bothering to hide the bulge of his distended belly as he leaned against the counter. The barista shot him a curious glance, but Peter paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Sipping his coffee slowly, Peter found a comfortable spot by the window and settled in, idly watching the world go by as he enjoyed his breakfast. He could feel Stiles' face tattoo stretching further across his bloated belly, the ink distorting slightly as his gut churned and gurgled in protest.

After finishing his meal, Peter decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park, enjoying the peaceful solitude as he wandered beneath the canopy of trees. He paused to admire the vibrant colors of the flowers in bloom, the sweet scent of spring filling the air.

As the morning wore on, Peter eventually made his way back to his penthouse, feeling pleasantly relaxed and content. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into his favorite armchair, his belly now even more swollen and round than before.

Meanwhile, deep within Peter's gut, Noah continued to be slowly digested, his body breaking down bit by bit until only a few hours later, he was nothing more than a distant memory. Peter's waistline expanded, getting much fatter, and another tattoo of Noah’s face appeared on his gut, next to Stiles. Peter gave it a big, nice squeeze.

“Did say I was going to reunite you, didn’t I?” He said, squeezing even tighter. He knew that both Stiles and Noah could feel what he felt, and he could barely hear their incomprehensible thoughts in the back of his mind, the fat on his belly sentient and permanent. “One more, and the pack’s complete.”

Peter descended the stairs to his basement, the cool air enveloping him as he reached the dimly lit chamber. There, tied-up and bruised, was Derek, his gaze fixed on Peter with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

"Ah, Derek, my dear nephew," Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to where Derek was restrained. "It seems you've been busy trying to escape. But you know what they say – it takes a werewolf to know how to tie one."

Derek's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he struggled against his bonds. But Peter merely chuckled, circling around him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You're not going anywhere, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Not until we've had a little chat. Not until I decide that it’s time for you to join the others."

Derek's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down to Peter's distended belly. And then he saw it – the tattoo of Noah's face stretched across Peter's skin, a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen his father.

"Why, Peter?" Derek demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter chuckled darkly as he pressed his distended belly against Derek's face, feeling the werewolf's struggling breath against his skin.

"You know, Derek," Peter said casually, "I've discovered that eating others whole has some... benefits. It's made me stronger, more powerful than ever before."

Derek groaned, his muscles straining against his bonds as he struggled to break free. But Peter merely tightened his grip, relishing in the sensation of Derek's helplessness.

"Now, here's the deal," Peter continued, his voice low and menacing. "You can either give up your alpha status and be a beta in my pack, or..."

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he leaned in closer to Derek's ear.

"...you can become my next meal."

Derek's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of Peter's intentions. He growled, his werewolf fangs showing as he sweared, “Fuck you, I’m doing neither.”

With a sinister grin, Peter leaned down to Derek's face, his tongue snaking out to lick a slow trail across Derek's cheek. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation, disgust etched across his features, but Peter paid no mind.

As Derek's nostrils filled with the scent of blood and decay, his stomach churned with dread. He knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of death.

Before he could react, Peter let out a loud, guttural belch directly in Derek's face, the noxious odor overwhelming his senses. Derek gagged, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep from retching.

As the smell of decay lingered in the air, Peter began to remove the shackles that bound Derek's wrists and ankles, the metal clinking loudly in the silence of the basement. Derek tensed, his muscles straining against the bonds that held him in place, but it was no use—Peter's strength was far greater than his own.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, Peter leaned in close to Derek, his breath hot against the werewolf's ear. "Don't worry, Derek," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be reunited with Stiles soon enough. And all the others I've consumed."

Derek's eyes widened in horror at Peter's words, his mind reeling at the realization of just how many lives Peter had claimed. "How many, you sick fuck?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage and fear.

Peter merely shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I lost count after twenty," he admitted casually, as if discussing the weather. "But who's counting, anyway?"

Peter's belly rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the dimly lit basement. "Looks like it's dinner time," Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a predatory grin, he advanced toward Derek, who struggled against his bonds with renewed desperation.

As Peter loomed over him, Derek's eyes burned with fury. "You won't get away with this, Peter," he snarled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll find a way to stop you, no matter what it takes."

Peter merely chuckled in response, his amusement evident. "Oh, Derek, always so defiant," he taunted, his tone mocking. "But resistance is futile. You're mine now."

With that, Peter lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut around Derek's neck. The werewolf let out a muffled shout as he was dragged into Peter's gaping maw, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing moment.

Peter relished in the sensation of dominance as he swallowed Derek down, inch by inch. He could feel the werewolf squirming and writhing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was establishing his superiority, both as the stronger werewolf and as the one who held Derek's fate in his hands.

As Derek's protests grew louder, Peter's grin widened. "That's it, Derek," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just relax and accept your fate. You're going to make a delicious addition to my collection."

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek down to the halfway point, his belly bulging obscenely with his captive's form. He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of power coursing through him.

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek's legs and feet, the last parts of his struggling form disappearing into the depths of his churning belly. As Derek's muffled protests faded into silence, Peter let out a satisfied belch, the sound reverberating through the basement.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter remarked, rubbing his distended belly with contentment. "Another one down, another step closer to domination."

Leaving the basement behind, Peter ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He decided to stay awake for Derek's digestion, eager to witness the full extent of his power as the werewolf's struggles slowly subsided.

Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the kitchen, Peter settled onto the couch and flicked on the TV. He scrolled through the movie options, selecting a thriller that seemed fitting for the occasion.

As the opening credits rolled, Peter leaned back and munched on his popcorn, his gaze fixed on the screen but his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of Derek's inevitable demise, another victory in his quest for dominance.

With a satisfied smirk, Peter settled in for the show, eager to savor every moment of Derek's agonizing digestion.

As the movie played on, Peter reclined comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn and occasionally letting out a satisfied belch. Bits of chewed-up popcorn and saliva mixed together as they fell into his churning stomach, joining Derek in his acidic prison.

With each passing minute, the acids in Peter's stomach began to build up, creating an increasingly hostile environment for Derek. He could feel the burning sensation as the stomach acids lapped at his skin, searing his flesh with each movement.

Derek's struggles grew more frantic as the stomach filled with acidic fluid, his attempts to escape becoming more desperate by the second. But Peter merely chuckled at his predicament, taunting him as he watched the movie.

"Quiet down, I can't hear the movie over your ass," Peter remarked, his tone mocking as he shifted on the couch to get a better view of the screen. He took another handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the taste as he savored Derek's futile attempts to break free.

Derek, contrary to Peter’s remark, squirmed more in protest; Partially because of the pain he was in, but mostly because he refused to lose to him as the alpha. He felt a weight rising up to his chest, and after thumping it, let out a tremendous burp that squeezed his stomach tightly with how much air it purged.

BuUuuuUuuurRrrrrrRrprppppPp!

After letting out a massive belch, Peter noticed that Derek had stopped moving altogether, his struggles coming to an abrupt halt as he became dead weight. With a satisfied grin, Peter began to massage and rub his distended belly, helping it along in the digestion process.

As he kneaded his bloated stomach, Peter could feel the remnants of his latest meal churning and squirming within him, slowly breaking down under the relentless assault of his stomach acids. With each passing moment, Derek's form grew softer and more pliable, his body gradually dissolving into the sludgy mess that would eventually become nothing more than nutrients for Peter, joining the other pack members as permanent fat.

Content with his meal, Peter settled back onto the couch, the weight of his distended belly pressing heavily against him. The warmth and comfort of his food-induced stupor washed over him, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Before long, Peter succumbed to the inevitable pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off into a deep slumber. The movie continued to play on in the background, the sound of gunfire and explosions fading into the background as Peter's consciousness slipped away.

Wrapped in the warmth of his food coma, Peter slept soundly, his belly still churning and digesting its latest meal as he dreamed of the countless feasts that lay ahead.

As Peter awoke from his food-induced slumber, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a newfound strength that pulsed within him like a beacon of power. Rising from the couch, he made his way to the nearest mirror, eager to see the physical manifestations of his newfound status as alpha.

As he gazed into his reflection, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his irises glowing a fiery shade of red, a telltale sign of his ascension to alpha status. A grin spread across his face as he took in the changes that had occurred to his body overnight.

His once lean physique had been transformed into something more robust and muscular, his frame filled out with the remnants of his recent feasts. His belly, in particular, had grown rounder and more prominent, the tattoo of Stiles' & Noah’s faces stretched even further as it adorned the bulging expanse of his abdomen. Moreover, a third tattoo had appeared as he slept; The face of his nephew, Derek.

Feeling a surge of arousal at the sight of his altered appearance, Peter couldn't help but indulge in the newfound power that coursed through him. Stepping closer to the mirror, he positioned himself in front of it, his hands roaming over his bloated belly as he savored the sensation of his own touch.

With a low groan of pleasure, Peter leaned back against the wall, arching his back slightly as he allowed his hands to roam lower, tracing the curve of his distended abdomen with a mix of fascination and desire. His fingers danced lightly over the stretched skin, relishing in the softness and warmth that radiated from his newfound source of power.

As he continued to explore his own body, Peter's mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead as the new alpha of Beacon Hills. With Derek's power now coursing through his veins, he knew that he was destined for greatness, destined to rule over the town and its inhabitants with an iron fist.

His hands traced down to his erect member, fingers curling around the shaft as he began to stroke himself with increasing fervor. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As he pleasured himself, Peter couldn't help but feel the presence of the individuals he had consumed swirling within his belly. The fat that enveloped his abdomen seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and he could sense the consciousness of Derek, Noah, and Stiles stirring within him.

“Little fuckers, how does it feel to be part of my body?” He said, speaking them to directly as he continued to pleasure himself, pushing his dick up against the sentient fat on his belly. “You like that I’m getting off to you, don’t you?”

Their thoughts whispered through his mind, mingling with his own desires and fantasies as he surrendered himself to the euphoria of the moment. He could hear their voices, faint but distinct, as they cried out in protest, their fear and confusion adding to the heady mix of sensations that flooded his senses.

But instead of recoiling from their presence, Peter found himself drawn to it, his arousal spiking as he reveled in the power he now held over them. With each stroke of his hand, he felt their fear and desperation fueling his own pleasure, driving him ever closer to the brink of release.

His hands continued their relentless motion, fingers sliding up and down his throbbing member with practiced skill. With each stroke, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation of his own touch, the pleasure building with every pass. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to the recent events—the meals he had consumed, the power he had gained, and the control he now wielded.

As he pleasured himself, Peter moaned softly, the sound mixing with his thoughts as he teased them about their fate. "You're all mine now," he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be with me forever, trapped in this fat," he continued, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "No matter how hard I work out, I'll never lose you."

The thought sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, intensifying the sensation as he continued to stroke himself with increasing fervor. His mind was consumed with images of their struggles, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears as he relished in his newfound power over them.

And then, with a guttural groan, Peter reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his body convulsing with the force of his release. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he ejaculated load after load, his seed spilling forth in a torrent.

As he lay there, spent and sated, Peter couldn't help but smile to himself, his mind still buzzing with the euphoria of his conquest. “Fuck…” He moaned, his gut coated with his cum, particularly around the faces’ tattoos. “That felt fucking good.”

Peter grabbed his belly and squeezed it tight, “Can’t wait to eat more people, and have all of you feel every bit of it as you help digest them.”

[artemisadore]

🩸🐾 catcrow of course

This one got away from me! I hope you enjoy CatCrow pet names + patching up an injury, with a healthy dose of "I had no where else to go" 🩷

Rating: T

tw: mild blood, vague descriptions of injuries/first aid, references to abuse (physical and emotional)

x

Monty hisses through his teeth at the way throwing his body against the door of the cannery makes the pain in his side branch out like the gnarly limbs of a tree. He notes the pain, swallows it down, and braces himself accordingly when he does it again.

It's preternaturally quiet on the dock aside from Monty’s labored breathing, which would in theory be something good for Monty to note, if he weren't otherwise occupied with keeping himself upright.

“Come on,” he groans, beating uselessly against the door with his busted-up fist.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners, little bird?”

Monty whips around so quickly that the spinning in his head almost knocks him off balance. When his eyes finally focus in the darkness, he finds the Cat King watching him with glowing yellow eyes and a saccharine grin.

He continues easily, “Well, I suppose you were taken from your real mother as just a hatchling, hm? Plucked right from the nest by Esther dearest, caged before you even learned to fly.”

“God, you love to hear yourself talk,” Monty rasps, bitterness lacing his tone.

“I do indeed,” the Cat King preens, sauntering around Monty, who vaguely wonders if the monarch is only doing so to make him shift his weight if he wants to keep the predator in his sights. “And so must you, little bird, because I can't think of any other reason why you'd show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night. Uninvited.” His expression falls to a mocking pout, one that makes Monty want to peck his stupid eyes out. “It's past the cats’ bedtime, you know.”

Monty takes in a steadying breath, again swallowing his pain and now also his frustration. “I—I need you,” he grits out.

The Cat King's eyebrows shoot up toward his slicked-back black hair. “My, my. I suppose I have to give you credit for your good taste. First Edwin, now—”

“Not like—fuck,” Monty groans between shallow breaths. “You're just—you’re the only one who—” Monty lets his eyes slip shut in resignation.

Submission, his prey-brain supplies.

“I had nowhere else to go.”

The admission feels acidic on his tongue.

He may have had somewhere to go, once. But now that place is an entire ocean away, full of people who either left him behind or forgot about him entirely, and he isn't sure which one hurts worse.

When Monty opens his eyes again, the Cat King is gone. But just as panic seizes his chest, he smells the familiar scent of incense he's grown to associate with the use of magic.

The Cat King has transported him somewhere — presumably in the cannery, though Monty has never been inside to know for sure — and left him perched on the edge of bed, awash in the glow of red and blue neon. In a quick flash of purple, the feline is back again, holding what appears to be a first aid kit.

Monty blanches at the sight. “Woah, hey, I just need a place to stay!” he says, hastening to make himself as small as possible.

The Cat King pays him no mind as he opens the kit on the bed. “Your knuckles are bruised, your ribs are broken, and you’re bleeding on my good furs from that gash on your side,” he snips cooly, picking his tools and materials with practiced ease.

The sight of it all makes Monty nauseous for reasons he'd rather not consider at the moment, so he pointedly looks away.

“For future reference, you don't get to be the idiot who gets the shit kicked out of him and the idiot who walks right into the lion's den with a broken wing. After tonight, you have to pick a struggle.” Monty’s skin prickles, which must mean the Cat King's eyes are back on him. “Shirt off.”

Monty winces, but he thinks better of arguing. It's a painful process, but he manages to rid himself of his blood-soaked t-shirt, which he discards with a small joy directly on the Cat King's floor.

The joy dissipates when the shirt disappears into thin air in a purple puff.

There's no preamble as the Cat King sets to work, manhandling Monty this way and that as he assesses his wounds. Monty stares past him through it all, unable to bring himself to meet his eyes. When the Cat King gets to the gash on his side, he hisses in what might be sympathy.

The sympathy, if it existed at all, is short-lived. The antiseptic applied to his side stings like a knife — a pain with which Monty is all-too familiar.

Monty expects the Cat King to chatter through it all, but the monarch works silently with a focused precision Monty didn't know he was capable of. It feels strange, being in such close proximity to a creature who could tear out his throat just as easily as he now mends his side.

But Monty has learned that it isn't always the animals that rip out your heart.

Sometimes it's a ghost.

When the Cat King is through, he steps back to examine his work. “Oh! How could I forget the most important part?” To Monty's surprise, the feline leans down into Monty's space once more, so close that he can see his pupils dilate in interest.

Monty isn't quite sure if they dilated before their first kiss, if you could even call it that — it happened so quickly.

But this isn't quick. The Cat King takes his time cupping Monty's cheek, sending a shiver down Monty's spine, one of both fear and intrigue. Monty lets his eyes flutter shut, anticipation taking root in his chest.

But instead of lips, it's the pad of a thumb that traces the space above his upper lip. Monty’s eyes blink open at the tingling sensation and, once again, the scent of incense.

“Wouldn't want a scar to mess up that pretty face, now would we?” the Cat King purrs, his smirk only growing as he pulls away triumphantly.

Monty touches his fingertips to his lip in awe, the skin as smooth as the day he was created. “You healed me,” he murmurs.

Esther healed him once or twice over the years, so it's not like he wasn't aware that it was possible.

Monty just wasn't aware that healing didn't have to hurt.

“It's a good thing you're cute, little bird,” the Cat King scoffs, “‘cause you sure ain't quick. It's sweet that you thought you'd get a repeat of our little forest ménage à trois, but I've done you enough favors tonight, wouldn't you agree?”

Monty wants to hate him — his stupid leather skirt and dumb combat boots, his infuriating smile and his cocky attitude, his chiseled jaw and his muscular arms and—and oh. Monty recognizes that feeling, the one that is so distinctly human, the one he swore he would never feel again.

Suddenly, something dawns on Monty. “Hold on. You have fucking healing magic. You could have just healed me!”

The Cat King's answering grin is Cheshire. “How would you ever learn to fly if I gave you all the shortcuts, birdie?”

Monty isn't sure whether he wants to kiss the Cat King or pummel him.

But the night is young — he may very well end up doing both.

[sinlillith]

paradox of human self ; demon.

a short analysis of sebastian and ciels relationship and how it will forever remain tragic

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

the dichotomy of master vs servant.

upon the surface, the relationship between sebastian michaelis and ciel phantomhive is anchored by the seemingly simple terms of their contract: ciel , the imperious master, and sebastian, the demonic butler bound by an infernal pact, destined to serve until the moment he claims ciel's soul. yet, beneath this veneer of straightforward servitude lies a labyrinth of complexity, where the roles of master and servant are ceaselessly redefined by their actions and perceptions. though ciel appears to wield absolute authority, commanding sebastian with the regal air of a noble, the true balance of power is an enigma. sebastian, with his preternatural abilities and centuries of wisdom, often emerges as the invisible puppeteer, subtly guiding ciels decisions, orchestrating events from the shadows with a deftness that belies his role as a mere servant.

•·················•·················•

sebastians servitude is cloaked in the flawless guise of obedience, yet it is infused with a sardonic undertone, a quiet mockery that lingers just beneath the surface. his deference is executed with such impeccable precision that it becomes almost theatrical, as if he is not merely serving, but performing a role in an elaborate play—one where the lines between hunter and prey, master and servant, are perpetually shifting in a sophisticated game of power and manipulation.

trauma as the binding force

as we know, ciels tragic past, a tale steeped in horror and loss, left him emotionally shattered, forging in him a profound distrust of the world and a deep-seated need for control. the brutal and grotesque murder of his parents and the unspeakable rituals he endured have scarred him beyond repair, and it is in this fragile state that sebastian appears— a dark savior, both a symbol of ciel's newfound power and a dark, grim reminder of his vulnerability.

sebastian represents a paradox, serving as both ciels protector and his doom, a guardian whose ultimate goal is the consumption of the very soul he is sworn to safeguard.

the duality weaves a rich and intricate tapestry of emotion within ciel. the dependence ciel clings onto with sebastian is undeniable, though he would never openly admit it. sebastian himself is not only a shield against the physical dangers that beset him but also a psychological anchor in a world that has betrayed him at every turn. and yet, this reliance is poisoned by the knowledge that sebastians loyalty is a mere transaction, his aid motivated by the dark promise of a future feast. ciel's cold, often ruthless demeanor becomes a fortress, a way to assert control over the one being he knows he can never truly trust—a defensive mechanism against the ever-present reality that his protector is also his predator.

affection or manipulation of one's vulnerable state?

to put so simply, the relationship between Sebastian and ciel is further complicated by the ambiguous line between genuine affection and calculated manipulation. as we know, sebastian's actions—his meticulous care of ciel, his subtle guidance, and his seemingly tender moments of concern—could be seen as evidence of a deeper, almost paternal affection. but don't be fooled, as these gestures are equally suggestive of a carefully constructed strategy, ensuring that ciel remains not just alive, but thriving, until the time is right for sebastian to claim his prize.

in my opinion, ciel may harbor a twisted form of affection for sebastian, even though it is an affection born of necessity and steeped in dependency. he is acutely aware that sebastian is not human, that his motivations are guided by a morality that is utterly alien to him. despite this, there are moments when ciel's interactions with sebastian slip into a more personal, less guarded space—moments that hint at a longing for sebastian to be something more than just a demon bound by contract, perhaps even something akin to a companion or a confidant, albeit one he can never truly trust.

hallucinations of control

to view their relationship through the lens of illusion is to grasp at the very heart of its complexity—specifically, the illusion of control. both sebastian and ciel operate under the belief that they are the ones holding the reins of their destiny. ciel, with his aristocratic authority and unyielding will, sees himself as the master, the one who commands and dictates. meanwhile, sebastian, with his boundless power and infinite patience, views ciel as a mere amusement, a transient diversion in the vastness of his eternal existence.

yet neither is entirely correct.

sebastians strict adherence to the contract grants ciel a superficial sense of control, but every action the demon takes is calculated, part of a grander design that serves his own ends. conversely, sebastian's perceived dominion over ciel's fate is not as absolute as it appears; the longer he serves, the more he becomes enmeshed in the intricate web of ciel's world—a world governed by the capriciousness of human emotion, attachment, and complexity, elements that even a demon of sebastian's caliber cannot easily navigate.

the conclusion : a relationship beyond definition.

in the end, the relationship between sebastian michaelis and ciel phantomhive defies simple categorization, existing in a realm beyond the conventional definitions of master and servant. it is a constant interplay of dominance and submission, where both characters are simultaneously in control and at the mercy of the other. their bond is one of mutual exploitation, yet beneath the surface, there lies the suggestion of something deeper, a connection that transcends the contractual and ventures into the realm of the ineffable.

though sebastian is destined to claim ciel's soul, until that fateful moment arrives, they are locked in an intricate dance of power, affection, and manipulation—a dance that blurs the boundaries between master and servant, predator and prey. their relationship thrives in the shadows of ambiguity, where the threads of power and dependence intertwine, the complex and intimate tapestry that challenges the very essence of their bond, making it something far richer and more profound than either of them could have anticipated.

because that's all it is, and ever will be.

let me know ur thoughts on this :)

[msshadowqueen]

Azris again because apparently that's what my brain decided to think about

For my fucked up weirdos @fell-in-luvs @achaotichuman @sonics-atelier "Come crawling back to me, Shadowsinger? Night Court faeries didn't cut it for you?" Eris lounged with preternatural ease on a couch in his secret home in the Night Court. He gave Azriel that infuriating smirk that made Azriel want to carve out his organs and also pin him down and rail him till he screamed. Yet every time they had sex, Eris always came up on top. "They did just fine, actually," Azriel said smugly. It made Azriel very happy that for once, it was him who was being unfaithful. Not like they were in a committed relationship, but Azriel was obsessive; a dangerous trait when flirting with the unreliable Eris Vanserra. "Then what are you doing here?" Eris asked coolly. His voice as aloof and unbothered as ever, yet something in the way he held himself was...stiff. His shadows confirmed it. "Eris Vanserra, are you jealous?" The word was incredulous, given how in-stride he took everything. Indeed, Eris leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin on hand. "What in the world gave you that ridiculous assumption?" Azriel found himself doubting the shadows that had guided him his whole life. "My shadows told me." Eris stood up, stalking towards him like a predator circling prey. "Oh? Did your shadows tell you that Mor is queer? Did they tell you who your mate is? Who my mate is?" He was inches from him now. "Your shadows didn't do you much good when you came to ensure my ignorance, now, did they?" He tsked. "So unreliable." Then he dragged his lips to Azriel's ear. "Although, maybe I am a little jealous. If only because someone else dared to touch what's mine. Because make no mistake, I may do what I please as a High Lord's son, but you may not." Eris traced a finger around Azriel's neck, a slim red collar trailing in its wake. "I have twelve dogs, you know. You're the first bat I've owned, yet you're the prettiest of them all." Azriel couldn't help the blush that he felt skitter across his skin. What were they talking about again? He tried to recall but when Eris's lips met his neck, his mind scattered. "You've been a very bad bat, though," Eris purred. "Please," Azriel gasped. "Punish me." Eris laughed against the skin of his collarbone. "But I already did." Abruptly, he pulled away and pulled out a flower, dancing the stem of it between his long fingers. "I knew what you were doing-sensed it through our mating bond, actually, so I decided to pay a visit." The words mating bond hit Azriel like a punch to the gut, but Eris didn't give him time to digest it. "Recognize this flower, little bat? It grows in a certain Illyrian's garden. And she was getting so lonely these days, you know. Her son never visited, apparently. So when she offered her wonderful company," Eris said, emphasizing the word in a way that let Azriel know it wasn't mere company she had offered, "well, I'm a generous male, Azriel. So how could I refuse?" Horror and rage surged through Azriel's veins. "You fucked my mother?"

[laurenttheninth]

several stuff sunday aka catching up on tags from the week

i've had the craziest week of my liiiiiife and missed out on one thousand tag games and i'm catching up NOW with a bunch of snippets from alllllllll my wips!!!

thanks for tagging me all week my loves @tizniz @devirnis @sibylsleaves @rainbow-nerdss @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples and @theotherbuckley

from his canine teeth in the side of my neck aka the vampire!eddie au:

“Yeah, get outta here – and put a leash on that little bloodbag slut – " Eddie didn’t even have time to think about it – he’d shoved Buck behind him and slammed the guy against the wall, hand on his trachea, before humans could blink.  “Say one more word,” Eddie crooned, fangs descending, vision crystallizing as his eyes shifted black. “Go on. Say one. More. Word.”  He could barely feel the man’s nails scrambling at his wrist; could barely smell the acrid scent of piss as the man soaked his pants; could barely hear the man’s trembling pleas for mercy. Adrenaline was coursing through this pig’s veins, souring his blood as glutamate flooded his hypothalamus, but even the putrid stench of him made something sing within Eddie. He was a predator. This man was prey.  “Eddie.”  Buck. “Eddie, we have to go – you have to let him go, come on – ” He could smell him – soft and metallic and decadent – but soured, too. Eddie’s hands twitched, his gaze still locked on the wide-eyes of the assailant.  Buck was afraid.  Eddie was scaring him. 

from the currently untitled teen wolf/911 crossover:

Now it was the kid’s turn to give Eddie an appraising once-over, shifting his weight from leg to leg the way Buck did when he was waiting on the go-ahead to sprint into a burning building. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work, actually. Look, I know you can hear me, Derek, so why don’t you get your furry behind over here so we can – ” Eddie opened his mouth to tell the kid Derek couldn’t hear him because they were the only ones in the engine bay, when Derek’s voice growled out from behind him. “Stiles.”  The kid stilled, his eyes locking on something just over Eddie’s shoulder. A humourless smile crossed his face. “Long time no see, Sourwolf.”  Eddie glanced over his shoulder, wondering how Derek managed to sneak up on him.  Derek was standing with preternatural stillness, a look on his face that sent a chill down Eddie’s spine. His gaze was locked on the kid, and even though Derek was his… something, and the kid seemed cocky and was clearly unwelcome, something in that look made Eddie want to get between them, get the kid behind him, not take his eyes off the threat.  Eddie blinked. Derek wasn’t a threat.  It seemed like someone forgot to tell his gut that, though.  The squeaky sound of wet sneakers echoed through the bay. “Hey, someone’s sick Jeep is blocking the – ”  Buck jogged around the ambulance, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder, and stopped when he saw the tableau before him: Derek, half a step behind Eddie, looking ready to maul the scrawny kid in the hoodie, who was staring at the firefighters with a too-knowing look. Buck turned to Eddie instantly, blue eyes wide and brow furrowed in question. “Uh, Derek? Who’s your friend?”  The kid blinked and turned to Buck, with an easy smile, sticking out his hand. “Special Agent Stiles Stilinski, FBI. Old pal of Derek’s.” 

and from The Bottle Episode:

That was how Tommy found them. Buck glanced up and saw him striding through the ambulance bay, eyebrows raised, carrying two laden drink trays with ease.  Buck leaped out of the front seat with a grin. “You brought me a smoothie?”  “I brought all of A-shift a smoothie,” Tommy corrected.  “Yeah, but mostly me, right?” Buck wheedled, reaching out for him.  Tommy side-stepped his grabby hands. “Yours is the green one, in the middle,” he said, nodding towards it. As if it wasn’t obvious. The things had really grown on Buck during the weeks he was waiting on his sperm donation, and it was the only kelly green concoction in a sea of pale pinks. “Everyone else, I went with the classics.”  “But you got mine special,” Buck teased, tucking the straw between his teeth, “because I’m your favourite.”  Tommy shook his head wryly. “I don’t know. Eddie’s never asked me to drive all over town like an errand boy.”  “And I never will,” Eddie’s voice chimed in from over Buck’s shoulder. “Strawberry banana?”

under the cut there's a snippet from what i'm cooking for five alarm fest (not telling you which one yet hehehe) and i'm tagging back everyone who tagged me this week ilu!!!!!!!

“O-okay,” Evan breathed, his hands tightening on Tommy’s thighs, his hole twitching around the base of Tommy’s cock. “Y-you – you can take the blindfold off.” Tommy squeezed Evan’s hips one more time before lifting one hand to rip the satin from his eyes, ready to dive forward and get his mouth on that spot on the back of Evan’s neck that made him whine, eager to take in the sight of – Tommy’s breath caught in his throat.  There was the broad expanse of Evan’s solid, muscular back, speckled with scars; a little trail of sweat was dripping from his hairline down between his shoulder blades; and just above where his tight little ass was vice-like around Tommy cock was…

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 11

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  smut (MF, vaginal sex), blood-drinking

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 1850

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 11

Returning home after the mess she’d made of the mission had left Rose filled with shame in a way she hadn't felt since first being turned. In some ways that shame was a relief to her, being with Steve and becoming an Avenger had made her feel her humanity in ways she’d thought had been lost to her and shame was yet another sign that this curse hadn't changed her completely.

It did mean that things took a few steps back with Steve.  The shame she felt over how badly things had gone, and her need to feed off Steve when he’d spent so long telling her he didn’t want that, made her feel guilty and dirty.  His reassurance that it was fine and he didn’t think differently about her didn’t help.  If anything it made her feel worse because it cemented in her mind that he always had seen her as a predator that would end up trying to eat him.  If he couldn’t see her as at least safe, then how could they stand a chance of working out?

Not to mention that his blood now called to her.  It was like a drug. The way it made her feel was not just more human, but superhuman.  Her preternatural gifts were enhanced and her weaknesses were reduced.  It made her feel both alive and slightly high.  When she was near him, all she could focus on was the sound of his heart beating in his chest and the scent of his blood just under the surface of his skin.  It only got worse over the week as the effects of his blood faded.  She was like an addict jonesing for her next hit and her supply was walking around wanting to dance with her.

She started avoiding him.

After the fourth night of missing training, Steve went to find her.  It wasn’t hard.  Rose had barely left her house.  She needed to detox from people.  She needed to get a hold of herself.

Steve knocked, but he let himself in.  He found Rose in her drawing room, listening to some early 1920s Jazz.  He tapped on the doorframe.  “Rose?” he said.  “Can we talk about this?”

She looked up at him with a frown.  He had a bag of blood with him.  She could smell it.  Stronger than the cold congealing blood in a bag, she could smell his, fresh and hot and pumping through his veins.

She nodded.  “We can talk.”

He approached her then.  His steps showed no hesitation or fear but he still moved carefully, like he was approaching a prey animal that could run at the smallest trigger, not a predator that could turn on him and tear his head off. 

“I brought you blood,” he said, offering her the bag.  She took it and clutched it in her hands, watching him as he crouched in front of her.  “Rose,” he said, putting his hand on hers.  “You know I love you, don’t you?”

She nodded.  “I know.  But I also know that when you look at me, you see something that feeds on you.  Not just since I did, but before that.”

“I look at you and I see Rose,” Steve said, taking her hand in his.  “Rose - my friend and my lover.  Rose who is incredibly strong and brave and sometimes she can be a little scary.  Rose who had something terrible happen to her when she was very young and it’s now changed her and given her extraordinary abilities, but also some strange side effects.  Rose who has been living with that all on her own for more than a lifetime.  Rose who even after all the pain she’s been through and all the urges she has still manages to be kind and brave and who helps protect people - even when they look at her and see a monster.  Rose who knows and can relate to what I’ve been through better than almost anyone else I know.  Rose who I love.  And yes, that means that I recognize that you have unique needs, such as sleeping during the day and drinking blood.  But it doesn’t mean I look at you and see a predator or a monster.  I know you much better than that.”

She frowned and looked at the bag of blood in her hand and back up at Steve.  He was so pure and good.  For every piece of dark in her, he was light and it just made her want to be better. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and break down.  To cry until all this pain was cried out of her as he held her, and then kiss him until she couldn’t feel her lips anymore.  But there was still one major problem.

“That’s all well and good, Steve,” she said as she looked down at him. “But your blood did something to me.  You saw me.  You saw how the light touched me.  It’s faded and I look at you, and I just want to feel that again.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment and in that moment, Rose was sure she’d said the thing that had turned him off her forever.  Just as she went to pull her hand away, his fingers tightened.  “You haven’t bitten me, Rose.  Not since I offered.  You might want to, you might think that my blood is calling to you, or tempting you, but you haven’t done it.  I know you think you’re a monster, but everyone has urges they know better to act on.  This is just one of yours.  And the truth is - I liked it.  I’ve been thinking about how it felt ever since.”

Rose wasn’t sure if that was worse or better.  She did know one thing, it made her feel better.  He trusted her and he felt these things too.  Maybe that was dangerous and maybe they could work this out together.

“Thank you, Steve,” she said softly.

He reached up and cradled her jaw.  “There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said.

She leaned in, bringing her lips to his. God - she’d missed this more than she’d realized.  All this time she thought it was the blood, but it was him.  She wanted him.  His affection, and his love.  She wanted to feel the warmth of his body against her cool skin.

She hummed, parting her lips and her tongue darting out to coax his lips apart.  He resisted and pulled back. “Eat,” he said.  “Then we can go up to your room.”

She sighed and looked down at the bag of blood, squeezing it to make the dark red fluid slop around inside.  Her eyes flicked back up to Steve as she lifted the bag to her lips and she sank her fangs into it.  The plastic popped under her teeth and the thick salty liquid flowed into her mouth.  It was lukewarm and while she knew the fact it had been kept away from oxygen meant it couldn’t be congealing, it still felt like it was.  It was completely unpalatable - and yet she drank.  She drank for Steve’s sake.  She drank so that she’d be sated and when she followed Steve up those stairs, feeding would be as far from his mind as it could get.

As she drank, Steve ran his hands up her thighs and around her hips.  They slid up her back and by the time the bag was empty, she wrapped her arms around him, dropping the bag to the floor behind his back.  He leaned in, capturing her lips and lifting her.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her up the stairs.

Their kiss deepened and became more frantic as they moved up the stairs.  When they reached the landing outside her bedroom, the kiss had become a battle for domination.  He carried her to the bed and dropped her on the mattress, she started to strip right away and he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside.  She had moved with such speed that she was naked before he’d even managed to get his pants off.  She reached for him, grabbing his belt and unfastening it with deft fingers.  She practically tore his pants off and pulled him down on top of her.

Steve cradled her cheek as he ran the head of his cock up and down her sopping folds.  “Rose,” he breathed. “Don’t push me away again.  I love you.  I want this to work.”

She pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist.  “I love you too,” he said and kissed him.  She ground her pussy on his cock, soaking it with her slick.  He lifted her at the waist and as he lowered her back down, he entered her.

She moaned as he stretched her and filled her.  She began to ride him, kissing as she moved up and down on his shaft.  She angled her hips to try to get the head of his cock to rub her g-spot, but couldn’t quite get the angle right.

Steve flipped her again and pulled her legs right up, so her hips were angled just right.  He could read her perfectly, he knew exactly what she wanted and how to give it to her.  Each thrust of his hips sent pleasure coiling out through her, spreading out from her core right through her, so her edges felt fuzzy and soft.

Her lips grazed down his jaw and when she reached his neck, her fangs popped out and she skimmed them over his jugular.  His pulse beat against her teeth.  It made her shiver and despite the fact she wanted to sink his teeth in, the fact she could resist somehow made it feel better.  It added a sense of need paired with control that intensified everything.  It brought her careening to her release and kept her balanced there right at the edge.

It wasn’t just Rose who felt it.  As soon as Rose’s fangs touched his skin, Steve’s breath caught and his hips started to stutter.  “Rose,” he moaned.  “Rose… Do it.  Bite me.”

Rose pulled back, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so he could look at him. “What?”

“I want it.  I want you to bite me,” he said.  “Penetrate me, Rose.  Penetrate me as I penetrate you.”

She couldn’t think straight.  The offer was so unexpected and she wanted it.  God, she wanted it so bad.  She looked into his eyes, trying to see if she’d done something to him.  They were blown out with lust, but clear.  His thoughts were his.  He wanted this as much as she had always wanted this.

“You’re sure about this?” she breathed. 

“Yes, Rose,” he begged.  “Do it.”

She opened her mouth, her lips curling back, so she could see the points of her fangs.

She pulled his head back, exposing his throat.  She could see the flicker of his vein as his pulse beat through it.

“Bite me,” he pleaded once more.

She lunged forward and sunk her fangs into him.

// NEXT

[underwaterbanshee]

So, I've been living in a memory from my childhood as I watch my preternatural predators fuck around.

When I was twelve, my family went on vacation to Arches National Park in Moab, Utah. My siblings were nine, six, and two, but all of us hiked up to the picturesque vista with the Delicate Arch at the top with our parents.

What isn't in all the beautiful photographs of this amazing natural geological marvel is the terrifying drop from the cliff behind it. It's clear, when you're up there, that you need to approach the edge, that's just about thirty feet to the right of Delicate Arch, carefully.

Imagine, for a second, that your six year old sibling has the energy of Jaysohn, and loves running and jumping off of rocks. And they bolt. Running as absolutely as fast as they can, towards the edge of a sharp cliff, with a several hundred foot drop.

I'll never forgot the loudest shout in the world in which my dad shouted, "[Jaysohn], STOP!"

My sibling froze literally one foot away from the edge of the cliff as that respected fear jolted through them and my dad scooped them up in the tightest hug possible.

Watching Jaysohn and Lila with Tula has been difficult at times. They love their mother but they don't always respect her. I spent a good five and half episodes waiting for the Delicate Arch to show up, Tula to shout to them to stop, and for her to be ignored. The terror I felt at twelve, watching my sibling race headlong towards danger, all of us shouting their name and being ignored, has sat in my throat as I watch these baby stoats do stupid baby shit while disregarding Tula's efforts to give them advice to keep them safe.

I know why they dismiss her with the arrogance of youth.

Tula lives in and with fear. It informs all of her decisions. The problem, from her children's point of view, is that Mama is afraid of Nothing.

Every situation that could harm them, Mama has knocked out of the way with her Divine Smite. Mama is so capable. Mama, the tooty lil slut, is a goddess who can protect them from all consequences because she has always done that.

Except Tula is finally in a situation where there are just too many people, all of them with power, and none of them care about her or her children.

Tula's relief after Thorn tells Jaysohn that if he sees him jump off another rock--he'll kill him, is that of a mother who hopes that maybe some consequences--some of that respect with the slightest fear, will make her children pause before they open their mouths or run towards the next, shiny thing--is palatable after six episodes.

There was so much delicious in this episode as this family continues to fuck around and break things as they set their beliefs and refine their goals.