This was made with a local install of Reforge using the model 3WolfMond-LastSDG: https://huggingface.co/Xeno443 . I'd recommend any or all of the 'Mond models, they're all some of the best furry SDXL models.

I used Tail Tagger for tagging assistance: https://github.com/renfald/tail-tagger . Along with the JPT-3 model for AI generating tags: https://huggingface.co/RedRocket/JTP-3/tree/main/models?not-for-all-audiences=true

Here in the secluded forests bordering the Hidden World, bathed in the ethereal glow of a full moon filtering through the ancient canopy, we are privileged to observe one of nature’s most secretive and spectacular spectacles: the mating ritual of the Night Fury and his elusive counterpart, the Light Fury.

These extraordinary dragons—sleek, intelligent predators long believed extinct by human scholars—are apex aviators, capable of plasma blasts and near-invisible camouflage. The male, a magnificent specimen of obsidian-black scales that absorb light like the void of space itself, is the Night Fury—larger, more robust, with those distinctive ear-like nubs that give him an almost perpetually alert expression. His mate, the Light Fury, is a vision of luminous white, her form smoother and more streamlined, lacking those prominent nubs (hence the affectionate nickname among observers: “Nubless”). Sexual dimorphism is striking here: he outweighs her considerably, his muscular build designed for raw power; she, more agile and lithe, built for vanishing into bursts of light. One might say evolution has crafted them as perfect complements—yin and yang with wings, if you will.

Tonight, in this moss-covered clearing redolent with the rich aromas of pine resin, damp loam, and nocturnal wildflowers, the ancient dance of reproduction unfolds. The air hangs heavy with anticipation, a faint breeze carrying the distant calls of night creatures—owls hooting, insects chirping—as if the forest itself holds its breath.

Observe the female’s exquisite courtship display. She teases him mercilessly, darting between towering trunks with playful flips and rolls, her tail swishing provocatively. With each pass, she releases a potent cocktail of pheromones—a warm, vanilla-sweet musk laced with the sharp, unmistakable tang of oestrus. It’s a chemical siren song, quite literally wafting through the undergrowth. The male’s nostrils flare wide; his chest emits a deep, resonant purr that vibrates the very leaves around them, rather like a V8 engine idling in the wilderness. He gives chase, his powerful limbs propelling his greater bulk with astonishing grace—wings half-unfurled for balance, claws crunching softly on fallen branches. Truly, a pursuit that combines the elegance of ballet with the intensity of a rugby scrum.

She slows at last, deliberately, in the heart of the clearing. Arching her sinuous neck in a gesture of submission and invitation, she raises her tail high, fully exposing the flushed, swollen folds of her ventral slit. The scent now overwhelms—musky, heady, a primal blend of fresh rain on hot stone and pure, unadulterated fertility. It saturates the night air like an expensive perfume gone delightfully feral. One cannot help but marvel at nature’s efficiency: no flowers or chocolates required here—just raw biochemistry doing the heavy lifting.

The male approaches with measured dominance, his emerald eyes gleaming. He nuzzles her flank tenderly yet possessively, retractable teeth grazing her pearl-smooth scales without breaking skin—a gentle reminder of his power. His long, dexterous tongue emerges for the preliminary tasting: broad, deliberate laps along her dripping entrance, savoring the tangy-sweet nectar that glistens invitingly. The flavor, to his draconic palate, must be exquisite—salty yet sweet, with an undercurrent of wild heat that coats his muzzle in a glossy sheen. She trembles beneath him, wings quivering, emitting a series of high-pitched whines and keens that rise and fall like a woodland symphony. These vocalizations, no doubt, serve multiple purposes: signaling readiness, strengthening the pair bond, and perhaps warning off any rival males who might be lurking (though in this case, competition seems delightfully absent).

Satisfied with this oral overture—one might call it nature’s version of fine dining—the male prepares for the main event. Between his powerful hind legs, his genital slit pulses and parts, everting his dual hemipenes in a fascinating display of evolutionary ingenuity. Yes, dual—two shafts, a thicker primary and a slightly slimmer secondary, both ridged for her pleasure (or, more accurately, for ensuring genetic success), glistening with natural lubricant in shades of deep violet-black. A remarkable adaptation, ensuring maximum stimulation and seed delivery. Darwin would be proud; Freud might blush.

He rears up smoothly, mounting her from behind with front claws gripping her shoulders firmly yet carefully—his greater weight a dominant, protective blanket over her smaller frame. She braces herself on the soft moss, tail held high in eager compliance. With teasing precision, he rubs the tip of his primary hemipene along her slick folds, coating himself further in her abundant arousal. The friction elicits sharp gasps from her; the wet sounds are already audible, a prelude to the symphony to come.

Then, the decisive thrust. He drives forward with controlled power, burying the thicker shaft deep inside her tight, velvety depths in one fluid motion. Her inner walls grip him instantly—hotter than a forge, slick and rippling with instinctive contractions that milk his ridges. The secondary hemipene slides along her outer folds, grinding rhythmically against the sensitive nub at the apex, providing what can only be described as deluxe dual stimulation. The forest echoes with the lewd, rhythmic slaps of scales meeting scales—wet, resonant thuds accompanied by the squelch of copious fluids. He sets a powerful pace: deep withdrawals that drag every ridge across her most sensitive spots, followed by forceful plunges that bottom out with satisfying finality, his heavy balls slapping against her in a primal percussion.

All senses are engaged here. The heavy, mingled scent of their arousal—salty, earthy, draconic—hangs thick in the air like fog. The taste lingers on his tongue as he leans down to lick her neck possessively between thrusts. The feel of her body yielding yet pushing back greedily, muscles flexing under smooth scales. Visually, it’s a study in contrasts: black on white, power over grace, moonlight glinting off sweat-slick hides. And the sounds—her escalating cries, his guttural growls—blend with the rustle of leaves and distant night chorus into something almost orchestral.

Her climax builds rapidly, a testament to his attentive technique. Suddenly, she convulses spectacularly—inner muscles clamping in powerful waves, hot gushes of fluid soaking his buried length and dripping copiously to the moss below. Her roar is piercing, triumphant, shattering the night’s tranquility like glass. A truly cathartic release.

This, of course, triggers his own. With a final, deep thrust and a bellowing roar that rattles nearby branches, he erupts—thick, potent ropes of seed pulsing from both hemipenes. The primary floods her depths, maximizing fertilization chances; the secondary paints her exterior in visible claim. Nature, ever generous, ensures thorough coverage—no evolutionary stone left unturned.

Exhausted yet deeply bonded, they collapse in a tangled heap of wings, tails, and limbs. He grooms her affectionately, long tongue lapping away the evidence of their passion, tasting their combined essence with contented purrs. She responds in kind, body still twitching with pleasant aftershocks, her own purr a soft counterpoint.

In this rare, intimate glimpse into the lives of these legendary creatures, we are reminded that even the most mythical beings are bound by the timeless imperatives of life: attraction, copulation, continuation. A remarkable ritual—efficient, passionate, and utterly unselfconscious. One leaves the scene with a profound respect for nature’s ingenuity… and perhaps a slight envy for such straightforward ardor.