#monster/human
Text
Right Where He Wants You (Octomerman x M!Reader)
Pairing: Octo!Merman x Merman!Reader
Genre: Hand Jobs, Tentacles, Titplay
Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Slight Yandere tendencies
Word Count: 1300 words
Summary: A member of your pod has been making eyes at you for a while. His desire for you is almost palpable, suffocating even. But you can’t say you hate the attention.
Request: It’s my first time asking for a request so - could I make a request male octopus x merman male reader there could be titplay and some yanderish vibe to it
It’s a simple glance that starts it all.
A flirtatious wink from you over the pod’s dinner, you offering to share some of your dolphin and sliding up to his side.
The tension between you two had been thick for a while; lots of sensual glances, the occasionally passing brush of his tentacle on your backside, and sometimes even cornering you just to flirt and compliment your appearance.
The game had been fun; Cyreus was a handsome fellow, and although he had begun aggressively pursuing you first, you weren’t exactly complaining about his forwardness. But tonight there's a certain energy in the air, a certain stirring in your gut. Tonight you’ll take it all the way, let him know that you've officially been caught.
All it takes is a wink and a hidden note, passed off into one of his tentacles.
Meet me at dusk
It said, and while you had intended to guide him to your cove after meeting, get a little privacy, he had been desperate to get started. Right then, right there.
“Ungh, Cyreus-”
“Uh-huh?” He asks, half attentive, mouth a little busy sucking hickies onto your neck.
“Someone might-” Your voice catches in your throat, feeling a sharp nip right at your pulse.
“No they won’t. Everyone’s already gone to sleep.” A long, wet tongue licks a stripe up your neck, a lustful shiver running down your spine. An orange tentacle wraps around the bottom of your tail, yanking it up and throwing your upper half farther into the wall. Cyreus’ chest presses right up against yours, using his body weight to hold you in place. “You’re all mine, mine.”
You honestly should be alarmed by the dark tone of his voice, the way his tentacles grope and constrict your tail into the right position. But the lust has fogged over the more sensible part of your mind, and instead you fall deeper into your paramore's arms.
Two tentacles keep your tail in place, while another one circles tantalizingly around your slit, applying enough pressure to coax your cock out of its sheath. Up top Cyreus continues his attack on your throat, pinching skin in between his lips and lathering his tongue across it. You feel the dancing sensation of his fingers crawling up your sides, inching towards your nipples.
“Aah.” You breathily moan, reminding yourself that you need to keep it down. Not that it really matters, as the bruises you’ll have will no doubt let everyone know what you got up to tonight.
The tip of your dick has begun to poke out, Cyreus’ tentacles wasting no time in encircling it in their warm hold. Your pelvis jerks, throwing it into his sucking grip, embracing the feeling. Electricity shoots across your chest when you feel two finger pads press up on your nipples.
“So fucking cute.” Cyreus growls in your ear. “Those cute little sounds, all for me.” His fingers flick across your chest, watching the way it pebbles and rises. He licks his lips, his gaze ravenous.
Your cock has fully unsheathed at this point, precum now beading at the tapered tip. Three tentacles focus on it all at once; One wrapped tight around your base, one jerking up and down your shaft, and the last one lathering the tip like a tongue. Precum smears across the suckers, the tentacle shuddering as it coaxes out more and more.
Cyreus mouth has moved down your neck and onto your shoulder, pressing kisses and bites into your cold skin. He begins to hover around your chest, scooting his hand down so he can start sucking on your left nipple.
“Aah!”
Cyreus is covetous as he licks a circle around your bud, long tongue wrapping around it and beginning to tug. The other is pinched by his forefinger and thumb, sending hot sparks down your stomach and right to your cock.
Cyreus giggles, mouth still latched on, and all three tentacles grip tight around your cock. Fresh streams of precum gush down their sides, speckling the underside of your tail.
“Who makes you feel this good?” Cyreus pops off to ask, his voice low and possessive. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes to open, another wave of heat pulsing your dick when you catch his intense gaze. His irises burn like embers, his brow furrowed and his smout quirked in a smirk. “Who?” He tugs on your nipple, forcing a breathy yelp.
“Y-you! You make me feel good!”
“Say my name.” The tentacle around your shaft starts jerking aggressively, a fast pace that has your vision specked with dots
“Cyreus!” You keen, hips thrown into his grip. The knot in your belly gets pulled taught.
“Good boy.” He purrs, nipping at your nipple. “My good boy.”
Something cold and slimy thwaps against your navel, a quick glance down telling you it's Cyreus’ unsheathed cock. It coated in his precum, leaving slick trails as he ruts it against your stomach.
Your hand gently wraps around it, trying to find the technique to jerk him off properly. It’s an effort amidst all his tentacles, which seem desperate to thoroughly scramble your mind into a lust-addicted soup.
You can feel the blood pulsing underneath the skin, his tapered head bobbing as you find a grip around his slick cock. Cyreus' tongue falls out of his mouth. “F-fuck~” He stutters, and you feel a certain rush of pride, knowing how good you make him feel.
“Oh, fuck.” Cyreus begins biting your chest, fresh bruises blooming against the skin. Every knick of his teeth feels like another pull at your knot, the slow crescendo of your orgasm picking up.
“Oh my gods.” Your breathily moan, hips beginning to jerk and hump into the mass of tentacles. You can feel them shuddering against your shaft, squirming to soak up every drop of cum you give them.
You slowly lose the focus to jerk Cyreus off, your hand now just a solid grip as you try to find stability in the wave of pleasure. But Cyreus doesn’t complain, instead humping up, using your palm like a sex toy. Gushes of his slick run down your wrist.
“You gonna cum?” Cyreus purrs between bites on your chest, tongue circling back around your nipples. It’s shockingly dextrous, curling and tugging at it like one of his tentacles.
You nod, another quaking moan from your quivering lips. You’re only silenced by a brutal kiss from Cyreus, teeth clacking as easily slips his tongue inside. His hands now lay flat against your stomach, two more tentacles coming up to keep pinching your nipples. The two of you are a mass of thrusts and limbs, slick with sweat and bodily fluids.
“Cum for me. Cum for me.” Cyreus growls, tugging at your bottom lip with surprising force. There's a sharp pinch and blood bubbles up to the surface. But neither of you care, falling back into the kiss, embracing the metallic tastes across your tongues.
Your moans are swallowed up by Cyreus mouth as you orgasm, hot spurts of cum caught by his desperate tentacles, practically bathing in it. Soon after you feel Cyreus finish on your chest, semen shooting all the way up to your neck as his humps stutter.
The two of you are locked in a haze, cock-drunk and delirious as your breath returns. Your lips stay connected in a peck, hot breath blowing across each other’s cheeks.
It’s easy to stay put, to let Cyreus tentacles lock you in place as he nuzzles into your neck.
“You’re perfect.” He whispers, still just as desperate and needy as before. Like you’re a treasure that keeps on giving, one he’ll never give up. “And now you’re mine. All mine.”
The tentacles constrict, but the slight burn doesn’t bother you.
No, you’re right where you belong.
#my writing#reader insert#monster x reader#male reader insert#monster/human#yandere x reader#(sort of lol)
233 notes
·
View notes
Note
Let me just say, I read one of your stories, the human influence one with Samael and reader. I absolutely loved it!!! You're an amazing writer and artist, I mean truly, you're probably one of my favorites in the fandom!!! So my request is if you could draw that one scene in the fic when Samael kisses/licks reader's neck. That had me foaming at the mouth, it was so unexpected. That and he's so big, like how does that look? I think you'd make it look real cute or spicy!!??? It's up to you, but I'd love to see that. Thank you again.
How could I deny such a lovely request ;) X
#Darksiders#darksiders 2#Samael simps come get y'all juice!#monster/human#demon/human#g/t#g/t art#samael x reader#demon x reader#monster x reader#my art#doodle#Reader: “AAAAHHH”#Samael: Shlurp
332 notes
·
View notes
Text
The idea of a pred who’s used to unwilling prey feeling soothed by a willing prey that actually treats their insides gently. It’s might not even be that squirming bothers them, it’s that someone loves them enough to be gentle even with this monstrous part of them.
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Almost forgot I drew this recently. I haven't drawn them actually kissing enough!!
#Daniel Spellbound#Jayce Chinda#Lucy Santana#Jacy#Bleeding Magic AU#my art#demon#monster love#monster boyfriend#demon boyfriend#monster/human#and then I went and drew even more soft shit and other kissing in the monster form too...#need to post those sometime as well#it's more angsty tho lol#this one is all shoujo bullshit lol
106 notes
·
View notes
Note
request: orc/human - human is the orc's tailor; are they upset cuz the clothing keeps getting messed up? are the appalled by the quality of their former clothing for being so shoddy? does the orc's current ensemble simply not bring out their eyes? are they distracted during a fitting for their friend who deserves nice clothes dammit and didn't expect their ripped-ness to be such a problem because it isn't with their other customers? is this fantasy or modern? -shrugs-
i apparently have more thoughts than i thought but this work training is so very boring - feel free to use none of them but the overall prompt but i crave anything that doesn't discuss "the five subcategories on this slide" pls
i hope you got through that work training okay, and you enjoy this mini fic. sorry for being beyond late ;)
Where My Hand Treads
male orc with gender neutral reader
591 words | sfw
Their thighs ate up most of the measuring tape. Their very same thigh you perfectly custom made pants for, that now stretched taut against the gulf of their muscles.
As their tailor, you were happy about their frequent patronage, but it felt like they carefully maneuvered the small shop you worked at least twice a week with an old garment at hand needing repair.
Sometimes that garment was something you made a week prior that needed mending. You wondered what their lifestyle could be like to warrant this many repairs, not that your wallet was complaining. Curiosity that is what we will call it for now, what that shapely legs do for a living.
You could excuse the ripping and loose threads, but what had you up in arms with annoyance, frustration, and maybe even anger was how his ensemble made the least amount of sense. Though he had all the pieces of a professional suit, he never seemed to put the right colours together. And when he did something of the proportions was off, or fraying at the hems hence coming to the shop.
Most importantly it hurt to see a diamond just covered in mud, his clothes never seemed to bring out his personality or the colour of his warm brown eyes. You told him as much after measuring him again for the second time this month, to make sure his clothes were not faulty on your part.
“You want to style me? But I don’t think you provide those services.” He said slowly. “Is this an exclusive offer for my frequent patronage, if so do other clients get this treatment as well.”
“You’re right we don’t. I think I’ve never offered anyone this. It’s just that you clearly need help assembling an outfit, especially if you are going to be here every day needing a garment repaired.”
His eyes wandered towards the rumbling ceiling of your small shop under the subway tracks, rubbing at the back of his head in thought. You have embarrassed him, your banter does not always read as playful as you would hope. Your ears heat in shame, in the already hot summer afternoon. Your words might not always lift a person’s confidence but you knew what you could achieve with your sewing machine and your critical eye. You knew it every time a client looked in the mirror after a fitting.
“Please allow me, I just think you are not shining to your highest capacity. Everyone has certain colours and cuts that make them look effortlessly put together. Not everyone gets to learn that, it’s something you either gotta be passionate about or learn early on.”
Your eyes looked straight ahead to his distracted ones, trying to catch the colour change of his mood. “I would like to extend that knowledge so that you may be your brightest self. I did not mean to embarrass you…” you trailed off after his lips pulled tight. He seemed to be enduring you, that expression twin to those braving the biting wind.
His tusks jutted out, a bit large for his face with his brown eyes, squat nose, and long curls.
You were already imagining the colours you would pull for him, neutral reds and browns for his green skin, toeing that line to bring out his complexion. He would be magnificent. This you could do, this where your hands have tread before.
“My body is in your capable hands, Tailor.” The comment did not go unnoticed, but you knew words could only go so far.
#sirsadly writings#monster romance#monster lover#monster boyfriend#monster fucker#monster x reader#requests are open#mini fics#exophilia#monster/reader#monster/human#orc/human#orc lover#orc x reader#orc x human#request answered
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
horrible, no good, very bad guys get nasty and ruin everyone else's lives
[more 🔞 images here]
28 notes
·
View notes
Photo
The monster under your bed needs cuddles too ♥
#please share if you like it and support this kind of disgustingly citrusy art#traditional art#alternate setting#jowan#from#dragon age#monsterfucker#monster/human#fan art#mature#citrus#tentacles#slime#monster under the bed
157 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beast in the Hayloft (Beast Man) [M/M]
Featured Characters: Male human and a beast man. Both are adults.
Description: While taking a rest in the hayloft after work, Adam suddenly encounters Kul; a beast man who has chosen the barn as a refuge from hunters. Which is why they must stay quiet and avoid alerting anyone outside when things take an unexpectedly amorous turn.
Contains: Degradation, Size Difference, Nipple Licking, Rimming, Frotting, Knotting, Mild Cum Inflation.
Content Warning: The degradation aspect in this story involves Kul calling Adam “slut” and “whore”. If these words are uncomfortable or triggering to you, maybe give this one a pass.
Completion Date: September 25th, 2022
Word Count: 3198
-
Adam loved the smell of hay. After a hard day’s work on his father’s farm, he would often settle in the loft of the barn to relax for a while before the sheep had to be brought in for the night. It was quiet and peaceful on that particular evening. He lay against the bails, looking up at the sunlight peeking through some of the beams and absently chewing a piece of straw.
The distinct sound of boots scuffing near the barn door grabbed Adam’s attention. He moved to the edge of the loft and looked down to see his father entering. The older man regarded him with a stiff nod of his greying head.
“Done for the day, are ya?” Elias asked.
“I am,” Adam said. “Unless you need me to do anything else.”
“Nah, I’ll watch the flock. But I do expect your help getting em’ in here later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good lad.” Elias turned to leave but paused. “Oh, er, keep an ear out though, will ya?”
“What for?” Adam asked.
“That bastard Kul was seen near town earlier,” Elias said. “Some hunters are out after him and he mighta come this way. Could be skulking around.”
“Damn,” Adam said. “Want me to come with you, then?”
Elias shook his head. “I’ll call for ya if I see his mangy ass.”
“All right. Be careful, dad.”
Adam returned further into the loft as Elias walked back out to the pasture. His nerves weren’t too bothered by thoughts of Kul who had more of a habit of stealing livestock than hurting humans. It was still understandable for people to reach for weapons at the mere sight of a creature of his magnitude. Adam was prepared to protect his father with his life if a murderous whim struck the beast, deciding to stay alert rather than give in to daydreaming.
It was because of this that he later caught the subtle noise of something gingerly entering the barn. He thought it might be one of the sheep, but there was no sound of the bell that each member of the flock wore. He sat up slightly.
“Dad?” he called, assuming Elias had forgotten something.
There was a hefty thump as the floor of the hayloft shook. Adam startled; someone was up there with him. Before he could call out again, a massive, hairy form clambered up onto the bales in front of him. It was a dog-like beast man with a wild, dark brown mane and black horns; all terrifying features matched the accounts of Kul.
Burning red eyes found Adam instantly. He froze under them and wasn’t given the chance to scream for help. Kul lunged towards him. A large hand clamped over his mouth as he was pinned into the hay.
“I’m not here to kill you, but squeal and I’ll tear out your throat,” Kul growled lowly.
Adam breathed heavily through his nose as his heart knocked violently against his ribs. He obeyed Kul’s request (if it could be called that). There wasn’t much of a choice given that the beast didn’t remove his hand. Adam had to stay still and assume his compliance would get him out of this unharmed.
Kul kept his head raised, his long ears perked and slightly oscillating. He wasn’t even looking at Adam. His eyes scanned into the corners of the barn as his face remained drawn in a scowl. Adam realized then that Kul had chosen to hide out there and hadn’t expected a human to be in the loft. This wasn’t an attack or a kidnapping of some sort.
Adam’s vision was completely overtaken by the hulking body of his captor. He eyed the snarling snout, his wide gaze trailing down Kul’s thick neck until it was drawn to his broad chest. Even through the fur, powerful muscles were evident.
Breathing deeply in an attempt to further calm himself, Adam could smell dirt and the forest. There was something else underneath that; a heavy musk that was warm in his nose. It was inexplicably alluring. Shame washed over Adam as his heart began to pound for a different reason. He liked being pinned this way, feeling Kul’s weight bearing down on him. The heat in his face began to travel lower to his groin.
Adam tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, but denying this bizarrely-founded interest felt more futile by the second as his fear was outmatched by lust of all things. Its tantalizing tendrils had their hold on him and he was powerless to stop it. Some starved thing buried deep inside him was all too easily crawling forth and demanding to be fed.
Kul’s state of alertness faltered, his nostrils flaring. He turned his attention to Adam. A sharp-toothed grin spread over his face.
“Aroused, are we?” he asked.
Adam’s cheeks burned as he was found out by the beast’s keen senses and he averted his gaze. It snapped back as Kul leaned into his space. The long muzzle situated itself by his ear and he shivered at the husky voice murmuring to him.
“Can you stay quiet?”
With those four simple words, there was no going back. Adam’s dick twitched at their insinuation and he instantly let go of any reservations. He nodded as best as he could under Kul’s hand and it retracted from his face. Both sets of clawed fingers took the hem of his shirt and raised it to bunch below his chin, exposing his chest to the air.
Kul’s long tongue ran hungrily over his lips before descending onto one of Adam’s nipples. He lapped at it slowly. His hot, humid breath puffed against the surrounding flesh. The bud responded by the second pass, growing hard and sensitive. An unexpected moan broke free from Adam and Kul paused, fixing him with a deadly glare.
“Quiet or I’ll stop,” he snarled.
Adam bit his lip and gave a slight jerk of his head in understanding, doing his best to plead for more with his eyes. A smirk lightened Kul’s expression as he returned to his work. The licking grew more fervent. He alternated between both nipples, leaving a mess of strangely over-slick saliva on Adam’s chest. It was warm, collecting enough to drip down his sides.
Adam trembled, feeling the increasing discomfort in his pants. His cock throbbed and pressed against the fabric. Kul hadn’t touched it and yet it was getting hard. Adam’s hips squirmed, searching for some form of friction. He couldn’t believe how needy it made him to have his nipples teased.
Just as it was getting difficult to hold back his voice, Adam felt Kul’s enthusiastic tongue leave him. A string of spit connected it to his chest as the beast fixed him with an intense look. Large, hairy hands roughly gripped the waist of his pants and began to remove them. He heard a seam pop but he couldn’t care less. His dick was freed, almost fully erect and weeping against his stomach.
“You’re already like this?” Kul teased, keeping his voice just slightly above a whisper. “Probably could’ve cum just from getting your tits sucked, couldn’t you, slut?”
He blew a slow breath over Adam’s cock, drawing a shuddering gasp from him.
Kul chuckled. “Too damn easy.”
It was mortifying to be spoken to this way. Adam felt like Kul’s plaything, but he was shocked to find himself more than content to be toyed with however the beast pleased. He forced back a moan as Kul brought his tongue to his cock; flat, wide and blanketing it entirely. A single, wet stroke up to the head had him shaking.
Adam dug his hands into the hay as Kul slowly worked him to full hardness. His body spasmed and poured sweat as he fought his cries of pleasure. It was a little hard to breathe at times. He had expected someone like Kul to be rougher; so much quicker. But he seemed set on drawing this out.
After an almost tortuously long time, Kul left Adam’s raging cock and set his sights lower.
“Open your legs,” he ordered, not waiting before reaching out and doing most of the work himself.
Adam felt Kul’s thumbs on either side of his hole moments later. The rim was prodded and teased, fixated on by beastly eyes. His pants had been gone for a while, but this somehow felt more exposing. More vulnerable. He was then spread open and a deeper heat rushed over him, every cell flushing.
The air seemed to shake with Kul’s aroused growl.
“Fuck, you’re twitching so much down here,” he said.
Adam sucked in a breath. “Don’t…say…”
“Don’t say what?” Kul asked, grinning indulgently. “That your hole is begging me to use it?”
Adam felt and saw his dick give a hard, obvious jolt. The damn thing was straining away from his body, flushed and leaking. He had never been more aroused in his life and it had taken a beast man abasing him to bring it out. He screwed his eyes shut, a tremble threatening his lips. There was no rebuttal to give; he loved this and wanted more.
His eyelids flew open as the tip of Kul’s tongue suddenly pressed against his hole. A surprised cry was punched out of him and he clapped a hand over his mouth when Kul stopped, brow furrowed. No, he internally begged. Don’t stop. His entrance was soon being lapped, pulsing against the shallow intrusion.
Kul raised his head, his breathing hard and his eyes glinting with lust.
“Touch yourself,” he said. He returned to his task, muffling his next words against Adam’s ass. “Give that attention-seeking dick of yours what it wants.”
Adam reached for his cock with his free hand. It was still slick with warm saliva which aided him as he began stroking. He kept a slower pace with Kul. Much to the chagrin of his desperation. The touch was still heaven for his unbelievably hard shaft. He enveloped the head in his fist with every upstroke, feeling precum drooling between his fingers.
Kul bobbed his head to fuck his long tongue deeper into Adam. Low groans vibrated the muscle as it delved and explored. It dug into a particularly sensitive spot that sent shocks of pleasure to the tip of his dick. Kul seemed to aim there once he had discovered it, his ravenous muzzle not letting up until Adam began to writhe.
He sat up and licked his maw as he gazed at Adam’s sweaty, panting body. It was when he situated himself between the small human’s legs that his cock finally came into view. Adam paused his stroking, awestruck at the sight.
The beast’s endowment was monstrous; long and obsidian black with a pointed, ridged head. Small, rounded protrusions ran in a vertical line on either side of the shaft. It throbbed hard in the air where it emerged from a hairy, light brown sheath.
“You like em’ big, don’t you?” Kul purred, a prideful look on his canine features. “I’m tempted to stuff this in your mouth and make sure you’re quiet. Seeing as you’re clearly having trouble not moaning like a fucking whore.”
Adam whimpered behind his palm, his eyes fixing on the massive, erect cock hovering above his own. Clear fluid welled at the tip and oozed down onto him. For all his teasing about Adam being easy to arouse, Kul was just as excited as him–and completely untouched, at that. His shaft was burning as he lowered it to rest on Adam’s. He batted the smaller hand away.
“That isn’t gonna do shit for us,” he said before taking their dicks into one of his large paws.
Kul began to move his hips. Unlike before, he didn’t take this slow; a rising need getting the better of him, perhaps. His cock dwarfed Adam’s which was helplessly pinned between its bulk and his wide, padded palm. The saliva and his excessive precum swiftly made a wet mess of them both. He growled as he gave short, quick thrusts into his hand.
Adam covered his mouth as firmly as he could. Loud moans threatened to escape him with every pass over his dick. Kul’s hold created a delicious pressure; a hot, tight squeeze that sent his back arching. He knew he could easily cum this way before long. The pleasure coupled with the thick, arousing scent continuously flooding his nose made his head spin.
Kul regarded him with a positively feral look. His maw was clamped tight. Sharp, off-white fangs glinted wetly where they were exposed by his pulled back lips. Any noises he was holding back were reduced to barely-audible rumbles in his chest.
Adam was hypnotized by the movement of Kul’s hips. They were tireless in driving that huge cock into his paw. Musky fluid was milked from it, sometimes coming in spurts that collected on Adam’s chest. He felt his ass twitching as Kul unfairly fucked his own hand rather than use the hole he had rightfully claimed was begging for him.
It wasn’t much longer before Kul moved on. The corners of his mouth turned up as he backed off. His dick stood proudly, a noticeable swell beginning to round the base just beyond his sheath. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, his other hand moving to grip the back of one of Adam’s thighs. Eyes flashing, he guided the leaking tip exactly where it needed to be.
Kul teased the spit-slick entrance, shallowly prodding it. “Let’s feed this greedy hole, hm?”
Adam contained a needy whine, nodding fervently. Intense desire came close to emptying his mind of all thoughts other than to please Kul. He barely felt like a person for a moment; he was a toy, a sleeve, a vessel for beast seed. The concept alone nearly made him cum. What was wrong with him?
The stretch was slow but sudden. Kul had begun to push inside Adam’s hole, chest surging as each inch breached the tight space. He was so big. The broad length throbbed incessantly and smeared the clinging walls with precum.
A burn briefly spread through Adam’s insides, turning pleasurable in mere moments. It felt like being hollowed out. His heart pounded, stealing his breath. He wanted to stroke his cock again. It pulsed and ached for more attention. But he couldn’t move, frozen and trembling as he lay there taking Kul’s.
It all happened in an instant. Adam jolted as that sweet spot inside of him was found. Every detail of Kul’s dick glided over it, relentlessly rubbing and digging. Adam’s balls shifted, all but shooting up to hug his shaft. His breath stuttered and he didn’t have time to register what was happening before warmth pumped up through his cock.
Cries muffled behind his hand, Adam shook in ecstasy. He was scarcely aware of his own cum splattering his chest. His hole was going wild, fluttering and squeezing around Kul. Release held him for longer than it had in a while, but dropped him hard to be replaced by a wave of embarrassment. Kul hadn’t even started thrusting yet; Adam had cum from a single penetration.
“Fucking hell. Just like that, huh?” came Kul’s smug tone.
Adam opened his eyes, a tear escaping. Kul’s face held no anger; just that same arrogant smirk that still had a strange way of stirring arousal. He was fully seated inside, raging as his half-formed knot pressed against the still-twitching entrance.
Adam removed his shaking hand from his mouth, deciding to trust his voice which managed a weak, tremulous whisper.
“P-please, Kul. More. Keep going.”
“There’s a good slut,” Kul said. He started to move, forcing Adam to physically silence himself again. “Spent but still begging for cock.”
Kul gripped Adam’s waist. His claws slightly dug into the heated flesh as he thrust faster. He let out restrained grunts, hips snapping forward but stopping just shy of allowing his knot to pop in.
“So tight,” he growled.
Adam’s body was rocked against the hay. His softening cock flopped between his legs. He tried stroking it, hoping to coax it back to that coveted hardness. But that proved too much for his senses. His hole was already endlessly throbbing as it was used, oversensitive so soon after his release. Touching himself only whited his vision.
Kul kept up a brutal rhythm. His maw was cracked open as he panted, tongue lolling slightly from the front of his jaws and dripping with saliva. He probably wouldn’t last long at his pace, but that clearly wasn’t an issue anymore; he wanted to flood Adam with cum. His brow was furrowed, ears pinned back as he pumped hard into that waiting hole.
Adam found himself cumming again. His cock only wept a few drops, but pleasure throbbed deeply in his ass and radiated to his lower extremities, making him buck and kick out his legs. It happened again. Then again. Both of his hands squeezed tightly against his mouth, only just managing to lessen his loud, mindless moans. His eyes kept rolling and he convulsed as he was wracked by several dry orgasms.
A barely-perceptible pain broke through Adam’s ecstasy as he felt Kul’s claws break the skin at his waist. The sting was sharp, but he didn’t care. He wanted more. More. More. More.
Just as Adam thought his brain might be fucked out of his ears, Kul gave one last powerful thrust. The knot entered with a mind-blowing stretch and locked him inside as he came.
“Fuck,” he cursed, though it came out as more of a choked-off, glottal click.
Hot cum rushed into Adam in rhythmic pumps. Kul’s entire body twitched with every pulse, his eyes glazed as the lids flickered over them. His jaw remained clenched shut. He still had enough of a mind to repress his moans and snarls; it was almost disappointing not to hear.
Adam laid dazed and listless as he was filled. Seed continued to flow in unbelievable quantities. He began to feel heavy with it and that should have alarmed him but he wanted every drop. When it finally abated, he stole a look down his body. His stomach was slightly distended from the sheer amount of cum and he caressed it reverently, unconsciously clenching onto the knot that was keeping it that way.
He felt different somehow; claimed by this beast, in a way. There was a connection now that he could sense. Something he knew would crave satiation many times in the future. He had certainly found himself on a slippery slope. It felt dangerous. But it felt good.
Kul sagged slightly, his tree-trunk arms stopping him from dropping down and smothering Adam in his hairy chest. He gave a low, satisfied groan before chuckling deviously to himself. Bending down, he dragged his tongue up Adam’s chest, over the rapid pulse in his neck, and to his cheek. He ran a sharp fang over the shell of Adam’s ear before he spoke.
“You’d better come visit me out in the woods. Next time, I wanna hear you scream.”
End
Masterlist
#text#spicy#ash originals#terato writing#terato#exophilia#monster love#monster lover#monster/human#monster boyfriend#beast man#oc:kul#oc:adam
327 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Monster/Human Romance Special
Do you ever wonder if Bigfoot hides from humanity because he realises how much erotica focused on him? This week, we answer this question and many others, as we begin our foray into Monster Fucking.
Why not join us, as we judge James' very questionable taste, find out about Grace's first crush, and settle once and for all if Bowsette counts as a monster.
(By the way, Good Omens S2 spoilers at 51-54:30)
If that sounds your thing, the full episode is here, and all the other podcast places too:
youtube
And join us again in two weeks, when we pick out our favourites!
#monster/human#monster fucker#podcast#fanfiction#the shipping forecast#ao3#vampires#bigfoot#brief mentions of ghost#Monsters Inc#guillermo del toro#the patron saint of monsterfuckers#monster romance#monster x human#loch ness monster#Spotify#Youtube
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
Florence watches Chris brush her hair in front of the floor-length mirror. There is something utterly, timelessly charming about a woman thoughtfully brushing her hair. It’s one of the treasured moments that make her feel less tied to her age, less tangled up in history. This – smooth, careful strokes combing through long, raven tresses – is a moment that might as well have occurred a century ago. Even though the brush wouldn’t have been plastic then, and undercuts were not yet in fashion.
Even from across the room she can hear Chris’ heart beating, strong and warm and alive. It’s such a common sound. So normal, so human. Everything she is not.
“You better not be making yourself guilty again.” Chris directs two reproachful eyes Florence’s way, her head still slanted and her fingers still combing through her hair. “I can’t be having that.”
Florence shakes her head, but Chris’ dark eyes narrow and she sweeps across the room to sit down on her lap, all sun-kissed skin and perfumed hair. She winds her arms around Florence’s neck.
“You know Goethe, right?” she asks.
“Mm,” Florence hums, more than a little distracted. “Nice guy, a touch dramatic.”
Chris pokes her in the ribs, making her squirm. “Shut up you didn’t know, Goethe. You weren’t alive in 1832, much less undead.”
“I know of Goethe, yes,” she relents, smiling.
“Well, he knew what was up, all the way back in seventeen-whatever.”
There’s poetry coming. Florence can see it in Chris’ eyes, in the way she draws breath, in the slightest change in her voice as she recites:
And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
"How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so!
If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy,
Thou must learn this secret sad to know;
Yes! the maid, whom thou
Call'st thy loved one now,
Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."
Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
While love's youthful might pervades his frame:
"Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!
Florence listens, silently, her arms wrapped loosely around Chris’ waist.
“See?” Chris says. “Death means nothing love.”
“I didn’t know you when I was alive,” she says, softly, and painfully fond.
Chris face is close enough to hers for her eyes to be as deep as the night’s sky. “But you love me now.”
“Yes-”
Their kiss only lasts as long as Chris can keep down the rest of her poetry. She rests her head against Florence’s shoulder when their lips part and murmurs:
But from out my coffin's prison-bounds
By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove,
While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
That your priests delight in, useless prove.
Water, salt, are vain
Fervent youth to chain,
Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!
From my grave to wander I am forc'd,
Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link,
Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,
And the life-blood of his heart to drink;
She had never cared much for poetry. Not until she heard Chris recite it. “How does it end?” Florence asks quietly. “Your poem.”
Chris lifts her head and gives an indifferent shrug with her shoulders. “They both die, of course, it is ancient. And Goethe loved a tragedy.” She smiles. “But that won’t happen to us. I’ll join you. Some day.”
Florence sighs. Some day. She wraps her arms tighter around Chris, feeling her every breath and heartbeat. “That’s all well and good for you,” she complains. “But I have to face your mother afterwards.”
Chris laughs and it sounds like the memory of sunlight. “It’s her own fault. Tell her that if Ma scolds you.”
She rests her forehead against Florence’s, still smiling like the sun, and Florence can't help but smile back, fangs and all.
“If she didn’t want me to fall in love with you...she shouldn’t have named me Christabel.”
#sometimes you just gotta go full poetic romantic nonsense#wlw romance#vampire#vampires#monster/human#laura drabbles#the poem is The Bride of Corinth by Goethe translated by Edgar Alfred Bowring#I'll put a link in the replies#I found this poem while looking for inspiration for a story I'm writing with a friend#and it's just too good
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
lost in the labyrinth
Summary: a different take on the Minotaur in his Labyrinth, perhaps with a less tragic ending
Word count 294
Read here on ao3
Your heart beat loudly as a war drum, a ringing in your ears that drowned out the lamentations that greeted your ship.
Poor little noble, they cried as you were selected for the beast. Poor little noble, the king thought when you noticed the pitied looks from his face. You almost wished you were close enough to scoff in their faces at it all.
You, the heir of a noble family now chosen as a sacrifice to the horrific child of Pasipahe, a monster created by the gods for their entertainment. Yet if only they knew that others never felt the same.
As you and the cowering others were escorted into the cursed structure, you swallowed your fear as the dank smell of the ones who came before overwhelmed you.
Breaking away, you made yourself scarce in the crevices as the cries and shouts of others progressively faded away with each passing second. You didn’t let your mind wander to assume the worst.
Then, the lumbering steps clambered closer to you. The gruff snorts, low growls and hooves dragging along the floor
He paused as he saw you, an unreadable expression across his face that gave away nothing but also conveyed everything. Fear. Awe. Surprise. Shock. He who was your childhood friend now love who you wanted to free from this living torture before that arrogant hero got to him first.
“You’re here….they chose you?” With shaky breaths, you looked up at him with as much determination as you could muster.
“They did. But this was also my choice.” You held out your hand to him, taking the first step in a new life without any kingdoms, or gods, or heroes interfering.
A shaky gnarled hand reached out to grab yours as well.
#exophilia#monster x human#monster x y/n#monster x reader#monster x you#minotuar#Minotaur x you#Minotaur x reader#monster lover#monster boyfriend#greek mythology#fanfic#writeblr#monster/human#Minotaur/human
263 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mine, Mine, Mine (Male!Reader x Male!Tentacle Monster)
Pairing: Male! Reader x Male! Tentacle Monster
Word Count: 1266 words
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content Ahead (18+ ONLY), Non-Consensual, Kidnapping, Mind-Break, Manipulation
Summary: It's been too many days, trapped in this creatures lair. Days of being manhandled, toyed with, and pleasured and very little else. Reality feels so far away. Yet, do you really miss it?
Based off this Request: Horny as hell so...... Male reader with tentacles monster buttttttt the monster has a human body. Give whatever the hell name you want it. It have a human body and has a tentacle on his back. Reader getting f and got turned into dumb wh0re. Breeding, mind breaking and non con but reader like it after. Also in the end the reader decides to abandon his life and wants to become the monster f toys.
Maybe the monster is also smart and knows how to break the reader so now he has a mate that just needs to be f everyday and he doesn't mind it? He loves it!
You’ve begun to lose track of time.
The days have started breaking into chunks: The time when you’re fed, the time when you’re cleaned, and the time when you’re fucked. The chunks usually blend together, the inky break being when you either pass out from over stimulation or exhaustion. The creature respects that boundary, at least.
You know it’s almost time for feeding when the creature’s tentacle begins to slide up your leg, waking you from your half-stupor with his cold slime. Your stomach growls, craving the fresh fruit and bread after a night of debauchery.
But first, you must behave. You must perform for the creature.
All you can remember in the moment is the creatures name; Mikar. The creature liked when you called his name, he treated you well when you moaned it in his ear.
Your stomach growls again. You’ll make sure to say his name extra today. Mikar, Mikar, Mikar.
“Rise and shine, sweetling.” Mikar purrs, his hand running up your bare side. The temperature feels sharp against your skin, sending unpleasant goosebumps down your arm. “I want to see that handsome face.”
An icy finger turns your face toward his, a sickeningly sweet smile on his human facade. His green, unkempt hair hangs down like a curtain, his bright yellow eyes just peeking through. His skin is a similar color, mottled by freckles and spots.
“Say Good Morning, don’t be impolite.” Mikar whispers, although that makes it no less a command.
“Good morning.” Your weak voice sends a tizzy through him, showing his fangs in an even bigger grin. He lunges forward and nuzzles the side of your face, a kind of open affection you’ve learned to just accept.
“Hmmm, it was so hard not to play with you in your sleep, darling. You looked so adorable, all bundled up in your blankets.” Mikar nips a kiss at your jaw, which you try not flinch away from. That burning in your stomach is getting stronger and urges you to stay on your best behavior. “But I knew you needed your rest, I’m not a monster who would deprive you of that.” He taps your nose, nuzzling into the side of your neck with a kiss. “But, now that you’re up.”
A wayward hand slips down to your crotch, rubbing your cock with a gentle stroke. It’s barely covered by the flimsy cloth Mikar has yiu dressed in, pushed aside for easy access.
But the pleasure isn’t bad, not like it used to be. You find yourself sinking into his touch, biting your lip when Mikar starts jerking you off in earnest. Mikar chuckles into your neck, now lying down by your side. Mikar grabs your wrist with his other hand and guides it to his crotch, palming his own dick with your hand. Moving with practice, you immediately grip his base and begin stroking. Mikar purrs into your ear, whispering a “Good boy.”
A wayward tentacle pulls at your leg, encouraging you to open up. It’s met with little resistance, eagerly slipping down up your thigh. The chilled slime leaves goosebumps on your skin, but you suck it up as the tip begins to circle your tight ring of muscle. You just try to relax, throwing your leg over Mikar’s and giving the tentacle easier access. Mikar licks his lips. “Eager this morning, aren’t you?”
You don’t dignify him with a response, but you can’t lie and say that his hands don’t feel good. That the tugging at your core sneaks away your exhaustion, that deep melancholy that had been lingering for days. That the burning as his tentacle pushes into you doesn’t feel like it gives the illusion of being alive, not just survival.
You throw your head back, falling into Mikars lips to escape your racing thoughts. He chuckles, pressing loving pecks against your cheek before capturing you in a sloppier kiss. He makes no move to hide his noises, groaning as he fucks his tentacle deeper and deeper into you. Your handjob has turned sloppy, shaky, but he keeps a tight grip on your cock. Mikar begins matching the pace of the tentacle, slow and methodical.
“Mikar.” You purr, wishing it wasn’t a genuine reaction to his ministrations. But it makes Mikar squeeze your base, the delicious burning only growing hotter. The tentacle inside you presses and massages your prostate, the dextrous tip knowing exactly how to make you feel incredible. It's why you can’t stop your hips from jerking backwards, fucking yourself on the appendage with a desperate need. A need developed over days and days of just this.
“So greedy.” Mikar nips at your neck, just enough to make you flinch, the slightest hint of satisfaction stirring fear in your gut. “But I’m a nice monster.”
Mikar whispers, yet you feel the tentacle slowly leaving you. You whine at the stretched muscle, even more so when Mikar stops jerking you off, batting your hand away from his cock. “I know you just need a refresher on your manners. Hmm? Now…” The familiar cockhead presses against your ass, two tentacles now lingering in between your thighs, teasing the skin but not approaching your erection. “What's the magic word?”
No, don’t do it. Fight. Resist.
“Please.” You all but plead, Mikars satisfactory purrs feeling too nice against you sweaty skin.
“Good boy.”
Mikar kicks it back up with a fervor, his readied cock shoved inside your asshole as tentacles immediately latch onto your dick. You gasp, but your head is quickly ripped back by clawed fingers, Mikar forcing you to look at him in the eyes. His hips and grip give you no relief from the sensation, though you find it feels better than you ever thought this would.
Skin slaps against skin and the schlick of his tentacle ooze as its jerks you off, only adding to the cacophony in your mind. As his hips piston into you, Mikar kisses and snarls against your cheek, muttering half-praises while he enjoys your body.
“Such a sweet pet, so handsome, all for me.” He growls, his nails digging into your cheeks, admiring your debauched face. “Did you dream of this, darling? Did your body crave me while I was gone?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” You all but scream, chasing the ever nearing high of your climax. While one tentacle strokes your cock, another fondles your sack while Mikar fucks you with a determination, a need. His kisses are biting against your neck, all teeth and surely leaving bruises. It’s terrible, it’s amazing.
“Thats it, come for me darling. Come.”
He must have felt the way your abdomen spazzed, because the rush of your orgasm does immediately reach. Your cum spurts out, quickly lapped up by ravenous tentacles. Then the hot stream of Mikar’s semen fills you up, a comforting warmth spreading through your lower half as he finally sinks out of you.
Your breathing is labored, your body radiating heat as your lungs try to catch up to your heart. Mikar is as unbothered as ever, a simpering smile and a loving touch wiping away sweat from your back. His tentacles move off your body and you can feel him moving away. Whether it’s to get you some water, food, or just to leave, you’re not sure. But your hand whips out before you can think, latching onto his wrist.
“Stay.” You whimper, breatheless and delusioned.
Mikar smiles, setting into your side, drawing circles into your abdomen. You think he says something, but you can’t make it out.
You’ve all but forgotten your aching stomach, content with what you have.
#my writing#reader insert#male reader insert#monster x reader#monster romance#monster/human#tentacle monster x reader
771 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Human Influence.
Samael X Reader.
This is a 10,000 word continuation from this little ask I received a while ago.
Summary: Lilith brings her Prince a 'gift,' all trussed up in a silver chain and collar. To her credit, if anyone were to ask her if she thought Samael had a soft spot, she would never in a million eons dream that the answer might be 'yes.' Unfortunately for the demon queen, Samael's little 'soft spot' just so happens to be attached to the chain she grasps in her sleek, black claws.
-----
Samael won’t even vaguely pretend that he’s pleased to see Lilith when she comes strutting with a purpose through the doors to his throne room, her pretty, painted lips black as night and twisted into that self-assured grin he so detests.
The demon prince’s cragged chin sits perched upon his knuckles as he lounges inattentively in the seat of his throne, tracing Lilith’s sauntered path towards him over the black, basalt floor.
Neither of them bothers to pretend they’re especially pleased to see the other, even if it has been several months since Lilith set foot in Shadow’s Edge. She, however, puts in just slightly more effort than Samael, lifting her lips into a sultry smile when she catches him looking her way.
Just as he begins to wonder what kind of favour she might try to curry from him today, something glints in the light cast by the moat of lava that surrounds the room, and he drops his gaze slightly to find a silver chain clutched between his mistress’s talons.
Thick and cumbersome, it disappears behind her inverted wings, pulled ever so taut, doubtlessly locked fast around the neck of her latest little plaything.
Heaving a great sigh through his nostrils, the prince casts a bored glance between Lilith’s coiled horns in an idle attempt to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate creature that’s stumbling along in tow.
If he weren’t such an expert in maintaining his impenetrable countenance, he might have lurched forwards in his seat and crushed the armrests beneath his claws at what, or rather who he spies at the end of his mistress’s chain.
As it is, Samael’s only outward reaction is in the barest twitch of his pointed tail and the quirk of a scaly brow.
Inwardly however, a spark ignites.
‘She didn’t,’ he seethes to himself as an ugly, howling rage begins to stir in his belly, whipped up like flames in the wind, ‘Not this human… Any human but-…’
You.
His little storyteller…
It can’t be you. Not so soon after the Horsemen took you back from him the first time.
Questions fly around his skull like rapid, biting gnats. It’s hardly been a full Earth month since you were here last. He’s been keeping close tabs on your movements, not to mention the Four have barely let you out of their sight for a moment – How could Lilith have sunk her claws into you!?
Mistaking the subtle shift of his attention as a show of interest, the demoness’s lips carve upwards into a sharper smile as she blows a lustful breath between her fangs, prowling to a halt at the foot of Samael’s throne with her hips cocked.
“My Lord,” she all but purrs, dipping into a low bow and very deliberately exposing more of her chest than Samael finds either tasteful or necessary, “It has been far too long~.”
Alluring, golden eyes flick up to peer at him through her lashes, yet her smile wavers ever so slightly when she finds that his attention is fixed elsewhere.
He can’t tear his eyes from your face.
Samael’s nostrils flare wide to inhale the tangy scent of iron on the air. He’d know that smell a mile off. After all, he’s well acquainted with blood. It rises above the chamber’s usual aroma of brimstone and dank moisture, with a source that his well-trained nose can trace directly back to you.
Lilith, it would seem, hasn’t brought you to him unscathed.
Even the Prince of Hell himself is taken aback as the anger churning in his guts starts to boil, bubbling up from his stomach like putrid smoke and rising to fill the crevices of his chest.
A trickle of scarlet blood runs a track from your swollen, purpling nose down over quivering lips to gather at the bottom of your chin, where it drips steadily to the ground by your feet with soft, little splats that permeate the silence sitting like a smog between you.
One of your captivating eyes has swelled shut behind a dark bruise, and from your other eye – the one he tries and fails to meet – streams a veritable river of tears, cutting a path through the dirt on your cheek and mingling with the blood in the dip of your chin.
Like an ancient building falling to ruin, Samael’s unshakable composure slowly starts to crumble. Lowering his fearsome, yellow eyes to your neck, he locks his sights on the metal collar that Lilith must have fastened tightly around your throat, causing every breath to leave you in tiny, pitiable wheezes.
The delicate skin below it has been rubbed red and raw…
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Samael barely manages to compose himself, ducking his head and attempting to catch your eye again. And yet, your gaze slides away from his, fixing itself resolutely on the ground below your bare feet.
Lilith must have snatched you away in the dead of night, if the white, cotton sleepshirt hanging from your frame is any indication.
She stole you when you were at your most vulnerable…
Coward.
Easing his clenched jaws apart, the prince aims a poisonous glare over at his queen, his lips curling down at their corners. “Lilith,” he utters, his voice like tar moving under the earth, low and dangerous, “What… is the meaning of-?”
“- A gift, my Lord,” she interrupts smoothly, proud as a cat with a dove in its jaws, “A present, in part, to…. apologise for the time I’ve spent absent from your side…”
Frankly, he muses, her absence in itself has been gift enough.
Twitching her head sideways to peer over her shoulder at you, Lilith’s expression suddenly contorts into a snarl that mars her attractive features as she gives the end of your chain a jarring, vicious yank.
Samael’s spine snaps straight as you’re wrenched forwards by the neck with a strangled croak, collapsing onto your knees and throwing your trembling hands up to claw feebly at the collar, but the hateful piece of silver has been cinched so tightly around your throat, you can’t even squeeze your fingertips beneath it to relieve some of the pressure.
Curling his enormous hand into a fist, Samael raises his chin and stares down at you, his burning, fire-laden stare aflame with anticipation.
As much as he dreads the thought, he half expects a groan of pleasure to tumble from your lips.
Lilith’s… obscene influence is as powerful as it is repulsive. It’s an ancient, inherent magic that can pervert the mind of even the most pious angel and turn them into just another of the demoness’s depraved and lustful thralls.
She’s tainted the sanity of far more powerful souls than yours, through no effort at all on her part. And yet…
And yet, to the prince’s astonishment – and surprisingly, his relief - there are no needy moans, no adoring looks at his mistress, no grasping hands that stretch out across the space between you and her skin as if you couldn’t possibly live for another second without feeling her scales roll beneath your fingertips.
All Samael can see in your eye is a bone deep terror, all he can hear from your lips are quiet, wheezing breaths. Your hands are still your own, still clutching and scrabbling at the collar locked around your throat.
As twisted as it seems, he’s glad to see your terror, but… How are you still in your right mind?
“Bow before your betters, Ape!” Lilith spits, hauling on the chain once more so that you’re yanked forwards, thrown off balance and landing harshly on your hands and knees beside her with a strangled sob, “Or else I shall feed your legs to the Hell hounds!”
Now, Samael is the furthest thing from a saint. His cruelty, depravity and occasional grabs for power might be considered by many to be on par with Lilith’s own, craven deeds.
He’s a Prince of Hell, after all. The enemies he’s slain could fill all the rivers of Eden with their blood.
But… you’re not one of Samael’s enemies…
You’re not even a political target, despite your affiliation with the Four Horsemen.
You’re just…
You’re you.
For what you’ve had to endure, during the Apocalypse and your journey alongside the Horseman, Death, to bring your species back from extinction, for being the foremost intermediary between Humanity and the rest of Creation, you’re worthy of respect. Not… this.
Seeing his little storyteller bloodied and broken, bound on your knees in front of him doesn’t stir anything in the demon except a… a heaviness in his chest. He’s never once given his cold, ancient heart much consideration, but he certainly notices it now when it gives a sudden and unexpected twist.
He can only think to attribute such a sensation to the rage swelling behind his ribs.
Fire ignites beneath his scales and burns a path through his veins until he’s contemplating simply tearing Lilith to pieces for laying her vile claws on you. But… that would be showing his hand…
And Samael hasn’t been on the throne this long by showing his hand…
If Lilith catches the slightest whiff of a weakness in him, she’ll try to exploit that weakness to her own advantage.
She could kill you if she thought for a moment that your death would get to him.
As much as he’s loathe to admit it, it would.
Unfortunately for her, Samael was always better at playing high-stakes games than she ever was…
Plastering a sultry grin on her lips, she watches as her Prince leans himself forwards in the throne, balancing his chin atop steepled fingertips.
She must think him a fool…
You were never intended to be a gift for him.
This isn’t her attempting to win her way between his sheets after several months spent away from his fortress.
All this is, is Lilith drawing the Four Horsemen right to his doorstep.
When he brought you here the first time and the Horsemen arrived to rescue you, the only reason he came out unscathed was because you yourself were unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched. He’d kept his word to you, and never once laid a finger on you in malice.
You’d even vouched for him when War exploded into his all-powerful Chaos Form and charged hell-for-leather at the demon.
“War! Don’t!” you’d pleaded shrilly, hurling yourself between the charging behemoth and a bemused Samael, “He didn’t hurt me! Look at me! I’m fine! Please, just… just take me home…”
You knew the demon wielded powers that could easily match those of the Horsemen, and you weren’t willing to risk the safety of your friends.
Samael had been counting on your intervention. Without it, he’s sure his fortress wouldn’t have been left standing in once piece after an all-out battle between himself and the Four.
But if the Horsemen were to turn up now to find you in this state…? And they surely will, because Death won’t neglect to investigate the prince’s involvement for a second time.
Well… Samael is sure to come out of it losing something, even if not his life.
The tenuous reinstatement of peace between Hell and the other realms would no doubt be ripped up.
The Horsemen would declare war on him in your name. You’re one of theirs, after all.
And Lilith knows that.
“Let me see if I understand your intentions here,” Samael rumbles, planting his massive palms on each of the throne’s armrests and curling his black claws into the stone, “You have brought me.. this human…“
He has to bite his tongue before he almost says your name, though Lilith gives no indication that she’s noticed the near miss.
Sweat has begun to bead between her scales, and the stench of it drifts into his nose.
She’s nervous.
“Not just any human,” she rushes to assure him, twisting her fist into the chain and hauling you -hacking and spluttering – back up onto your feet, “Allow me to introduce you to the little pest that belongs to those treacherous Horsemen.”
Samael’s fangs grind together as she extends a sleek, ebony claw and slides its point beneath your chin, pushing your head back, and for the first time since she brought you before him, your eyes finally lock with his.
He almost wishes they hadn’t.
Samael must favour you more than he assumed, because the look you’re sending him empties the fury in his chest until it merely feels hollow and cold.
Even with one eye wedged shut and blood painting your lips crimson, he can easily make out the betrayal pinching your expression. It’s an expression he’s well-accustomed to.
But on you, it’s hard to look at. Predominantly because there was a moment, however briefly, where you seemed to trust him, if only a little – which was a damn sight more than anyone ever has before.
It wasn’t… an unwelcome feeling, to have someone believe him at his word. Not even his own troops would trust him. Lilith – the very demoness who used to share his bed – knows better than to trust him. And, yes, while it was terribly naïve of you, Samael had ended up proving you right, in some small way.
You trusted him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you, and he hadn’t.
Until now, evidently.
He can understand why he’s getting this look from you now.
He once swore you’d never come to harm within his walls, not by his hand nor any of his ilk’s.
Of course, it would be Lilith who shattered what fragile and hesitant faith you’ve granted him. In your eyes, by mere affiliation, Samael is responsible for his former mistress’s actions.
“You’ve brought the Horsemen’s human right to my doorstep?” he growls heavily, pushing himself up onto his taloned feet.
His chest gives an unexpected twinge when you take a step back, though he’ll admit it’s gratifying to see the confidence drain from Lilith’s face as he rises to his full, imposing height.
“And what do you suppose they’ll do, Lilith,” he adds, “When they find their precious friend in this condition, hm?”
A heavy, thundering step carries him down the stone staircase towards her.
The demoness’s forked tongue darts out to moisten her lips. She matches his advancement with a backwards step that brings her up alongside you. “This,” she starts apprehensively, “This is your chance… to take revenge on-!”
“-Revenge!?” Samael’s thunderclap of an interruption stifles the last remnants of cockiness in her tone and she hastily retreats as he draws closer, letting a few links of the chain slip through her slender fingers.
As soon as it goes slack, you take the opportunity to stagger sideways, putting as much distance between yourself and the two, massive demons as the chain will allow, your wary eye affixed on Samael, as if he’s the greater threat.
“And what offence have the Horsemen cause me that would warrant revenge?” the demon prince demands, endeavouring to keep his gaze trained on Lilith.
Her slitted pupils shrink as badly concealed irritation flashes across her face and her lips twitch with the beginnings of a snarl. It must have occurred to her, at last, that she isn’t fooling anyone.
This was never about Samael’s tenuous alliance with the Horsemen. It’s only ever been about Lilith, as always. Once again, her desire for vengeance for what the Four did to her Nephilim children has superseded her common sense.
Even thousands of years after the massacre at Eden, she still seeks retribution.
She always has been a master of manipulation - Pit the Horsemen against the Prince of Darkness, and no matter which of them emerges the victor, it’s Lilith who ends up reaping the spoils.
If Samael succeeds, she’ll have finally had her revenge on the Horsemen, but if the Four succeed, she’ll be free to move in and take the prince’s throne.
She certainly knows how to play the game.
It’s just unfortunate for her that he’s been playing it a whole Hell of a lot longer, and he always has so hated to lose.
Her first mistake was taking him for a fool.
Her second, and far more grievous, was taking you at all.
She’ll face retribution, for that he’ll make certain, though her punishment won’t necessarily be for the reason she expects.
Lilith’s mouth twists. He can already hear the venomous words curdling on her tongue, no doubt readying a jab at his cowardice for being unwilling to face the Horsemen’s wrath. She never gets the chance to voice whatever cruel sentiment rises behind her gorge.
Without warning, Samael’s hand snaps out, his fingers curled over and aimed straight at his former mistress. Before she can even utter a squawk of alarm, a dark, festering tendril of magic slithers into existence, ripped from between the fabrics of space itself and sent to coil around her neck like a serpent, crushing in on her throat with a pressure that only increases with every flex of Samael’s fingers.
At once, and as he’d hoped, Lilith drops your chain to throw her hands up and scrabble uselessly at the magic strangling her. But magic, by nature, is intangible. Her claws can’t make purchase.
“What say you, Lilith?” he growls, a vindictive smirk revealing two rows of gleaming, wicked fangs, “Is this still as gratifying as you remember?”
The demoness’s mouth hangs agape as she collapses heavily onto her knees. ‘There,’ he muses, letting a wave of sick satisfaction roll over him, ‘At last.’
Poetic justice if he’s ever seen it.
The feeblest sound twitches his ear, and he stills, flicking his gaze down to the human in their midst.
A single, undamaged eye shines back up at him, sparkling in the firelight that glints off the tears rolling down sodden cheeks. In a lone blink, Samael’s dark magic falters and the snarl on his lips withers as he studies your face.
You’re still crying… A sight that should have gladdened and satisfied him only renders the demon unpleasantly hollow. Perturbed, Samael tries to shake off the unexpected weight of your distress piling up on his shoulders… He soon finds, however, that he can’t.
Lilith’s wheezing gargle that sounds a little too much laughter snaps his attention back onto her and he growls, his fingers quivering with the pressure of closing the magic coil even more firmly around her throat to cut off any other, sinful sound she tries to make.
Sudden movement to his right draws his scorching glare down to the spot you’d been hunching in mere seconds ago, only to find it empty.
Inverted, leathery wings stiffen as he whips his gaze up and finds you stumbling away from him as fast as your wobbly legs can carry you, heading in a backwards run for the exit of his throne room to the corridors beyond. The silver chain rattles along in your wake.
It’s only by a fraction... just a fraction… but Samael’s wild and wrathful gaze starts to soften.
Heaving a sigh, he turns his focus back to Lilith once more.
She’s still on her knees, still choking on the magic locked tight around her throat, but her eyes are fixed coldly on the prince’s, her pupils narrowed to thin, catlike slits.
He knows then that she saw it. She saw the malice fade from his snarl as he looked at you…
Bristling, Samael peels his lips back and bares his teeth down at her. He can tell she’s trying to do the same, throwing as much hatred into her glare as she can, despite the agony that no longer seems to bring her any semblance of sick pleasure.
Right now though, he has more important matters to attend to.
“Begone from my sight,” he hisses. And with a final, dismissive flick of his wrist, he disperses the band around her neck.
Lilith’s gasp is loud enough to echo through the cavernous chamber.
Crumpling forwards onto her hands and knees – just as you had only moments ago – she greedily sucks down several lungfuls of air as Samael sweeps past her, his nostrils flaring, hoping he’ll catch your scent before you can run too far.
He barely makes it to the entrance before a cold, breathless chuckle reaches his ears.
“Oh~” she rasps in a haggard voice, “Oh, isn’t that precious…..”
Like a dark moonrise, Lilith picks her head up and spins it over a shoulder, glaring maniacally after his retreating back.
Samael doesn’t linger to hear what else she has to say, but the fortress rings with the shrillness of her cackles, her voice chasing his shadow as he in turn follows after the trail of blood droplets you’ve left to seep into the cracks of the basalt floor.
“The Horsemen will hear of this, my love! They will know! Who would have guessed that a human will be your doom!?”
-----
If nothing else, at least the stench of blood is easy enough to track.
Samael is not the kind of demon to hurry, but he’s well aware that his fellow demonic hordes can sniff out a wounded human from a mile away. So, if his thundering footsteps fall a little more hastily that usual… well, that’s his business.
For someone so injured, you’ve made good ground.
Unrelenting in his pursuit, the prince follows your scent up a winding, spiralling staircase and along a vast corridor all the way to a room that had seen much use just last month.
“Ah,” he muses aloud. Of course, it would make sense you’d come back here.
He finds himself standing outside the doors to your old prison.
The bed chambers he’d kept you in after he stole you from Earth.
His fortress is large and labyrinthian. It’s likely you fled along the only path you could recognise.
The moment he ducks his horns through the entrance and steps into the dimly lit room, he’s struck by an acrid concoction of blood and terror.
The bed to his left sits innocuous and innocent, perfectly unassuming.
But he’s the one who had it put there, so he knows of the small space between the springs and the floor, just enough of a gap for a human to squeeze themselves into, should they be so inclined.
Turning towards it, he carefully lowers himself onto a knee, breathing a sigh as he reaches for the silken, burgundy sheets that hang over the side and drape all the way to the ground.
“I wish I could tell you I’m not glad to see you again so soon, little one,” he rumbles, pinching the sheets between his thumb and forefinger and raising them slowly off the ground, “But in truth, I’ve been hoping our paths would cross again, though perhaps not under these circumstances…”
Stooping low, his burning gaze illuminates the dark, dusty space between the mattress and the ground, and there, in the shadows, he finds you.
“There you are…”
Curled into a tiny ball, you peer up at the demon’s colossal face, your pretty eyes blown wide with horror. That wretched, silver chain is still digging like teeth into your neck, rendering each breath that passes your lips small and lacking.
The prince’s browbones dip into a frown. “Come here…” he utters, neither commanding, nor passive. Just a request.
Yet still, you flinch at it despite its gentleness.
The smell of liquid iron – once so tantalising – now itches at the insides of his nostrils. You’re still bleeding freely, but…
That isn’t all that troubles Samael.
He doesn’t know how long Lilith has held you, and you haven’t yet said a single word to him.
He doesn’t like this silence, not from you.
A sudden urgency strikes him in the chest, though he mistakes it for impatience, and he emits a low growl from his throat, a sound of frustration, not anger.
Without giving you a moment to prepare, he promptly slides one, enormous paw beneath the bed frame and simply tips the entire thing up onto two of its legs, exposing you completely to his searching glare.
Recoiling in shock, you immediately heave yourself off your stomach and try to get your feet underneath you, only to find the escape attempt thwarted by a gigantic, leathery hand that closes swiftly, yet gingerly around your torso, plucking you up off the cold ground.
Samael’s shoulders drain of tension once he has you safe in his clutches. Swallowing back a throaty rumble, he raises you towards his chest and stoops to lower the bed once again, all the while subjecting you to his unflinching scrutiny.
The demon’s lips peel back to reveal his teeth as he takes a closer look at the swelling around your eye and the crookedness of your bleeding nose. At the sight of his fangs lingering dangerously close to your face, you utter a pitiable whimper and clutch frantically at the fingers circling your waist, making a valiant, yet futile attempt to shove them away from your night shirt.
You may as well be trying to bend steel beams.
“Did she touch you?” he suddenly urges, his voice strangely thin and ragged.
He needs to know… He needs to confirm for himself that Lilith hasn’t spoiled his little storyteller’s soul.
Your struggling pauses briefly as you tip your head back and fix him with an incredulous, pinched look, your bruised eyelid twitching as if to say, ‘What the Hell do you think?’
‘Ah…’ he realises, ‘You misunderstand.’
“I can see she has hurt you,” he elaborates with an uncharacteristic patience, lowering his gaze to that intimate place that’s safely hidden behind his fingers, just below your naval, “I need to know if she touched you…”
Perhaps the angle of his stare is a little crass, but at least you catch on swiftly, and begin to squirm unhappily in his grip.
The fact that the fierce shake of your head is delayed does little to ease his flaring temper.
“I need to hear your words, little storyteller,” he murmurs in his low, resonant timbre.
Your good eye grows wide as he raises the forefinger of his free hand and brushes it over the silver collar wound around your neck.
The anticipation screws your face up tight and you flinch back, eye squeezing shut. Yet rather than pain, you’re instead hit with shocking and blessed relief.
At the demon’s touch, the collar comes apart with a jarring snap and the whole thing slides from your throat, rattling down to the ground below your dangling feet.
A gasping breath is sucked down into your lungs too quickly, causing you to lurch forwards over his thumb with a grating cough, lifting your hands up and stroking at the tender, red flesh left behind with trembling fingers.
Without the chain obscuring them, Samael is given an uninterrupted view of the dark band of bruises that have been burned like a brand around the circumference of your throat.
Sparks of white-hot fire burst from his lips as he spits a curse in the demonic tongue.
You’re still breathing raggedly, choking on each grateful sip of the tepid air.
Samael’s tail coils and lashes as he waits for you to catch your breath before his patience runs thin and he bites out, “Do not make me ask you a third time…” Raising you up to dangle in front of his fiery eyes, he makes sure you meet them. “Did she touch you?”
“N-No!” you finally manage to gasp, watery and weak, thumping at your sternum, “Jesus, not… not like that.”
You shrink as best you can within his fingers as a hot breath washes across your face, averting your attention to the ground beneath him when he spins himself about and sinks down on his haunches, lowering you both onto the bed. The demon’s tail drapes across the silken sheets and a tension he hadn’t yet acknowledged drops from his mighty shoulders.
Mortified at the relief your words lend him, he furrows his brows into a scowl, his eyes fixed on your neck.
“You… lied…”
He blinks at your words, flicking his gaze to your face as a sardonic laugh, devoid of humour, bubbles up and falls out of your mouth. “Of course… you did,” you continue, shaking your head, “Prince of Lies, right? Can’t believe I trusted you…”
It’s an expected remark, but it still hits the demon like a hammer to the chest.
He’d worked damn hard to maintain that tiny little flicker of innocence. To have lost it feels like a devastating blow.
A prince of Hell never apologises, not even to the object of his… concern. But he will at least try to explain himself.
“If I had known what she planned,” Samael begins, carefully lowering you down to his bent knee and settling you onto it as gently as a brute like him ever could, keeping his fingers coiled securely around you lest you try to wriggle free, “I would have tried to stop her.”
You snort sceptically, though you soon cut yourself off with a gasp as the motion sends a shock of burning agony shooting through your nose bone. “Ah! Shit,” you hiss, tugging an arm out from the cage of his fingers and dabbing your own underneath your nostrils, feeling about tentatively for fresh blood.
The most abnormal urge nearly seizes him then, an impulse to bend down and brush his lips tenderly against the skin below your broken nose, using his coarse tongue to wash you clean of blood as he might have done when he first begun courting Lilith, aiming to show her that she’d be well-taken care of should she choose him.
That was, of course, before he discovered how much she abhorred a gentle lover.
Which was a pity. For all his strength and power, Samael rather prides himself on his ability and inclination to remain gentle between the sheets.
Still, he can’t imagine you’ll appreciate the gesture of a cleaning, regardless of his benign intentions.
As swiftly as the urge arrives, he’s beaten it back and sealed it behind a wall of stoic self-restraint.
Perhaps he ought to be less concerned with how you’d react to his courtship, and more concerned with why he’s considering courting a human at all.
A conundrum, he decides, that can wait for another day.
Right now, there’s damage to be undone, not least that which afflicts your nose, eye and neck.
Samael would rather not have you despise him, not after he’s had the fleeting taste of what a cordial rapport with you could feel like…
He begrudgingly finds himself shying away from the term ‘friendship’ because demon lords don’t have friends, especially a lord with his grim and destructive duties.
Absently, he lifts his unoccupied hand up and aims to crook a long, warm finger beneath your chin. His movements pause however, once you catch sight of the claw in your peripheral vision and throw your hands up, catching the tip of his approaching finger before it can come anywhere near your throat.
“Don’t!” you snap, aiming for stern but landing on squeaky.
Samael’s pupils expand to soft, round pits of darkness in a sea of gold as he takes in the miracle of your comparatively tiny hands pushing back against just one of his fingers. A wayward rumble sputters to life in his chest and threatens to travel up his throat where you’re sure to hear it, but with a hard swallow, he smothers the sound of contentment before it can gain traction.
That could have been embarrassing.
He presses his finger closer.
“Don’t touch me!” you reiterate with a particularly hard shove that gets you nowhere.
It’s almost a relief to see the spark of fire behind your eyes. There’s still fight in you. Lilith hadn’t managed to snuff that out either.
“You think I mean to hurt you?” he hums curiously.
Quick as a flash, you retort, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Hm. He supposes that would be fair… if it were anyone other than yourself.
Scolding eyes flare with dangerous luminosity as they scan across your face, and the damage his former bed mate has left behind like cruel reminders of his failure.
“Contrary to popular belief, I hold very little sway over Lilith’s actions,” he points out, “I did not orchestrate what she’s done to you.”
With a resentful huff, your arms sag and he’s allowed to freely bring his fingertip to your chin, tilting your head back to take some of the pressure off your nose. You’ve been hurt – badly – because of him, which is……
… disquieting.
“Perhaps,” he begins slowly in that bone deep murmur, “You would allow me to amend her transgressions against you.”
Suddenly, you grow very still between his fingers, sitting rigidly as suspicion creeps into your brows. Squinting up at him dubiously, you ask, “Why… would you do that?”
Honesty has never been Samael’s favourite policy, and even now, he avoids answering you directly, instead opting to tell you just a fraction of the truth.
“You were not hers to take,” he growls, the undertones of a possessive prince almost broiling up to the surface. He can see your brow furrow even further as you no doubt try to read his expression in that way humans are so adept at, but Samael won’t allow you to ponder too long.
“Do you know any healers?”
Blinking, you fling your eyebrows up at his unexpected query. “Do I…. I’m sorry? What?”
By way of an explanation, the demon flexes his hand on the bed sheet and flicks his tail, grumbling, “I imagine it won’t surprise you to learn that I’m not well-versed in healing magic… So, if you can think of someone who is, I’ll…”
His statement remains unfinished, hanging like a hushed confession, bright and glaring in the air between you.
He’ll take you where you want to go. All you need to do is ask.
What you can’t figure out is why.
There’s a reason the Horsemen are so wary of Samael, why they were all so agitated when they got you back from him the first time. He’s dangerous. You knew that when he took you, and you still know it now.
What does he have to gain by letting you go?
Peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you decide to ask him as much. “You’re… gonna let me leave?” Though you tremble in his grasp, you manage to jut your chin out at him in what little defiance you dare to show.
Samael has always privately commended you for your courage, or at least, your ability to pretend that you’re brave. He knows you’re afraid of him.
Wise. And yet, ironically, you’re perhaps the sole human in existence who has the least reason to fear him.
His great, horned head dips slightly and you don’t miss the throaty hum that sounds far too much like a purr to suit such a brute.
“If that is your wish,” he breathes across your face, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.
His gargantuan face looms even closer, unblinking, yellow eyes peering into your own with unnerving scrutiny that renders you suddenly and painfully shy, enough that you drop your gaze to the massive expanse of scarred flesh that stretches over his chest.
“I… don’t need a healer,” you mutter, “I just want to go home. Please?”
‘Please.’
How could he refuse you when you continue to be so genial with him, despite your pain, despite being back here in this dreary place? He’s never been granted kindness so freely before - kindness without an ulterior motive hidden behind it like the blade beneath a matador’s cape.
You are… an interesting change to the monotony of his gloomy existence.
It isn’t a change he doesn’t intend to lose.
While he’d much prefer to keep you in his fortress a little longer and let your laughter and stories chase away the lonely shadows, Samael’s pragmatic side reminds him resolutely that it would be far more beneficial in the long run to return you to your true home on Earth before the Horseman come kicking his door down.
The demon’s nostrils widen and close as he draws in a long, lazy breath, inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo that sits just below the smell of blood… You must have bathed only a few hours before Lilith took you...
If home is where you want to be, then that’s where he’ll take you.
“Very well,” he announces, raising his unoccupied hand and turning his palm to face the wall nearby.
He doesn’t need to look at your face to know it’s fallen slack with shock. Apparently, his easy acquiescence wasn’t expected.
Smirking to himself, he concentrates on pulling the threads of the Universe apart at their seams to create a hole – a doorway.
Deep in the depths of his mind, an image of your house emerges – your second house, the one the Horsemen had hurriedly moved you into because they thought the old one was compromised with his knowledge of it.
He latches onto the image fast, feeding powerful and ancient magics into the tips of his fingers, sensing the air around him grow hot and charged with energy.
After another moment of letting his magic build, he finally releases it in a rush.
The portal swirls into life right in front of him. One moment, there was nothing, and the next, a large, glassy surface ripples and hums gently on the opposite side of the room, beyond it, the unmoving image of your den beckons.
The change in you is immediate.
“That- that’s my house!” you exclaim in disbelief, leaning forwards over the demon’s thumb to stare gobsmacked at the view beyond the portal.
Flicking his gaze down at you, Samael grants himself the luxury of a rare, genuine smile.
By the time you twist around in his grasp to peer up at him, his usual frown is back in place.
“Shall we?” he asks.
-----------
“Samael?”
“Mm?”
“How’d you know they moved me here?”
All at once, the demon’s long tail ceases to drag itself back and forth across the plush carpet of your bedroom, plunging everything into a heavy silence.
He doesn’t turn to face you, though he can feel your eyes drilling a hole into the back of his skull.
Samael’s own gaze stays adhered to the little bookcase that sits proudly in the corner of your room, its shelves filled to bursting with dog-eared tomes and well-loved stories you couldn’t part with for all the world.
He should have known you wouldn’t miss such a glaringly obvious detail.
The Horsemen had moved you to a new house a little further out from Haven’s suburbs after they got you back from Shadow’s Edge last month. It was laughably easy for your former captor to track you down again – solely for the purpose of keeping a watchful eye on you, of course…. Though look at the good that had done, in the end…
Still, for once, he doesn’t think it’ll make much difference if you know the truth.
“I’ve been watching you,” he hums casually, swinging his clawed hands behind his back, clasping them together just below the juncture of his wings. As he starts to haul his body around to face you, the tips of his spiralling horns scape the ceiling, forcing him to duck his head a little to spare the plaster.
He’d asked, upon setting foot inside for the first time, why it seemed a place more adequately suited to accommodate a maker than a human. It came as little surprise for him to learn that it was, in fact, makers who built the place, and it had been at your own request that they fashioned a home that could easily fit all manner of guests, regardless of their size or species. All of your usual amenities – your bed, your kitchen, are perfectly suited for human use. But the ceilings, doorways and even the windows are grand enough that even Samael can move almost entirely freely inside without having to bend-double to avoid piercing the ceiling with his horns and leathery wings.
Once he’s turned towards the sound of your voice, he has to suppress a smirk at what he sees.
You’ve just emerged from your adjoining washroom, face clean of blood and dressed in a new set of fluffy, blue sleep clothes. In addition to your fresh ensemble, you’ve slapped a bag of frozen vegetables over your bad eye, apparently to relieve the swelling, or so you claim.
And yet, despite the amusing state of dress, you somehow still find it in you to look downright affronted.
“You’ve been watching me?” you echo accusingly, taking a bold step across the room towards him before you seem to think better of squaring up to a prince of Hell and halting in your tracks, “What, it isn’t bad enough you kidnapped me, now you’re keeping tabs on me too?”
A look of abject horror passes across your visible eye and you hasten to glance at each corner of your room as if you’re going to find something heinous lurking in the shadows. “Oh god, have you bugged the whole place?”
Samael hasn’t heard the term, but he can connect the dots.
“I can assure you,” he says, “I have only caught the occasional glimpse of your home from the outside…”
A half-truth. Those ‘occasional glimpses’ had turned into hours of lounging on his throne whilst gazing through a window into your world as you pottered around it. When the weather was fair, he’d see you in the allotment beside the house.
He found it restful to watch you go about your tasks, digging your trowel into the soil, gasping in delight if a bird were to land on the fence nearby.
You’re his own little taste of nepenthe.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you huff, pulling the bag of vegetables away with a grimace, “God… why are you even… Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Watching me!” you wheeze, throwing a hand up in exasperation.
You may have gulped down a couple of painkillers the moment you got back, but straining your voice still twinges your damaged neck. “Why bother!? I’m not a threat to you! Or are you just keeping an eye on me because you plan to steal me again?”
Admittedly, he’s been tempted to do just that several times, but each time, he’s refrained, if not to spare himself from the Horsemen’s wrath, then to keep himself as endeared to you as possible.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he hums.
“That’s not what I asked.”
You stare him down for several seconds through one, narrowed eye, when all of a sudden, your face breaks apart into a wide yawn that seems to catch you wildly off guard.
Throwing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth from view, you half turn from the demon, fighting off the uninvited wave of fatigue.
With the grace of a predator but not the intent of one, Samael pads towards you over the carpeted floor. “You’re exhausted,” he remarks coolly.
Giving your head a rough shake, you sigh and grumble, “Yeah, well… It’s been a long night…”
His encompassing shadow falls across you, blocking out the light from the fixture overhead. Whipping your head around, you glance up and blanch upon realising he’s crept close enough to snatch you.
However, rather than make a move to sweep you off your feet, Samael only flicks a pointed glance down at your cozy, inviting bed. “You should rest.”
“I’ll rest when you’re gone,” you retort, crossing your arms.
‘Fine,’ he snorts to himself. And that’s when he finally makes a move.
All at once, you’re sent stumbling backwards towards the bed as he drops onto his large hands with a thud and begins to prowl towards you like a wolf stalking a doe.
“Woah! Hey!” you bleat, all bravado vanishing in an instant, “What’re you doing!? Stop that!”
The backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumble backwards onto it, dropping the vegetable bag in the process as you scramble to pull yourself upright again, raising your legs off the ground and retreating towards the headboard.
“Perhaps…” Samael growls – or does he purr? “… I am not yet ready to leave…”
He lays one, colossal paw on top of the mattress.
The bed groans suddenly under his weight as he pulls his upper body onto it and begins to settle down amongst the crumpled duvet. Letting out a rumble of contentment, he folds his arms beneath his chin and slumps heavily onto the mattress, causing the springs below you to buckle and screech in protest while he merely gives you a lazy blink.
The sight is so strikingly familiar, you feel the fear drain out of you with a whoosh.
‘Son of a bitch…’ you gripe to yourself, ‘The overgrown lizard’s just getting comfortable for story time…’
Slowly, your brows ease into a flat, unimpressed frown. “Are you serious? Right now?”
Samael only offers a warm chuff and sticks his nose into your heaped duvet, drawing a massive lungful of your smell into his airways.
‘Ah…. There you are…’ he muses.
It seems you’re the only one to have slept here, which he’s glad for. The sheets don’t stink of another’s flesh, nor can he detect the scent of sex…
The prince’s pleased hum is powerful enough to rattle the bed knobs against the wall.
“Don’t you dare start getting comfortable,” your voice pipes up warningly, and he drags a half-lidded eye up to meet your defiant glare.
“I’d like to go to bed,” you forge on, “And I’m not your prisoner anymore. I don’t have to tell you another story for as long as I live.”
You know this routine of his all too well.
When he’d held you captive, he’d often crawl up onto that gigantic bed and drape himself across it whilst you lay in your little corner beneath the silk sheets with his chin resting near your feet. For hours, he’d laze there like a massive, deadly lion, his tail flicking idly as he listened to the stories you’d spin for him, those you could remember from books you read and retained as a child.
You never thought, for one minute, that he’d want to continue that practice outside of his fortress walls.
“I mean it,” you hiss, shoving your legs under the covers and prodding his heavy arm with your toes, as if you might be able to nudge him off the bed, “Thank you for bringing me back, but I am still in a lot of pain, and I’m not in the mood to entertain you tonight.”
Blinking his luminous eyes at you slowly, Samael disregards your protests and utters, “You never finished your tale of the little monarchs by the creek…”
Something in your expression shifts at that, a mote of surprise soothing the wrinkle of your brows.
“You… you remember the Bridge to Terebithia?”
It was the last story you tried to tell him, recounted from memory on the night the Horsemen finally tore the doors down to save you.
“I remember every one of your stories,” he thrums deeply.
“Well… They’re not mine,” you point out, “I just told you what I could remember of the books I used to read…”
“Will you indulge me, little storyteller?” he presses, cocking his horned head sideways until his cheekbone rests upon a broad, scaly forearm, “The tale intrigued me. I’d like to hear how it ends.”
It’s selfish of him to do this, to stay when you’re in dire need of rest… but once the Horsemen see your injuries and inevitably convince you to tell them what happened to you, he anticipates that he won’t be seeing hide nor hair of you for a long, long time. If Death is sensible, he’ll take you off-world and stash you somewhere even Samael can’t reach you. Maybe to that family of makers you’re always gabbing on about.
This moment here and now may well be the last chance he has to speak with you until you persuade the Four to return you to your home on Earth.
“Tell you what,” you grumble, taking him off guard by kicking away the covers and sliding your legs over the side of the bed, “You can read what happens for yourself. I’ve got the book right here.”
The demon raises his head, watching as you cross the room to your bookcase. Drawing to a halt in front of it, you run a finger delicately along the collection of spines before you eventually stop and dig out a book that’s nestled snugly between a pair of thick, glossy tomes.
Flicking this pointed ears forwards, the prince chuffs softly in his throat - a sound born of instinct intended to call you back to the nest. He barely even registers having uttered it.
Soon enough, you’re slipping back underneath your duvet and retrieving the bag of not-so-frozen vegetables, pressing them tenderly to your eye once again.
As Samael lays his head back down, you toss the book across the bed where it lands with a dull thwack beside his chin.
“There,” you huff, sagging backwards into the pillows, “Happy?”
You nearly let out a loud groan when the book is promptly nudged back towards you with the tip of his forefinger.
“Oh, come on, big guy,” you complain, oblivious to how the impromptu nickname sends a spark of interest shooting up the demon’s spine.
“I want you to read to me,” he sighs and settles down again, allowing his eyelids to droop halfway shut, his pupils blown wide like black holes in a thin ring of gold.
“Ugh!” Exasperated, yet more than aware that the prince isn’t one to take no for an answer, you snatch the book off the duvet and start thumbing irritably through its pages. “Why do I have to be the one to read it?”
Your fingers pause briefly, however, when Samael shifts and a warm, solid knuckle suddenly alights upon your arm.
The breath catches in your throat. You hardly dare move. Frozen, you dart a glance down to see his colossal, red hand hovering beside you, the back of his forefinger stroking a gentle line down the bare skin of your shoulder.
His voice reverberates up through the bed, deeper than the purr of a motorcar.
“I like the sound of your voice,” he utters.
The words fall softly, like a prayer sliding off a sinner’s lips.
Hesitant, your gaze moves up to his cragged face and you have to swallow a gasp, admittedly startled by the look you’re receiving.
Why is he staring at me like that?
The demon’s knuckle rolls up to the top of your shoulder again, sending the hairs along your arms standing to attention.
He’s watching you closely through hooded eyes, his smile lopsided and his pupils abnormally large and round and...
Oh dear.
Oh dear, this… could be bad.
Perhaps it’s just your imagination, but… It might explain the gentle looks, the lingering stares, the rage in his eyes when he took in your bloodied face in the throne room… It would definitely explain why he’s still here in your room, and the slow stroke of his knuckle up and down your arm.
You don’t want to even entertain such a foolish notion.
‘I like the sound of your voice.’
Your stomach twists itself into anxious knots as you start to wonder if Samael likes more than just your voice…
Wetting your dry lips, you try to give your arm a slight shrug under the guise of opening the book, conveniently shifting backwards closer to the wall and pulling away from his tender strokes.
“Um, in that case, you’ll have to remind me where I left off…” you manage to eke out, clearing your throat.
If the prince of Hell is stung by your subtle rejection, he makes no mention of it, though his pupils shrink by a fraction as he lays his palm down on the mattress beside you, exhaling warmly across your face.
“The young human… Jess,” he mumbles into the scales on his arm, “He had just returned from the gallery with his tutor…”
Good memory.
“Yes,” you reply quietly, “Yes, that’s right.”
Trying desperately to ignore how suddenly suffocating the demon’s proximity has become, you prop the book up in your lap and start to read.
-------
“The boy was right.”
You startle awake from a light doze, jerking upright on your pillows with an undignified grunt.
‘Did I fall asleep?’
The book sits open in your lap, held loosely between limp fingers.
And Samael is-
You have to resist the urge to kick out your legs when you raise your eyes to find his colossal face resting peacefully between your parted knees. You’ve never been more thankful that you’d put your legs under the covers earlier, though suddenly the duvet doesn’t feel like such an adequate barrier against monsters as it used to be when you were young.
“Huh?” you blurt eloquently, still in the clutches of sleepiness.
Two walls of flesh shift on either side of you, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been more or less surrounded on all fronts.
A pair of thick, muscle-bound arms are curled loosely on the bed to your left and right, close enough that you can feel the demon’s preternatural heat radiating off his skin. To your back is the bedroom wall, while ahead of you lays Samael’s red, rough-hewn face. The black horns jutting from his chin create deep divots in the mattress where they’re pressed.
“The boy,” he repeats, prying an eyelid apart and casting a yellow glow over your face, “He was right. She should not have trusted that rope.”
Oh… Right. The story…
Raising your hand, you nearly pinch the bridge of your nose before a painful throb reminds you not to do that. You’ll have to take some more painkillers soon…
Emitting a sleepy hum, you flop back down amongst the pillows and give a rough exhale. “Wasn’t the rope’s fault it snapped.”
“… Her caretakers did not blame him.”
Ugh. If this is going to turn into another long-winded discussion like the Rainbow Fish….
“Of course they didn’t,” you sigh, tilting your chin down to meet his gaze, “It wasn’t Jess’s fault either.”
“But he could have prevented her death.”
Samael’s probing insistence drags you a little further into the waking world and you start to sit up, propping your weight on your elbows to squint at him.
The demon’s face is like stone, hard and cold. “He could have asked her to accompany him,” he adds in a growl, “But his selfish infatuation with the older human kept him from doing so.”
A gentle frown tugs at your brows. “Jess wasn’t to know what would happen,” you point out, wondering why Samael seems so fixated on the matter.
Lifting his chin off the bed, his nostrils flare and his eyes flick down to the bruises on your neck, staring at them unblinkingly as he retorts, “He knew the rope was untrustworthy. He could have kept her away from it.”
“Well… Sure but… then it wouldn’t have been such an effective story.”
“Mph,” he grumbles, scowling at the wall behind your head, “I seem to recall telling you that I prefer stories with happy endings…”
You chew on that for a minute before closing your eye and offering him a drowsy shrug. “Good stories don’t always have to have a happy ending,” you tell him, your voice thick with fatigue, “Happy endings are nice, but it’s important that we’re told stories that… you know, like, challenge our morals and stuff.”
“… Go on,” he nudges when you fall silent.
Heaving a sigh, you whine, “I don’t know. I am way too tired to be having in-depth discussions like this at the crack of dawn.”
“Why read stories of tragedy and death? The tale only upset you.”
“Oh my god,” you whisper in exasperation, resigning yourself to the conversation, “I guess, because… if all we’re consuming is clean and good and happy, then when bad stuff does inevitably happen to us, I don’t think we’re ever really prepared for it. If that even makes sense.”
Samael’s lips quirk up at their corners, and he slides his gaze down to you again. “The way your mind works never fails to intrigue me.”
“Pft, it’s not working much at all at the moment,” you huff.
He hadn’t realised before meeting you, that this is what his relationships had always lacked. This is what he’s been missing.
Dialogue.
Nothing more than that. The simplest thing of all.
This sleepy conversation with you is ten thousand times more preferable to the cold, empty silences that would stretch across the massive void of bedsheets between he and Lilith.
His smile fades slowly as he finds himself drawn, as ever, to the band of bruises around your neck.
He knew not to trust Lilith. He should have kept you away from her. But he didn’t.
“The boy,” he murmurs deeply into the quiet of your room, “Do you suppose he was right to blame himself for what happened to her?”
“Right?” Humming, you lean back on one arm and exhale a slow breath. “No… Not right. Normal, though? Yeah. I reckon it’s normal that he’d blame himself. I think most people would do the same in his shoes.”
“Does that not then make them right?” he puts, “If that is the general consensus? To blame oneself?”
After a longer pause, you eventually shake your head and reply, “No.” Then, parting your jaw in another wide and toothy yawn, you add, “It just makes them human.”
Human…
How can blaming himself for what Lilith did to you make him like a human?
Hmm… While not the feel-good ending he’d been hoping for, it wasn’t necessarily a bad one either, and once again, whether knowingly or not, you’ve given him much to ponder over. He plans to do just that while you sleep. Already, those dainty eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks as your head droops, exhaustion proving a fierce adversary on this long night.
Perhaps it’s time he let you rest. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’ll be leaving your side just yet.
Tyrants are seldom granted solace. Most would argue that they don’t deserve it.
Ironic, that it almost feels sacrilegious for Samael to be laying here on your bed with his mouth resting a mere foot from the most confidential part of you, and doing nothing but talking to you in soft, dulcet tones. Talking… it’s more intimate than the depravities he’s performed with his former mistress.
How laughable.
It’s inevitable, then, that the prince’s wonderous moment of peace should be so rudely shattered by the dull thud of a door closing downstairs.
Samael’s head shoots off the mattress with a snarl so quickly that it startles a yelp out of you.
Heavy footfalls – too heavy to belong to any human – pause in the room directly below your own. Then, all at once, there’s the unsettling sound of them starting up again at a far more urgent pace.
Your yelp hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The demon’s tail twitches irritably as he glares hard at the door.
… Just when he was really getting comfortable…
“War…”
The name whispered breathlessly from your lips draws Samael’s focus back down to you, silencing the growl in his throat. You’re staring at the bedroom door, brows screwed together in worry.
For the Horseman? Or for him?
Somewhere a few rooms away, metal boots begin to thunder up a flight of stairs.
Samael parts his lips and flicks a hot, red tongue over his canine, lowering his gaze to your exposed neck. He knows he has to leave. He isn’t about to let your night be ruined by a brawl in the middle of your bedroom. But… there’s one last thing he’s compelled to do.
Demons don’t apologise.
Not aloud, anyway.
Trapped below his bulk by enormous arms, you tear your eyes from the door and shakily raise them to his, swallowing a thick lump of apprehension that sends a dull ache through your bruises.
You don’t like the way he’s suddenly staring at your throat, the points of his fangs gleaming out from behind barely parted lips.
He looks agitated.
He looks hungry.
Your heartbeat steadily begins to reascend the mountain it had worked so hard to climb down from.
“Samael?” you peep.
The footsteps are on your landing now, shaking the foundations of your home with their weight.
Towering high above you, the demon’s fiery eyes flash with intent, like a predator tensing to pounce.
You aren’t even given a second to admonish yourself for letting your guard down before that mouthful of wicked, sharp teeth lunges for your neck, stealing a final cry of alarm.
It’s instinctive when you throw your head up and to the side so as to avoid having to see the enormous fangs flying in your direction.
You brace for agony.
However, what you feel instead is the furthest thing from it.
… The gentlest press of rough, warm lips lands upon the column of your throat, directly over the purpling bruises stained into the flesh.
Your good eye wrenches itself open like a shot.
You’re too stunned to turn your head, and your chest feels tight with the breath you’re keeping trapped inside it, afraid of what the slightest exhale might provoke.
The corner of your vision is almost entirely swallowed up by Samael’s head and horns. His flared nostrils glow with internal fire as he puffs swathes of hot air across your jaw, whilst the scratch of his lips tickles your skin when they seal together into a tender kiss just below your bobbing gorge - far too tender and painless to be given by a demon, let alone one of his size and reputation.
Up until now, you might have been able to convince yourself that the prince’s attentions had been born of mere curiosity.
Now though? The hope that you’ve just been misinterpreting his advances flies out of the proverbial window.
Samael, prince of Hell, Head of Satans and Chief of Devils… is placing a kiss on your bruised throat so gently that the only coherent thought flashing through your brain is that you must still be dreaming.
A resounding ‘boom’ alerts you to your bedroom door being kicked viciously off its hinges and the clank of metal announces War’s entrance.
The unswollen eye in your head swivels away from Samael and for one, damning moment, your fearful gaze locks onto the wild, infuriated blue shining out from beneath your Horseman’s crimson hood.
"Something to remember me by..."
The single lap of a scorching tongue coaxes a gasp from you when it eases over your bruised neck, and then, in a flash of fire that sends you screwing your eye shut against the intruding light, the pressure on your throat, and the weight on top of your bed vanishes, as if a demon prince had never been there at all.
#darksiders#darksiders genesis#samael#samael x reader#one sided attraction#unrequited crush#fluff#whump#angst#Lilith#Blood#Demon x human#monster/human#reader#possessive Samael#Protective Samael#Protective Horsemen#suggestive themes#Bridge to Terebithia#It'll make sense
371 notes
·
View notes
Text
He groans in pleasure as he feels her soul beginning to struggle against his. He can taste all the parts of her he admires as though they are spread out across his tongue. As her physical body weakens inside his belly, her soul opens up to him, helpless and trapped on all sides by a stomach made to keep more than flesh.
“Oh Ida, you are every bit as beautiful as I knew you would be” He cooed, hunger and adoration intertwined.
Can she feel how beautiful she is to him? Or does his hunger overshadow that part of him even now? When all walls and secrets between them should be dissolving? He hopes not, he hopes his admiration sears her soul as deeply as his stomach acids sear her flesh. He hopes she drowns in his adoration, that she softens in his gratitude, that she is undone by his regard.
Her soul seems to recoil at the very idea that he feels so strongly. It is not that she does not desire him or recognise him. But rather, that she is afraid, afraid that his love will disappear if he sees any more of her, if he sinks his fangs too deeply into what makes her, Ida. She thinks he will reject her, that he will spit her out. She underestimates the depth of his hunger, the depth of his love. Even after he has licked clean every scrap of her, he is confident, he will never stop wanting more.
She cries out and whines as his stomach tightens, were she anyone else, it might have been simple fear, but here and now he senses that she is overwhelmed by the feelings inside him. She wants to be corrupted and overtaken, to drown in him and succumb to his twisted ravenous affection. She has never felt more loved and that truly scares her. She does not believe she deserves him.
Which is ridiculous, when it is he who does not deserve her. He is a monster, a predator, a hopeless glutton, who is at this very moment digesting the one person he values most in all the world. If she wants him as much as he wants her, who is he to deny her? To reject or abandon her? He is nothing but a simple minded spider, a gaping void of hunger that can never truly be fulfilled. If Ida wants him, all of him, then she has but to ask and he will lavish her in affection until she forgets where his love ends and she begins.
#soul vore#fatal vore#monster/human#willing prey#spider fae#my ocs#vore drabble#implied digestion#female prey#She’s willing I swear#she just also can’t take compliments#Like literally he’s struggling to digest her soul because he thinks too highly of her and it terrifies her.#That’s it that’s the premise
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Short Prompt #727
CW: implied wounds.
"G-Go away!" - the monster cried out, baring their sharp teeth.
The human carefully inched toward them. "I-It's okay. I won't hurt you. I just want to get that trap off your foot."
#monster x human#human x monster#writing#writeblr#human#monster#prompt#short prompt#writing prompt#writing community#monster/human#smuwfy#some messed up writing for you
461 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eldritch Blue - by @foreverforty2
unconcealed version on AO3, MIND THE TAGS: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51068314
#eldritch#eldrich horror#eli vanto#eldrichcore#thrawn#monsterfucker#monster#monster x human#tw monsterfucking#monster fucker#monster/human#monster art#monster smut#monster fantasy#horror#dark fantasy#dark art#exophilia#terato#teratophillia#fantasy art#smut#star wars fanart#star wars#lovecrafian#tentacles#demon art#halloween#foreverforty2#thranto
11 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
