why KILL monster when you can KISS monster?

You can have some monster lovin', as a treat (18+ Only) (Requests: Closed) (Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/bump1nthen1ght69519)

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Rules!

Masterlist

Masterlist 2

Hey there! This a new writing blog, specifically for monster romance and things of that nature. Here are the rules!

- No underage/incest

- N/S/F/W accepted

- No fictional characters from TV shows/books/etc

- No vore, scat/piss kink, inflation, snuff, or oviposition

- No wendigos

And thats it for now! I’m sure this will be updated as situations arise and such, but I will make a post whenever this updated. Have fun!!

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It Will Come Back (M!Vampire x GN!Reader) - Part 3 (Finale)

Summary: You let the wrong one in

Series Warnings: Gore, Obsession, Themes of Isolation and Manipulation, Yandere

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Coercion, Slight Starvation, Implied Emotional Blackmail

Word Count: 3022 words

Part 1 Part 2

It can't be unlearned

I've known the warmth of your doorways

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Oh, please, give me mercy no more

That's a kindness you can't afford

I warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you're born

You'll hear me howling outside your door

Don't you hear me howling, babe?

It's been three days. 

Three days of sleeping in 30 minutes bursts; the kind of sleep where your brain fades before you mean to let it, waking up in a dazed fright. You expect him to be above you, hands around your neck, blood in his mouth. Three days of hearing your poor chickens cluck, you horses whinnying, your pigs starting to snuffle as they wonder where their food is. Poor things, they’re in the same boat you are.

Your pantry is going empty. The day you went over to check up on….it, had been your final day of procrastinating before making the hour long drive to the grocery store. Hindsights a bitch, your last box of saltines making you want to go back and slap yourself across the face; tell yourself you’ll never see an emergency coming, just suck it up and get your keys and drive. 

There’s a lot things you’d say to yourself, actually

You thought about calling the police. But each time you reached for the phone, your mind went back to the scene of the crime. Of how Arthur had beaten your car to your house, how you had seen his spindly body moving through the trees like a trick of the light. How he hadn’t left the property for three days, patient as the dead. His stomach didn’t seem to be rumbling, his eyelids didn’t seem to be sitting heavy. You think of the one cop that would surely arrive in forty five minutes after your call, with one Glock and not nearly enough practice to shoot something that fast. If they even came, if they even believed you.

So you sit in your room; Window shutters closed, doors barricaded and the cracked sealed towels, blankets, and sheets. You know it can’t stop him, but its less about him and more his voice.

He keeps talking to you. With the sweet tang that reminds you so much of Diane, poor Diane whose mangled body is probably buried somewhere on her property. Probably the same spot the mailman will end up, if all goes according to whatever plan that thing has.

He talks to you like he did before. Like this is all some funny joke, some big misunderstanding. He tries to shoot the shit, comment on the weather, asking whether or not you can leave your poor animals unattended for this long. It makes you want to throw up, how familiar it all sounds. You try to drown it out with the TV, fans, even blast some music from your phone, but his voice finds a way of crawling through the floorboards and in between your ribs.

But that isn’t the worst of it. When he isn’t talking, he sings.

At first you don’t recognize the songs. Their languages long dead, feelings buried in the past of time. But he switches in between old and the new, hopping from continent to continent. You finally get the gist when the familiar notes of La Vie en Rose come out from behind your blasting TV. 

Love songs. He’s serenading you.

One night, on the edge of falling asleep, a tapping on your window jolts you out of unconsciousness. Your heart kickstarts in your chest, pulling up the covers as if they could protect you. From behind your shudders you hear him, lingering. You’re on the second floor, but you know he’s out there.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do~”  Nails scratch down the window, the screech of glass somehow in perfect harmony with that terrifying, melodic voice. “I'm half crazy, all for the love of you.”

You hide in the closet, hands pressed to your ears. You fall asleep half-curled into the hangers, digging into your ribs. You fight the urge to hurl. Can’t be wasting what little food you have.

—

He must know you’re reaching your limit. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had catalogued the insides of your panty, used whatever creeping senses he has to track your feeble human limits. Like a wolf when it chased a rabbit into a corner, mouth salivating knowing it has nowhere to run. His dialogue changes from small talk to pleading.

“Please, just let me in.” He whispers from the beneath the cracks in your doors, the microscopic seams between the window glass and the walls. He presses his whole, monstrous body against the outside of your house, and begs. “Let me take care of you. You don’t need to go hungry.” A nail scratches down the wall, the noise etched into the inside of your skull. “I’ll feed you. Like you fed me.”

You wish he’d just give up. That he’d leave you alone, wouldn’t force you to do all this; force your shaky hands to still and load the shotgun shells. Force yourself to think about hurting him, the man who you let into your home, the thing who you thought was your friend. Force yourself to push past the stomach-curling guilt of looking into his eyes and trying to kill him. 

Your entire body trembles, all your concentration forced in keeping your hands steady on the gun. Every step you take towards the front door seems to creak, the air suffocating you with anxiety. Leaving the safe haven of your room is an odyssey in itself, the dull light coming from your living room windows making you feel like your very insides are exposed.

Your eyes dart around on the slow, steady trek to the door. Looking for him, for it. Part of you wishes you saw it skittering around, crawling on the walls like some kind of cockroach. Let you see it for the monster it is, and not the thing you cradled in your arms. Not the man whose smile haunts your dreams, whose laugh made your chest feel airy and light, whose pie you savoured on sad nights.

But he isn’t there. You know where he is, waiting patiently. He just hasn’t rung the doorbell yet.

The seconds it takes for you to reach to the doorknob and open the door feel like eternity. But the following moments are unnaturally quick. Arthur doesn’t have time to say anything before the barrel of your shotgun is in his face, and your finger is pulling the trigger. 

The kickback hurts you more than the bullet hurts him, a terrifying realization as you find yourself ass-backwards on the floor, gun fallen to the side. The shells obliterated your doorway, Arthur’s long, pale hand still up in its deflecting move. He’s smiling.

You're scrambling backwards before your senses fully return to you, heart thundering in your ears. A throb ricochets through your head, and you can’t tell if the tears streaming down your face are from that, or from before. From your blurred vision you see Arthur step over the threshold, sighing as he does, and your hand lunges for the shotgun. Your choking before you realize it, a hand pinning you down to the ground, already above you, having crossed the distance with frightening ease. With his free hand Arthur bends the shot-gun’s barrel in half, tossing it behind him and out the door. Before you can beg for mercy, realize your oxygen deprivation, the pressure on your wind pipe eases. Long fingers still cage around your neck, holding you in place by sheer intimidation.

“Please, don’t.” It’s raspy voice begs, and you hate how much it sounds like him. How it still has that twang, surely fake, that makes your heart yearn for the past couple of months. 

When you finally catch your breath,  your terrified brain forces you to look in its eyes.

Black, like the night. 

You can only appreciate them for a moment, because in the next the creature is laying its entire body weight on top of you, your face now in its chest. You struggle to breathe, wondering if this is like the tactic you’ve seen polar bears use on the Discovery Channel, bearing down on their prey until they’re crushed. The few breaths you can take are filled with laundry detergent, sweat, and Arthur. Fresh tears pool out from your eyes, readying for your own death. 

Nails, long nails, graze the top of your head. The pads of its fingers follow, rubbing circles into your crown. A cross between a purr and a coo rumble out from Arthur’s throat. When a gasping, unintentional squeak leaves your lips, it tuts its lips.

“Don’t be scared.” The thing hums, its voice crackling like TV static. “I would never hurt you.” Its limbs curl in, tightening its hold around your body. Fingers thread through the hair at the base of your skull. “You let me in. You saved me.” It’s throat catches, words breaking. Hints of that animalistic rasp creep in. 

You think you might pass out. Your heart pumps so hard you can feel it, convinced the amount of force it exerts is enough to make it explode. Every inch of your body shakes, and the thing shows no signs of letting go.

“All I knew was darkness, all I knew was the cold.” Tips of nails graze against your scalp. “I only knew the warmth that filled my belly. I needed it, craved it, but it never stayed.” Arthur chuckles, jolting your body. “It may have kept me alive, but I was empty for so long.” A chilling, hacking breath blows atop you. “Until you.” 

Arthur’s faze nuzzles down, neck craning so his nose can press into the side of your face. Only it doesn’t feel like a nose, not really. It feels more like a snout. 

“ You are what I needed, you are what I have been searching for. I can’t-” Something sharp brushes against your cheekbone, quickly retracted. The creature’s head trembles for a second, but quickly sharpens back  into focus. It sucks in a steadying breath. “-I can’t exist without you. I know too much, I know better now.” The creature’s back arches, like the mere thought forces its body to physically repulse.

Your hands twitch, inherent prey-instinct begging you to flee, to claw, to fight or do something. But you can’t, limbs so thoroughly pinned that even the strongest push couldn’t move him. You know it, and he knows it too. 

“Please.” Arthur’’s voice cracks again, the large body trembling so violently that it vibrates down through you. You nearly buzz off the hardwood. “I’ll be good for you. I promise.”

You still, muscles giving out under you. Your brain has realized the futility of this fight and stepped off the gas. You have no more adrenaline to pump, no last reserves to push through. You’re finished.

You think of Diane, of your mailman. The last two people who saw you alive. Whose own lives were snuffed out in an instant. Effortlessly they were ripped from this world, all by this thing on top of you. You can’t know if they put up more of a fight than you did, but the outcome should be the same nonetheless.

Should be.

Your eyes wrench shut, a final tear slipping down your cheek. You think you know what you have to do.

Your hand, currently pinned to your chest, presses against its stomach. The gentle pressure is hardly enough to move him, but the creature’s body gives way anyway. He lets you crawl your palm slow and surely up his chest, sneak your hand arm past his shoulders. Your hand rests around the back of his head, and fingers furl into the copper curls at the base of his skull. Cradling it, your mouth curls in a whisper.

“I understand.”

Arthur smiles.

You let it in.

—

Marcus is learning to love his new route. 

There’s a certain peace to more rural areas. Sure, he has to make longer drives in between deliveries, risk getting chased by an under-socialized dog defending its shitty porch with its very life, but Marcus finds he doesn’t mind it all. The radio plays old blues, something he can sing along too during the dead time. The nature and views aren’t too bad either, and it allows him to imagine himself as a postman of long ago, making the long trek with vital messages sent across battlefields, not just impulse buys and spam. It makes him wonder why the old mailman left his post so suddenly. After all, this seems like the perfect retirement run. 

Maybe he couldn’t handle the heat, Marcus thinks. Sweat pools around the collar of his shirt, already in need of a wash despite it being so early. The humidity is what gets you, thats for sure.

He hums an old country song as he walks the path up to your front porch. He’s thankful you seem to keep your front lawn in better shape than the last delivery, as the refrigerated box requires two hands to carry, leaving his abilities to stomp through water logged lawn grass a bit lacking. In fact, your lawn is immaculate, the cut grass so clean it has Marcus admiring the fortitude of early birds. Someone must have been up at the crack of dawn to maintain this yard. 

The front porch is a picture of country domesticity. Hanging planters flush with multitudes of flowers, herbs and other greens fill the space with life. A fresh pie sits on the windowsill, the smell of fresh-baked pastry and cherry filling wafting through the thick air. From the front door Marcus can hear the clucking of chickens, belaying their must be a hutch, or maybe even a barn, in the backyard. He feels like he stepped onto a revival of Little House on the Prairie, the soft bliss of it all adding a pep to Marcus’ step. He doesn't even mind having to finagle the styrofoam box on his hip so he can press the doorbell, the chiming noise only adding to the vibe.

The gentle pitter patter of footsteps has him reshuffling the package into his arms, readying the lines in his head. “Package for 1344 Rocking St. Please Sign here.” 

The door opens, but only a half-inch. The face that peers through is…tired. You greet him with an obviously fake smile, barely reaching the corners of your heavily sagging eyes. Marcus doesn’t take any offense, having gotten used to the beleaguered look of people up far too early. 

“Package for 1344 Rocking St.” Marcus hoists up the box label outwards so you can see the name on it. Your shoulder slumps downward, lips quiver for just a second, but quickly jolt back up.

“Thanks.” You slide open the door only an inch more, enough for you to slide your arms out and grab the box. Despite the balmy heat, they're covered by a knitted cardigan, all the way down to your wrists. Your fingers brush as he hands the package over, your skin colder than he expected.

Probably poor circulation, Marcus reasons. 

He hands out the pad for you to sign, wordless as you lean your body out, still keeping the door tight to your side. It’s only when you put the pen back that it cracks more, letting Marcus get a glimpse of the inside. It’s just as cozy as he would expect; Radio playing near the couch, numerous throws and homemade quilts on a well-loved couch, the sounds of someone cracking eggs in a small kitchen around the corner. A humming melody accompanies the staticky-sound of the radio, surely your partner making you both some breakfast.

“Hmm, something smells good.” Markus hums, head peering over your shoulder for a better look. “Better than my breakfast, that's for sure.”

The view inside is gone as quick as it comes, your hand coming quickly to squish the door shut, flush to your body. The whites of your eyes seem brighter, your fake-smile struggling to stay put. Marcus stands a little straighter. Weird, usually people out here love small-talk, especially when it comes to food. 

“Thanks.” You hastily say, fiddling with your sleeve. The cuff had slipped down, the mark clear enough that even Marcus can pick it up.

The indent of teeth, a bite mark. Not just a bruise either, but something that broke skin. Hard enough to scar.

Marcus eyebrow raises. Weird, he didn’t hear any dogs barking on his way up-

“Honey, everything alright?” A deep, southern drawl calls from the kitchen. 

“Yes, my love.” You call back, but don’t turn away from Marcus. Your cheeks grow flush with how hard your cheeks are curling. The door trembles under your grip keeping it closed, “Have a good day.”

“You too.” Marcus nods, slipping his pad into his side and turning around. He doesn’t hear your door close until he’s sliding into his truck. Not shut with a slam, but deliberately gentle

Marcus continues where he left on his song as he buckles his belt, not too perturbed by your curt nature. Perhaps he interrupted your blissful morning with your partner, too locked in love to stay away for even a second longer. It would explain that weird smile you had too; Southern hospitality conflicting with the want of him gone.

The radio flips on when he flicks the ignition, an old country love song that harks on the good old days. With a final glance on the idyllic house, he’s headed off to his next stop on the route. 

He enjoys his life, his small bachelor pad, but Marcus can’t help but envy the small snippet of life he just saw. A house to call your own, animals to tend to, a partner to cuddle in bed after a long hard day of working the land. A carved out private paradise, just you and your significant other and the world to keep you company.

Must be nice, Marcus hums.

Must be, surely.

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Lawd when I TELL YOU how I squealed when I saw this had updated!! Your vampire fic that is. I hearted it before I even got the chance to read it, already excited, and I JUST read it, and AAHH!!!!! I love it!! I love it I love it! How delicious his freaky devotion and obsession is!! Freak!! Weird little blood devil freak with floppy ears freak!! Precious affectionate freak! I literally cannot wait for the next one, I can’t wait to see what’s said and how he handle her seeing him like that. The poor mailman!! I love how us, the reader, is totally falling for him in the normal sense, I can’t wait to see how the reader reacts aaaahh. And I love how he waits to be invited inside her house, I’m just giggling to myself like, ahah, such a classic vampire move, little does reader know!

I'm so happy you enjoy it!! I feared I wasn't clear enough in showing Arthur's barely held-back feralness, but I'm glad it came through. He's a freak (affectionate) and I love writing me a chara who is down bad for the reader heehee

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*falls to my knees* I just found your it will come back fic, and I’m in LOVE. I’m in love with it. ITS SO GOOD!! Oh my gosh I love it already, the descriptions of the vampire, the idea of helping something and it remembers and becomes obsessed and in love with his helper, UGH, I am all over this! I sit here, eagerly awaiting more, more delicious food!

Thanks so much anon!!! Hopefully the second part helped keep you fed (*´∀｀*). Its been super fun to write!

[bump1nthen1ght]

It Will Come Back (M!Vampire x GN!Reader) - Part 2

Summary: Arthur needs a helping hand. You oblige. He returns the favor.

Series Warnings: Gore, Obsession, Themes of Isolation and Manipulation, Yandere

Chapter Warnings: Slight Gore, Blood

Word Count: 4738

Part 1 Part 3

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

Than to smile at me, smile at me like that

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

Than to hold me just, hold me just like that

I know who I am when I'm alone

I'm something else when I see you

You don't understand, you should never know

How easy you are to need

Over the next month or so, you visit Arthur’s house no short of ten times.

Others may have found it annoying, but something about Arthur’s genuine interest in tending to his late aunt’s property endeared you. He may have been city-folk through and through, but he didn't let pride hinder his learning. So you didn’t mind hopping in your truck every now and again for the little things, finding that teaching in-person often had more tangible results. If not for him, then for sweet Diane, who deserved to have her memory preserved the best it could. Plus, Arthur was always so gracious, so thankful for the help.  You think the isolation of country-life must be getting to him, the company just as needed as your advice. It’s an understandable feeling, the overwhelming space of the backwater oppressive if you’re not used to it. 

Today was a day not unlike the others; A phone call mid-day, complaining of a busted lawn mower tire and not a dang clue how to replace it. He had already driven over half an hour to get the replacement, and didn’t fancy hustling all the way back out to prod the salesman, not when you’re just down the road.

“It helps if you wet the tire first.” You huff, scrubbing up the sides of the small lawn mower tire with toilet brush. Suds cling to the rubber and the hard fabric of your work gloves. “After breaking the bead, the second hardest part is removing the rim, now-” You hold up your pry bar and screw driver, “-tools can help, but in my opinion, a second pair of hands is the best way to skin this cat. Plus, I found learning with your hands was the best way. So here ya go.” You grab your extra set of gloves and toss it to Arthur. His hands shoot out without ever looking down, catching them mid air.  “Don’t want you cutting up those city boy hands just yet.”

Tossing the pair between his palms, Arthur looks at the worn leather with a kind of smug smile on his face. If he takes offense to your jest, it doesn’t show.

“No, ‘course not.”

Arthur easily slides next to you, and without needing guidance he grips onto the side of the rubber tire as you slide your pry bar in between it and the rim. He puts his weight on his knees, spreading them out for better grip and less ache on his back. 

“I hold, you pull?”

“Yep,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. This was always your least favorite part, the frustrating ache of having to work the rim inch by inch until it finally pulls out. It always makes your hands cramp in the most awkward of places. “1, 2, 3-”

The rim pops out 95% of the way, much easier than you expected, but the last five percent clings to the rubber with its dear life. Once again without words Arthur moves forwards, twisting the rubber away and popping off the suction on the tire rim. The unexpected quickness makes the rim pop, flying off and near the side. Your mouth opens in a  breathy gasp, looking at the rim with wide eyes.

“Well, looks like someone’s a natural.” You chuckle, slapping the side of Arthur's arm with a grin. It doesn’t move him, the small touch through fabric enough to tell you his arm might as well be carved out of marble, strong and stocky like the rest of him. It’d be enough to make you blush, the picture it draws in your mind, but Arthur’s dazzling smile beats you to it.

“You think so?” He asks, breathless and earnest, though you can tell the motions took little effort on his part. You laugh again, forced to look down and away from those sparkling eyes. Gosh, he’s like a freaking puppy dog. 

“I reckon so. But, let's not count our chickens just yet.” You lean back and grab the new tire, kicking the old one to the side. “This parts also kind of a bitch.” Setting the rim on the top of the new tire, you move your hands down to the sides of the rubber. Arthur’s hands move a little slower this time, lingering where his fingertips nearly touch yours from across the tire. “Now, I’m gonna try to pull the tire out from the sides like this, while you push the rim in. We might need the pry bar to do one side at a time, but we can try this way first. “

Arthur nods, eyes sluggishly moving from your gloved hands up to the top of the rim. He sucks in a breath as you lean down and arch your back, setting deep in your knees as he did to cement yourself in place. 

“Okay, on three again. 1,2, 3-”

You pull out the sides as much you can, the rubber barely giving way. You expect once again to take multiple tries, but with a few pulses of his forearms, Arthur jams the rim down into the tire. Your hands give out the minute they need to, muscle between your thumb and palm aching from the pull.

“Hooo.” You shake out your hands, the burn feeling good now that the job is done. “Good job, Arthur. You just changed your first lawn mower tire.” Standing up with a groan, you don’t see the effect your words have. The shuddering wave that hits Arthur all at once, his lips twitching, like he has to fight them from spreading too wide. “Now all we gotta do is inflate it and remount it, but that's a walk in the park.” You slap his bicep again, glove sung over your shoulder. Palm hits rock-hard tricep, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t let your hands linger for just a moment. Hey, it's been a minute for you, no judgement, alright? “Think we deserve some lemonade as a reward, don’t you?” 

Arthur nods, voice still catching up to him. Must have taken a little more effort than before, as his face looks a little flushed. You shoot him another easy grin, before turning to walk toward the house. Something burns down your back as you do. You ignore it, sure it’s just the afternoon heat getting to you.

—

After numerous times of turning down a variety of Arthur’s baked goods, he switches tactics. If he cannot provide sustenance or any knowledge of his own, he might as well provide his body. Your eyebrows raised when he first said it, but the implication of anything naughty seemed completely naught from Arthur’s expression. When you asked if he meant helping with the daily chores, he just nodded as if that was obviously his intention.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you take up one steamy Sunday morning. Your humble three stall barn needs mucking, a sudden rainstorm last night had packed the manure and hay like cement, the simple chore much more arduous than before. 

At first, you offer to work alongside him; another set of hands is already a massive help in cutting your work-load, but Arthur insists you let him do all the heavy lifting. This is supposed to be him repaying you, after all, and it’s on his honor that you don’t lift a finger. His words, not your’s. 

He doesn't complain when you set out a foldable chair and say you’ll keep him company, as he often does for you. Instead, that shaky smile curls up his lips, and he goes to work with an extra pep in his step.

You start off catching up, checking in on his own progress with his house. 

“Feel like home, yet?”

“Sort of.” Arthur says, hucking another pile into the wheelbarrow. “Still a little too quiet for my tastes. House feels so empty most of the time.” He hucks another pile onto the wheelbarrow, filling it to the very brim. You almost warn him to make more frequent trips, but he hasn’t broken a sweat yet, hauling the full thing with one hand. Like it’s full of feathers instead of hay and manure. “Guess I’ll get used to that with time.”

“Hmm, maybe.” You throw one leg over your other, hands crossed in your lap. “I think it's less getting used to the quiet and more so hearing differently.” Eyes graze across your humble little land. “May seem like nothing at first, but you learn to notice the little things. The birds, the wind in the treats, the creaking of the house. It really grows on you.”

“That sounds…nice.” Arthur smiles, pausing to look over at you. Not that you notice, eyes still far out on the horizon, admiring the dull green of the land. You nod.

“It is, it really is.”

Soon, the talking fades into the natural ambiance. Arthur finds an easy rhythm with the work, and you find yourself enjoying the feeling of doing nothing. The buzz of nature and the late morning has you humming; first a collection of nonsense rhythms, then slowly fades into something real, the lyrics half-mumbled in your head.

“What ya humming?”

Arthur asks, shuffling the full wheelbarrow to your fertilizer pile. 

“Daisy Bell.” You hum, sitting deep in your seat, eyes looking up at the flat-white sky. Something about watching someone else work hard has you in a cozy mood. “One of my pa’s favorites. He used to sing it to my ma all the time. And sometimes to me when I was refusing to go to bed.” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.” The wheelbarrow plops back down, empty of its contents. “How’s it go?”

“Not sure I can do it justice, not the most musically gifted.” You chuckle.

“I doubt that.” The wheelbarrow creaks as it rolls back into the next stall. “Plus, now I’m curious.”

Huffing, you sit up a little straighter in your seat. Without putting too much effort, you start singing softly, in the half-talking way your dad did. Woof, talk about someone who was not “musically gifted”.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do

I'm half crazy all for the love of you

It won't be a stylish marriage

I can't afford a carriage

But you'll look sweet upon the seat

Of a bicycle built for two.”

Your eyes drift, trailing off with just a hum when you notice Arthur; He’s stopped working, shovel still in hand, just watching you with that wide-eyed grin. It nearly makes you choke on your spit, cheeks going hot at the unabashed attention. Forces you to look away, slapping your knee.

“Well, it’s much better when Nat King Cole does it. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I loved it.” Arthur laughs, only making your face go hotter. You didn’t think he could be such a tease, clearly reveling in your nerves. “Could you sing the rest? Please?”

You roll your eyes, but don’t have the heart to say no. Even with the teasing lilt, you can tell Arthur isn’t poking fun. No, he’s way too honest for that. Has that way about him.

You continue on, picking at your nail beds, thankful that Arthur turns away and gets back to work. But as you sing his voice follows along, humming to the tune like he’s known it all along.

—

“Coming!” You holler, turning off the sink and heading to the doorway. You know immediately who it is, not just from your invitation for him but from the fact he rang the doorbell. Even though you had insisted he could just announce himself, even let himself in, Arthur always stuck to formally ringing and knocking three times in quick succession. 

He greets just like he did a month and a half ago; Hollywood style grin and a freshly baked cherry pie.

“Ooh, you know just what I  needed.” You laugh.

“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Arthur smiles, standing in place.

“Come on in, dinner should be ready in 15.” You nod your head, wiping your wet hands on your jeans and heading back to the kitchen. Arthur takes a gentle step over the threshold.

After nearly 2 months of favors, you figured it was about time you asked Arthur over for dinner. You’d like to think you two had crossed over from just neighbors to friends, and it seemed unfair that the two of you had never gotten together just for the sake of it; Always was there a pretense of helping or reciprocation, which while polite, you wanted to make sure Athur knew it wasn’t necessary.

“It smells delicious.” Arthur says, setting the pie down and covering it with a napkin.  He rolls up his sleeves as he wanders over to the stove-top, watching you stir the wooden spoon. “What’s on the menu?”

“Ahh, nothing fancy. Just some potatoes, collard greens and some chicken.” You take a peek at the oven, flicking on the light to check on your spatch-cocked chicken. “All your basic food groups, except for the sweets. Thanks for thinking ahead!”

“Well, baking’s just about all I can do, so it felt only fair.” His eyes wander around the kitchen. “Anyway I can help set up?” 

You shake your head. “You’re my guest! Just have a seat, I can get the plates when we need ‘em.”

Arthur chuckles, but does as he's told.

The two of you fall into a companionable silence, these past two months having filled both of you in on most of the small talk people can make. He knew all about your family, your upbringing, your humble farm.  In turn you learned bits and pieces of his own; He grew up in the city, just him and his parents. He never seemed to divulge more specifics than that, and well, your mama taught you it was rude to pry, so you never pushed. The Arthur of this country life was all you needed to know. 

Despite your insistence, Arthur does get up to help once the food is ready. Hands full of piping hot serving plates, you can’t refuse when he grabs the dishes and silverware, his steady head remembering where everything is kept. It’s a trait you admire, his memory, and wish it was something he could teach as easily as you teach him.

Dinner goes by sweet and fast; You ask about the leaky pipe you both tweaked with, he asks about your animals, and you both dig in heartily. It’s good to see him eat, as for such a big guy you feel like you’ve rarely seen him do so. 

“That good, huh?” You laugh, watching as he crams another serving of collard greens in his mouth, stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk. 

“Dewishuss.” Arthur says behind his hand, making you nearly snort milk out your nose. Once he’s finally chewed, he puts his fork down. “I think anything made with this much love couldn’t be anything less.”

“Aww, shucks.” You feign embarrassment, patting your own cheek. “It’s not that good, Arthur. I’m sure you’ve had far better up in the city."

“No, seriously. I think yours is the best I’ve had by a long shot.” 

“Well, don’t let your mama hear you say that.” Laughing, you scoop up another serving of collard greens onto your plate. Arthur’s fork is still, mid bite. He sets it down without letting it reach his mouth. 

“My mother wasn't much of a cook.” Arthur says, the severity of his tone makes you pause. Looking up from your plate, you see him looking into his dinner, though his pupils suggest he is looking far somewhere else. “Driven more by necessity than…flavor.” He jabs his fork into a chicken thigh, watches the juice leaking out, but doesn’t pick up the piece. “Meals certainly didn't feel like this, never did, with her.”

You sit back in your seat, shame crawling at the back of your throat, for assuming.

“I’m sorry.” In a bold move, your hand reaches over to his, laying it one top and grabbing the sides. The chill of the outside still lingers, his skin icy against your warm palm. Arthur slowly looks up from his food, to his hand, to your hand over his. His expression is still, and something like fear joins the shame. Fear of what, exactly? 

Taking a deep breath, you pat his hand, pulling it back to awkwardly stir at your plate.

“Well, guess that's what adulthood is for. Experiencing new things, making new memories.” Your laugh is forced, trying to bring back the light energy of before, hoping you haven’t completely soured the evening.

Arthur’s eyes linger on your hand. When he finally looks up, the smile on his face isn’t the one you’re used to. It’s almost…frantic.

But in another second it's back, flashing his pearly whites. A weight comes off your shoulders.

“You’re right.” He takes another bite of his food, sighing with content as he does. A rush of pride replaces the anxiety. “No use moping about the past, not when the future is so bright.”

You both return to your meal, and clean your plates.

—

By the time the two of you were done tidying up after dinner, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. What started as a slight drizzle had turned into a torrential downpour, shaking the walls of your roof. You’re thankful you had turned in all your animals, and that Arthur had helped you patch up that leak in your barn roof a couple weeks ago.

“God damn, it is coming down out there.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. The mug of hot chocolate warms your hands from your living room window, slowly sipping as you watch the rain fall. The melodic sounds of the drops against your roof and the trees only make you sleepier, suddenly aware of how late in the day it is. 

Arthur had excused himself to the bathroom several minutes ago now, and hadn't made a peep in a while. You wander back to your bathroom door.

“You alright in there?” You say from outside the door. Gosh, you hope after all that talk you didn’t give the poor boy food poisoning. 

The toilet flushes, the sink flipping on. You let out a sigh of relief when Arthur steps out. Some sink water drips down his jaw, and he quickly wipes it away.

“Sorry about that, got lost inna rabbit hole.” He holds up his phone, the ratted two part case nearly falling apart. For such a city slicker, he’s got quite an old person's phone case.

“No problem at all, just worried those greens upset your stomach. Not to everyone’s taste.”

“Really? I thought they were quite delicious.”

You laugh, slapping the side of his arm.

“Anyway, flatterer, I wanted to offer you a stay over.” You turn toward the living room, where rain still pounds down like it’s the second Great Flood. “It’s pretty nasty out there,  wouldn’t want you getting swept away.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” Arthur perks up, the curl of his lips betraying his eagerness. Already learning those southern manners of deference. You pat his shoulder again.

“Be more of a bother if something happened to ya on my watch. Wouldn't be very neighborly of me.” Your fingers tap the side of your mug. “We can make a night out of it too. I can put on a movie, we can get all cozy. I’ve got plenty of blankets, and can make you a cup of hot cocoa too.”

“I’ll pass on the hot cocoa, but a movie and a blanket sounds wonderful.”

“Perfect!”

You shuffle Arthur onto the couch, hospitality mode quickly kicking in effect. You grab a well-loved quilt from the couch and settle it over his shoulders, tottling to your cabinet where you keep your collection of DVD’s. You’re thinking something feel-good and perfect for a rainy day in. 

You don’t see Arthur curling into the quilt, knuckles turning white as he grips onto the fabric. From behind you he takes a deep smell of the blanket, slowly cocooning himself in it.

After grabbing one of your favorites, you slip it in the dvd player and hop onto the beside him. Your bulky blankets keep a respectable distance between you too. 

The rain continues to pour as the movie starts. Your choice seems fitting after dinner; Julie and Julia. After what Arthur said about his mother, you figure some comfy scenes about the joy of cooking and how it brings people together might be soothing. 

Knowing the movie backwards and forwards, it isn’t long before your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Trying your best to fight it, you readjust your legs in an attempt to force your body awake, but all it does is get you in a cozier position; legs outstretched, toes brushing Arthur’s blanket through the two layers of quilts. Soon the calming voices let your gaze droop, brain sneakily offering to only close your eyes for a second. But that second quickly becomes several, then a minute, and then several minutes. You’re asleep before you know it.

Your neck cranes on the side of the couch, blanket hanging off your shoulders. You’ll chide yourself in the morning for not being a proper host, not showing Arthur all the amenities for washing up or setting up your guest room properly.

Right now, his eyes watch the slow rise and fall of your chest. He eyes the veins which trace down your neck, to your chest, imagining all the rest under the blanket. You look especially vulnerable like this. His mouth begins to water.

When the movie turns off, the darkness in the living room lingers. Arthur switches off the few lamps you had on. He finds himself standing over your sleeping form. Watching, waiting, observing. He wraps the quilt around him even tighter, pulling up your blanket as it falls down your shoulders. He can’t have you shivering, now can he?

In the morning, you’ll have a sore neck. Arthur couldn't stand to disturb you, couldn’t trust himself to touch you. He’ll leave a note, in his old-fashioned way, thanking you for the company, the meal, and for hosting him. He leaves the almost completely uneaten cherry pie in your fridge; A thank you gift.

You wonder when you’ll see him again. You need to apologize for being such a poor host.

—

It takes three weeks for you to get worried.

It should only make sense that his calls would become less frequent. Eventually the skills you’d passed on would help Arthur through his daily challenges, he wouldn’t need your guiding hand any more. You shouldn’t take offense, should simply go back to your everyday life; Follow your own routine of chores and food and sleep. You were neighbors, after all, you’ll catch him eventually.

Except, the few times you do catch him, he seems…off.

His answers are shorter, but not curt. They sound like each word takes an extra effort, like merely the energy to form them on his tongue takes conscious movement. That Hollywood smile is beginning to crack, like his cheeks are too weak to curl up on the sides. He seems to be paler, skin thinner. You swear sometimes you can see the blood pumping just underneath.

He finds excuses to get out of dinner. Too busy, he says, but never specifies. He always promises a next time, and there’s a desperation in how he does so. Like he’s clawing deep into something, so afraid to lose it that he doesn’t mind digging in his nails.

He’s trembling when he answers the door. An old blanket of Diane’s is thrown over his shoulders, knotted so tight that it's fraying at its edges. His water heater was acting up, the normal troubleshoots not working as they should. You had come over to help, scared to feel this overjoyed at his text.

He speaks very little, just nodding and smiling (still in that strange way) at the right times. He laughs, but it gets caught up in a choking cough. Knowing all too well the faults of pride, you hesitate to ask if he’s okay. Not directly, anyway.

“Y’know…” You say, scratching the back of your neck, eyes still on the heater. “If you ever need a rest, you could always come and stay at mine. Just for a bit, anyway.” Heat rushes up your cheeks, though you don’t know why. “Last year I got hit with something rough during the winter, and Diane came and stayed over for a couple days. Cooked, cleaned, helped with the chores. Made a whole difference, I healed up much quicker.” You toss your wrench in between your hands. “I can hop on over and check on your place too, wouldn’t be no issue.” You brush some imaginary dust off your coveralls. “You’re always welcome at my place.”

The quiet is eerie, unnerving. Goosebumps rush up on your spine, force your neck to crane and face him.

Arthur isn’t smiling. His shoulders shake with heavy sighs. His pupils are blown wide.

“Thank you.” He finally croaks out. His lips curl, just a mere hint of a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

You leave it at that. You find the issue with his water heater, give him a cordial goodbye, and head out. You hope he reaches out, you really do.

—

A week and a half goes by, and you become really worried.

The normal country quiet has become eerie. You find yourself checking your phone more often than not, hearing phantom buzzes of his texts from deep within your chores. And maybe you’re just being paranoid, maybe a little smitten, but you feel like something is wrong.

It doesn't take long for your mind to run away with that idea. What if he got worse? What if he tried to push through, and collapsed? What if he was stuck there, voice too weak to even scream, or reach the telephone? After a tense breakfast of overthinking, you grab your coat and your car keys. You’ll think of an excuse along the way, say you wanted to get that cherry pie recipe from Diane’s cookbook finally. If he’s okay, that is.

Your heart drops when you see the blood.

It trails from outside the door, dragging its fingerprints down and onto the porch, past the threshold from where the door hangs open. The scent is still fresh, the trail still wet. You all but sprint into the household, fearing the worst. You don’t notice the bloody nail and skin left in the indents of wood, clawed in like they were trying to hold on, to refuse the pull.

Your hand curls around the phone in your pocket, only to find it empty. That’s right, you had left it behind on purpose; A convenient part of your excuse, why this needed to be an in-person visit. If it really was an emergency, you could always call on the house phone. But those details are lost in your haze, following the messy trail deeper into the house. It smears across the carpet, handprints in half-formed shapes on the walls as it slinks into the kitchen. Your brain can’t even think of all the terrible possibilities this means, too worried and full of adrenaline.

It's in the kitchen where you see him. 

No, not him. It.

You couldn't forget those eyes. Unlike that night, the black voids seem to shine. Set in the face of your handsome neighbor, the pools seem much more alive, like the night of a meteor shower. They stand in far contrast to the mailman below them, his ripped open neck still oozing blood. Blood that drips off Arthur's face, staining the linoleum under their two bodies. That Hollywood smile has been ripped open, teeth white and sharp, lips peeled back unnaturally far. 

All you can hear is dripping, wheezing, panting. The thing’s nostrils flare, and its claw reaches out to you. 

You don’t hesitate. You run.

[bump1nthen1ght]

It Will Come Back (M!Vampire x GN!Reader) - Part 1

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

Honey, don't feed it, it will come back

Summary: You help something. It remembers

Series Warnings: Gore, Obsession, Themes of Isolation and Manipulation, Yandere

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Blood Drinking, Slight Body Horror

Word Count: 2905

Part 2 Part 3

a/n: Another day, another vampire mini series 🙂‍↕️.

Went for a different flavor of vampire this time, as like everyone else I am very much into the southern gothic vibe right now. Re-discovering the Hozier song definitely did not help lol.

As usual, heed the warnings and hope you enjoy!

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

Than to look at it, look at it like that

You know better, babe, you know better, babe

Than to talk to it, talk to it like that

Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul

Honey, make this easy

Leave it to the land, this is what it knows

Honey, that's how it sleeps

You find it among your chickens.

The poor things had clucked themselves into a frenzy, waking you up at a time far darker than you’re used to. The air doesn’t hint of the day yet, no creeping fade to the night sky at all. No, the moon is still at its peak when you find the thing in your henhouse.

The chickens don’t know what to do with it. Some squawk and burrow in their hen holes, others crowd and peck at the pallid skin, others run in a circle around it, crowing till your neighbor, so many miles away, can surely hear them. None of this reaction gives you insight on what the thing is.

At immediate glance you can tell it’s too big to be an animal; No coyote, no fox, not even a wolf could match its size. The next hint is its limbs; They’re long, with skin thin enough to see dark veins, almost wrapped around its bones. Drawing your eyes along the things brings you to hands, not paws, and feet, if they could be called that. So gnarled and twisted they are, you can’t be entirely certain.

Vertebrae bulge through the skin of its back, large enough for the chickens to stick their heads in between, pecked at the covered spine like their posts. The bumps climb up from the bottom of the thing to its head, no discernable neck between the shoulders and the bald head. A bald head set with two, large pointed ears that droop, filled with the same sickly veins as the rest.

Not quite a human, not a beast….but something wrong.

A croaking, wet gasp comes from amidst your flock, and sends all of you scrambling backwards. Not sure what to do, what the appropriate behavior is. A coyote you are all much better equipped for.

The sea of chickens part as you step forward, only spurring them farther when the thing gasps. One of its twisted hands twitch, but that seems the most it can possibly move. It’s impossibly long limbs lay limp at its side, curled in a protective fetal position. It doesn’t react when you lean down, nor when your hand goes to touch its side.

But the eyes, the eyes move.

They’re impossible to ignore; A deep black, set bulging like a void out from its moon-white face. They dart from you to your hand, not even its long snout twitching. Without pupils, you’d think it’d be hard to notice such things, but not like this. Not when the thing looks…succumbed, accepting.

Another shuddering breath escapes it, turning to mist in the cool night air. Your hand finally meets its skin and you almost pull away from the shock of cold. Nothing reacts, not even the creature's eyes. Too weak to even gasp, its frequent, quivering breaths are the only sign it's still alive.

You don’t know what possesses you, but the thing is light as you haul it over your shoulder. All hollow bones and skin, it takes little effort for you to carry from the hen house into your home. You carry it like the fragile thing it is, gentle as you set it on the ground of your kitchen floor, grabbing a throw from the couch to cushion it. The thing is too long for the sofa itself, and you hesitate to move it too much, afraid it might break with too much jostling.

The thing is still as you grab more blankets from the closet, throw them over its cold body. It doesn’t quiver, whatever it is, but you can’t imagine the temperature of its skin can be healthy. Not for any creature you know of.

Even buried under quilts and duvets, your hand feels like it sizzles when you lift its chin.

“H-here you go.” You whisper, trying to tilt the cup of tepid water into its mouth. It’s chapped, bulging lips open a fraction, trickling in the water, but no relief comes into those black pits. The water is gulped down as much as the creature's weak body can, just enough for some color to return to its tongue; A very cherry blossom shade of pink.

Its voice returns, only to croak out another gasp, the action hurting as much as helping. You set the water to the side, and grab a slice of white bread from your counter. You crumble and soak it into the water, present it like the cup from before, but the creature’s lips turn inward and its eyes scrunch shut.

“You have to eat.” Your quiet voice pleads. “It will make you feel better, I promise.” You lie, falling back on logic you’re not sure applies here. You don’t know what afflicts this thing, what it even is, but the human-gut part of you says a full belly couldn’t hurt.

The creature's head shakes, sealing its mouth as you try to push the bread further.

You huff, leaving the soaked bread by its mouth, and make for your fridge. It lights up your kitchen as you frantically search around for something more suitable. A frustrating affair, considering you barely know what the thing is. You pick through leftovers, drinks, raw meats, fresh veggies in the crisper, trying to find the reasoning for what it needs, when the creature makes the loudest noise it can; A scratchy gasp, and a succession of sharp inhales that has you whipping around.

One of its fingers, tipped with an overgrown curled yellow nail, points with frantic energy. The creature can’t even lift the hand off the ground, but its black eyes have widened, its body shuttering.

You look back at your fridge, hand caught on a clear plastic container, filled with thick pork blood.

You had been chilling it to make blood sausage, a first endeavor for you. You’d found a recipe in an old cookbook of your mom’s, and had meant to turn it into an afternoon. Maybe split it with your neighbor, who was always up for some shared culinary endeavor.

Your fingers close around the container, and the creature nearly wails. Your throat bobs as you swallow in a breath, and grab the blood.

That pink tongue darts across the thing’s lips as you sidle up next to it, popping off the top. The container is bendable enough for you to squeeze the sides, the blood rising to the top and the rounded edge becoming a smoothed corner. The thing’s eyes are bulging now, chest wracked with breaths as you lift the tip to its mouth.

You focus your breathing, tamp down the tremble in your hands. The blood pours as a gentle stream into the things mouth. You think it’s hard enough, surely the amount of blood pooling and about to drip down its jaw, but it reaches towards like a desperate calf, fiending for its mother’s milk.

Its body is trembling, pushing past the exhaustion and frailty of whatever is afflicting it in pursuit of sucking down the entire container. You’d pull it away, afraid it would indulge too much and only cause more harm, if not for the euphoric satisfaction in its deep black eyes. It coughs at one point, some coming to its lips before being quickly wiped away by its tongue. Your hand finds the back of its head before you mean too.

The thing pauses its shaking, blood sitting in its open maw, before resting the weight on your hand. Your palm cradles its skull now, and you can feel every plate of bone through its skin.

It works its body past its limits to drink the blood as fast as it comes, not a single drop wasted. When the container is empty, its head falls back into the blankets, keeping your palm in between its skin and the fabric. The thing's eyes fall shut, and while its breath still shakes, it’s less painful and more content.

You’re not sure if it sleeps, really. It stays unnaturally still, and while you’re able to pull out your hand from under its head and move to your chair, it stays like that. It almost looks dead, with the peace radiating from it.

You don’t know how long it takes for you to fall asleep, neck sore when you startle awake from the crow of your rooster. There’s a kink in your neck from hunching over your kitchen table; You must have dozed off while watching the thing in your kitchen.

Nothing remains of it; Not your blankets, nor your tupperware. You’d think it was all a dream if not the half-open back door, and the clucking of your chickens. You stand up, and wander to the fridge, still half-dazed. You open the fridge and confirm it; You’re pork blood is gone.

The air is crisp when you step onto your back porch, chickens rushing to the wire, demanding their breakfast. The morning sun has breached and turned the sky into a pale blue.

You wonder if it's okay, whatever it was.

Rolling your neck, you let out a large yawn, and get to work.

—

Three weeks pass in a blink of an eye, as they usually do. The daily toil keeps you busy, keeps your timekeeping regular yet amorphous, the weekday blending into the weekend. Several moments does your mind go back to the creature; What it was, where it went, how it is faring. But they slowly fade and falter under your routine, the ever coming questions of what needs to get done, what you need to buy, when the weather will take a turn.

It’s in such a routine, washing your dishes, that your doorbell rings.

You’re not completely out in the sticks, but the list of people who come to your door is sparse. You know quite well the few neighbors you do have, who often knock or just holler your name when they’re stopping by. The mailman is just as familiar, charting the long drive to your house with enough familiarity to knock on your front window if he really needs your attention. That’s all to say that just the sound of the bell tells you that whoever’s at your front door is a stranger.

“Good morning.” You’re hit with a smile and a waft of fresh pie.

“Good morning.” You respond, eyes caught between the delicious scent and the stranger’s sparkling teeth. Said teeth are set in a shockingly handsome face, one you have to crane your neck to fully appreciate. Handsome, yet familiar. “How can I help ya?”

“Name’s Arthur.” The stranger–Arthur– says, shuffling the pie to perfectly balance one hand, the other stretched out in a handshake. You meet it, appreciating how firm and steady it is despite the balancing act it maintains. “Just moved in down the road into my late aunt's property, and wanted to introduce myself.”

Your eyes widen slightly, taking in his curly, russet hair and the sharp arch of his nose.

“Wait, you mean Diane?” You pull your hand out his grip, not noticing the slight grip it takes to unlock your fingers from his. “I…I didn't realize she had passed.” Diane was an older, single woman who lived not one mile down the road. You knew she had some family she barely stayed in touch with, but knew her more by her good cooking and spit-fire sense of humor. She was always willing to offer some extra pastries she had baked up, or some aged wisdom from her life out in this back country. “I’m so sorry for your loss, she was a great lady.”

The stranger’s smile tightens, a sigh slumping his shoulders.

“Yes, it was quite a shock to all of us. Cancer, doctors didn't catch it in time.” He nods resolutely. “Was even more shocking that she left her house to me. Though she did always have a way of throwing curve balls, that woman.”

It fits the picture of your neighbor you had known; Head-strong, independent, never one to take the conventional path. You don’t think to question it.

“But it's nice to meet you, even under these circumstances. My Aunt always had nice things to say about you.” Arthur chimes, that mega-watt smile back on his face. He presents the pie again, and a wave of mouth watering cherry hits your nose. “I think she mentioned you being a fan of Cherry Pie?”

“Well if she did, she was right on the money.” You chuckle, hands settling on your hips. Flattery and courtesy make you take a step back from the doorway, nodding your head towards your kitchen. “Would you like to come in? No sense in letting that pie go cold. ”

Arthur’s smile grows even wider, the luring scent of the pie enough for you to ignore the way his nostrils flare.

“I’d love to.”

—

“You have a lovely home.” Arthur remarks, looking far too large at your small kitchen table. Unlike Diane, herself a shorter woman, Arthur is as tall and wide as a church steeple. The family resemblance starts and ends with his head of hair, his dimples, and his nose; Dimples dotting his smile just like hers did, and his nose having the the classic looking Aquiline arch, which fits his face as well as it did hers, giving him a classic, ageless sort of handsomeness.

“Thank you. It’s on the simple side, but I like to think it does its job well.” You pull open your cabinets, grabbing two plates and some forks.

“I quite like it. It’s cozy.”

You chuckle, setting out the dishware and looking for your pie server.

“I’m pretty sure ‘cozy’ is city-code for ‘small’, ain’t that right?”

Arthur laughs, deep and melodic.

“Maybe, but I like it either way.”

Arthur had told you his mother, Diane’s sister, had taken him out of state and out of the countryside at a young age. He grew up knowing the city like the back of his hand, hardly spending more than a camping weekend in the true outdoors. It fits the picture painted by his clothing; Unstained, perfectly intact jeans, work boots that had hardly seen a day of it, and a shirt so pressed it might as well still have the tag on the neckline. If you saw him on the street you would have assumed he was an actor, about to star as the lead in a Hallmark movie.

“How’s country life treating you so far?” You say as you take a seat, placing a dish in front of Arthur and yourself.

“Not too bad, not yet.” Arthur leans over the table and cuts a slice out from the pie. A waft of steam comes from the red, gooey insides. “I’m still green in a lot of ways, but it’s been a nice change of pace so far. Though I’m sure I have my work cut out for me once winter comes.” Arthur slices a picture-perfect piece, and before you can say otherwise he’s setting it on your plate. Oh if you’re Mama could see you know, letting your guest serve you. For shame. “Just hope I can do dear Diane justice."

“ I’m sure she’s happy just knowing her place is going somewhere other than the bank, let alone family.”

“Here’s hoping.” Arthur knocks on the wooden table, plate still bare. When he doesn’t move to cut more of the pie, you grab the server handle instead.

“Well if you ever need a hand, just holler.” Your piece is far sloppier, cherry filling spilling out from the sides and plopping halfway onto his plate, but least your Mama (may she Rest In Peace) is appeased by your manners. “It ain’t easy all by yourself, even if you lived here your whole life. I’m happy to help ya in any way.” You set down the server and dig into your slice. It's just as delicious as it smelt. With your eyes on the pie, they don’t catch Arthur’s hands twitching, or the shaking curve of his grin.

“Thank you, _____.” He picks up his fork, twirls it in between his fingers with dextrous quickness. “I don’t think I’ll forget your kindness.”

“It’s no big thing.” You say, pie still in your mouth. You’re ma was only so strict with her lessons. “It’s only neighborly, after all.”

Arthur hums, eyes never leaving your face. Not that you notice.

The two of you chit-chat for about 15 or so more minutes before Arthur heads out, already familiar with the never-ending schedule of country life. There’s plenty of tending to do in Diane’s old house, odd quirks she tolerated over her life that its new owner seeks to fix. You offer your phone number to Arthur, another reminder that you’re only a phone call away if he needs any expertise, or just an extra body to lug things around. He may be a strong, young fella, but there’s only so much one man can do.

His hand is trembling when you shake it goodbye, and you wonder if his cheeks hurt from his smile staying so wide.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, _____.” He says, large hand coming up to pat your shoulder. “I”m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“Only so many people out here to see.” You both laugh, Arthur’s a little more boisterous than yours.

It's only after he’s gone, once you're cleaning up the kitchen, do you realize he hadn’t taken a single bite of the pie.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 5 - Public Use

Kink: Public Use

Pairings: M!Reader x M and F!Faeries

Other tags: Orgy, Ass Eating, Blow Jobs (M receiving and giving), Prior Established Consent, After Care

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2175 words

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: And with that, another Kinktober done! Though I didn't do all 31 days, I'm still quite proud of all these pieces. I hoped y'all like them too. Happy Halloween everyone!!

The blindfold nevers stays on long

You think that's by design; With all their trickery and magic, someone in the court could easily seal it tighter with a flick of their hand. But no, the red, silken thing is always tied the old-fashioned way. The way that's eventually unraveled, pushed up, or torn off by the end of the party. 

Right now, the thing hangs off one of your eyes but not the other, pushed up by the wayward tongue of the faerie currently licking your cheek. 

“So sweet.” She purrs in your ear, the flared tip of her nearly half-foot long tongue curling up by your forehead, savoring the sweat that beads there. Her large, multiple eyes glisten from your peripheral. “The perfect dessert.” Her tongue moves down from your forehead back to your neck, where her supple lips meet them to suck bruises into your neck. The marks will be temporary, healed up in between sessions lest anyone else get jealous, but for now she can revel in staking her claim, momentary as it is.

“You should taste his cock.” A deeper voice comes from below. Your one free eye can make out the slobber all across his jaw, shiny and iridescent against his green skin. His long, doe-like ears flutter when you rut your hips against his lips, feel his tongue twitch out and taste the precum beading at your slit. “Like ambrosia.” He laughs before taking you again in his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and deep-throating you with no issue. Your mouth gapes in a moan, the faerie to your side takes the opportunity to shove her tongue down it.

Hmmm.

You all moan together, wrapped thoroughly in each other's embrace. Some of the other party goers notice, some don’t. Not everyone has had the chance to taste you tonight, but the ones who have now content themselves with the food and the rest of the revelry; They know better than to to gorge and hog you all to themselves.

Strings of saliva connect you to the bug-like faerie as she pulls out, licking the long proboscis-like appendage around her lips.

“Good Idea, Marias.” She smirks as she kisses down your body, savoring each taste with a lick or nip to your skin. Her fingers drag lines down a similar path, her claws just gentle enough not to draw blood, though that's not necessarily forbidden. You’ve heard tell that your blood was quite sweet.

The blindfold finally falls past both eyes when your head tosses back, that long tongue wrapping around the exposed base of your cock like a constrictor. The veins pop and your hips jerk, Marias’s eye rolling as you precum slides across the back of his throat. Cynthia’s giggle reverberates down her tongue and up your stomach. 

“Oooh, shomeone lithes sthat.” She slurs, the dextrous tip of her tongue working up and down like your shaft like a third hand. A skill many of the fae attendees have, yet something you never quite get used too.

“Yesth.” Marias says, swirling his own tongue around your head like it's a frozen candy treat. Fresh drool runs down his jaw when he pops off, your needy cock bumping against his jaw with your desperate humps. “He has such pretty moans.” Those cherry lips press sloppy kisses onto your frenulum, a lewd “pop” coming from your cum sticking them together. 

“Ha-ah!” Your hips raise off the table, sliding your sticking head up past Marias’ lips and jutting against his wet nose. The bug-faerie, whose name you still have yet to learn, wanders her tongue down your shaft and lets the tip fondle at your balls, reveling in your pleasure-induced delirium. 

A keening whine comes from the back of your throat when that long tongue unwinds from your cock, a mischievous hum coming from the bug-faerie. “Poor human-” Her soft hands palm at your ass cheeks, spreading them open and baring your hole to all six of her hungry eyes, “-no ones paid attention to your sweet ass today, have they?” Her voice coos, patting your butt like she’s soothing a steed. “Marias, would you?”

Marias smirks, your cock still wet against his lips.

“With pleasure.”

The bug faerie’s antennae whistle and chirp as Marias takes her place, sliding herself up the table and sitting by your side, resting an arm on your thigh. 

Marias starts off slow, circling the flat of his tongue around your tight hole, nuzzling his nose in your taint, watching you twitch. The teasing doesn’t last very long, not when Marias has made it clear that he wants you loud.

“Angh-” Your stomach clenches with your neck arching upward, nostrils flared as Marias starts eating your ass out voraciously. His tongue isn’t as dextrous as the bug faeries’, but it's still large and muscled, able to press and stretch with a lot more skill than a human’s.

“Hmmmm.” They both sigh, Marias’ vibrating through your ass cheeks. The bug faerie leans forward, large chest resting on your hips, and your cock twitches in air. It’s been left unattended, aching and leaking. It’s an issue that doesn’t go unresolved for long.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, sweetling.” The bug faerie sings, more to your dick than you, hands gently wrapped around the head. You whine and beg her to grip tighter, before you realize she’s merely holding it in place. Her other hand lifts up her voluptuous chest, shimmying her upper half until her breasts wrap around your aching shaft. A glob of iridescent spit lands on your cockhead and drops down the valley of her tits. “Now, let's hear those moans.”

The bug faerie’s grip is tight as she squeezes her breasts up your dick Your eyes roll back in your head, the sensations coming from down below nearly too much. Her tongue flicks across your slit, playful as she squeezes once more. “I can’t hear you~. Marias?”

With an unspoken command, Marias’ tongue is joined by his index finger.

“Fuck!” You yelp, and both fae smirk.

Neither of them waste time, Marias’ tongue and fingers splaying you open as the bug faerie begins to jerk you off with her tits. The soft friction of her spit and skin has your legs twitching, Maria's tongue hard on your prostate has your vision growing spotty, the combination of the two putting you on the edge of over-stimulation. Your mouth hangs open in a perpetual moan, only sucking in breaths so you can whimper out more.

Marias’ lips smack while the bug faerie bounces her tits up and down, up and down. She times each squeeze of her breasts together with the thrusts of Marias fingers, making it so every second is filled with your whiny breaths. The noise of the party around you has faded, relegated to the back of your unconscious, or maybe the three of you are just that loud. The bug faerie’s tits hit your stomach with a thwap, her spit and your sweat sticking you together. She starts to swirl her tongue around your cockhead everytime it leaves her cleavage, and your precum joins the salty mix.

“Gonna….” Your mouth feels fuzzy, the words slurring together into a paste. Tiny shocks run up from your thighs and to your cock, balls nearly bursting. You barely register the bug faerie licking her lips, too lost in the delicious grip of her breasts. Drool slips past your top lip and down your cheek; Marias fingers must have pushed you up the table, your head now hanging off the side, meaning your spit glides off your cheekbone and onto the ground below. Your vision is getting blurry, orgasm steadily approaching, but not blurry enough to miss the massive cock that appears before you.

The smell tells you he has fur, the musky scent of game and blood, and his dick tells you he must be massive. But you can never assume with these Fae, their appearances are as diverse as their tastes. A warm, calloused palm wraps around your throat from above, and if it wasn’t already open, your lips would have fallen apart and made room on instinct.

“Such a pretty face.” The new voice rumbles, deep and full of authority. He must be important, enough that neither Marias or the bug faerie bellyache when he slides his cock down your throat. He’s nearly as thick as your forearm, rigid and covered in bulging veins. You thank whoever is up there for the sweet concoction they give you before each meal; There is no way in hell you could take this without gagging otherwise.

Your throat spasms with a whine when you feel Marias slip his fingers from your hole. Another when the bug faeries warm chest leaves your cock, cold and wanting in the open air. The faerie’s whose cock in your mouth squeezes his hand, and more spit comes bubbling out from your lips. 

“Good boy.” The faerie chuckles. The flat of your tongue presses against his shaft, feeling blood pump through one of the veins. He sighs, and releases the pressure from round your neck, just a bit. 

You keen again, trying to buck your hips in a sad display to get him to touch elsewhere, but the heft of someone sitting on your legs stops you. Then they shimmy up, letting another set of hands push up the back of your thighs until your wet hole is presented to the air. The cock is shoved farther down your throat, squeezed with a moan when you realize what's about to happen.

“Grrk!” You choke, careful not to clench your teeth around the faerie’s shaft, Marias filling your ass as the bug faerie sinks down onto your dick. You know it's her from the press of her breasts against your chest, the feeling unmistakable. The hand around your neck moves down, the faerie splaying his massive hand across your collarbone. His sigh rumbles through your whole body, dick so far down your mouth that your nose is smothered in his crotch fur.

“Hmmm.” the bug faerie moans, swirling her hips around your dick. Marias kisses your ankle, up near his neck, and does one small hump. One squeeze and all three of them are groaning, enjoying the pleasures of their collective flesh toy.

Like always, Marias and Bug move in tandem, moving together. They spur on the faerie in your mouth, who pulls out an inch and gently thrusts against the back of your throat. Of all three you wouldn’t have pegged him as the gentlest, but Marias and the bug faerie are quick to take you hard.

“Mppphhh.” Your groans are muffled in the big faeries fur, hidden under the slapping skin and dramatic noises of the two fae fucking you. Marias breaths are quick against your legs, his face pressed against your calf. Globs of spit smack against between your cheeks and the big fae’s pelvis, his small thrusts picking up in speed, though he never pulls out all the way. He seems to enjoy the squeezing feeling of your throat more, if his snuffling grunts are anything to go by. 

That tingling feeling returns, making your hips buck and the bug faerie scream. Her cunt milks you, grip as tight as her tongue. She leans forward so her clit presses against your pubic bone, the press of that button making her tighter. Your cock jerks from inside her, the battering of Marias’ cock against your prostate nearly making you black out. The lack of oxygen probably isn’t helping, forced to take deep breathes form your noise when you can, often smushed in the big faerie’s fur.

“Hnng-” You try to speak, and the vibrating words make the large faerie’s hands dig into your chest. Despite the nonsensical noise, they all seem to understand you, moving faster than before, chasing you off the edge. “Hngh, mrhph!”

“Yes!”

“Unghh!”

“Fuck!

All four of you explode together, filled from both ends as you gush inside the bug faerie’s cunt. Cum bursts from her cunt, your ass and your mouth, dripping onto the table and the floor below. It fills the room with the smell of sex, a fresh burst lost in the party haze. It’s no shock in a faerie get together. Not one like this, anyway.

Spots speckle your vision as you finally can take a deep breath, the cock slipping out of your mouth and your throat feeling raw. Your legs fall limp onto the display table, ass pushing out semen and leaving you feeling sticky. 

You're hot all over, exhausted. Sweet relief comes when a eucalyptus scented towel dabs your face, several hands running it down your stomach and legs, even under your lower back. Fresh water is poured into your mouth, soft hands gentle as the grip your jaw and hold it open, making sure you don’t choke. Hands are waved, and the soft honey-like feeling of healing magic mends your body back together.“What a delectable treat.” A new voice purrs from afar. “It’s my turn next.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Have you watched/read The Summer Hikaru died?

I have only seen the first episode, but looooooved it. I had been waiting for more of the season to come out before I binged it and of course time got a way from me haha. If I watch more, perhaps it will inspire something heehee

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 5 - Body Worship

Kink: Body Worship

Pairing: M!Robot x F!Mechanic

Other Kinks: Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Cowgirl, implied FWB

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2938 words

Kinktober Masterlist

“This really isn’t necessary.”

You raise a dubious eyebrow and point to the nearby screen.

“The big, red numbers say otherwise big guy.”

Leviathan rolls his eyes, or at least, the closest a thing a faceless mech can do; Craning his neck, huffing, and flicking lights across his visor. 

“It’s only 20% damage, fleshie.” He flicks the overhead monitor in mock, "That’s like a paper cut for you.”

Your grease-slick hands press firmly on his chassis, making sure to apply extra pressure to the plating. Cooling fans quickly kick in as the sound of something gushes from behind the metal. 

“Fuck!” He wheezes, voice riddled with static. “What was-”

“Thats what 20% feels like, scrapper.” You emphasize the nickname, pulling back and watching as fresh steam pours out of his chest vents. “And like I thought, that punch to the gut was probably the cause.” Grabbing a rag from your repair bin, you wipe off your dirty hands the best you can. Mechs may not catch germs quite like humans can, but old grease certainly isn’t great for their inner wiring. “Now c’mon. Open up.”

Levi mutters an expletive, but complies anyway.

It’s always a dance with him. The other mech soldiers complain about it all the time; His braggadocious attitude, his resistance to command, his sheer confidence that he’s right. But you slough it all off. If they knew exactly how he ticked, they’d know how to unwind him too.

“Whooo.” You whistle as each plate of Levi’s abdomen slips out of place. The precise, mechanical process reveals a neat layout of wires and pumps, the complex machinery that keeps Levi up and fighting.

“Tch, what is it now?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You smirk, leaning forward and taking a closer look. There’s a multitude of minor damages, some wires unconnected from their pumps, some parts forced together too tightly, nothing you can’t handle. “Just a pretty sight, is all.”

Levi scoffs again, but even the dense metal of his face-plate can’t hide the way coolant rushes up his neck cables; Nor can it deafen the subtle revving of his core processor.

“Do you get paid to fix, or flirt?”

“Little bit of both. They were both listed in the ‘skills’ section of my resume.” You grab a pair of heavy-duty gloves from the back-pocket of your body suit, sliding them on as you sling a leg over Levi’s hips, or his robot equivalent. “But y’know it ain’t just flattery." 

You settle your seat bone in the thick expanse of Levi’s powerful, metal thighs. Most mechanics like to use a suspended seat when doing these kinds of fixes, and you do too for the most part, so you’re not forced to be all up in the mech’s business. Things work a little differently with Levi.

 “You’ve got a beautiful layout, Levi.” You purr, taking extra time to rub your finger around one of the exposed ports on his side.

“B-bet you say that to all the bots, fleshie.” Levi feints, trying his best to seem brave when his voice is half-static.

“Uh-uh, just you.” 

The gentle purr of his processor turns into a rumble as you slide your other hand up and over his side, gloved fingers dancing in between the seams of his armor. All 8 feet of him tremble when you finally reach his exposed abdomen, more vents expelling when you start to fiddle with the un-fixed wiring.

“Seriously, such an detailed design.” You draw a hand down one of his central cables, following the beginning all the way to the exposed end. “Even damaged, everything's a perfect-” Levi’s voice blurs into white noise as you plug one of the disconnected cables into its adjacent pump “-fit.”

“Well, d-duh.” Levi waves his hands, a false show of relaxation, all while his visor refuses to look directly at you. “Only the best become Combatants.”

“Hmmm, and I see why.” You reach up to the very top of his open compartment, right below his pectoral plates. The fans under Levi’s jaw come to life as the smallest hint of your cleavage is exposed, your coveralls scandalously buttoned low today. Levi’s head jerks back as you run a finger up against the top wiring, feeling for any loose inner plating. “Such sturdy construction…you took a real beating and yet no serious welding is needed.”

An engine roars to life from underneath, a pleasant buzz that runs straight up your core. You find yourself clenching down, feeling the center of your panties growing damp. The clicking of metal on metal reveals somethings moving underneath Levi’s closed plating, as if something is being powered on.

You bite your bottom lip. Bursts of steam pour from Levi’s neck vents. Fingers glide along his inside mechanism, and you feign a hum of concentration, despite everything being perfectly intact. You arch forward more, your breasts now in direct contact with his heated center. You thank god for the sturdy construction of these coveralls, cause if you were more bare, your chest would be burning. His plates do a great job diffusing the built up heat of his internal systems, but with his plating open like this, all that heat has nowhere to go but on to you.

“It’s like a painting.” Your index twirls around a wire. “Every placement is purposeful, everything is where it's meant to be.” You gently tug on a red wire, not enough to pull it out of its place, but enough to make Levi lurch. A lurch that sends his hips conveniently upwards, pushes that vibrating modesty plate directly against your now soaking cunt.

“F-fuck…”

You look upwards, seeing your own lascivious gaze in Levi’s visor.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” You untwirl your finger, but still keep your hand inside his chest. “Should I stop?”

Another rev of his engines, a purr that damn near makes your pussy melt. You can feel the slick as Levi’s hands dig into your hip. His segmented digits seamlessly fit into each other, none of the plates pinching on your coveralls as they grip through.

“No.” He growls, his audio drive glitching, his voice reaching to a lower register than normal. “Don’t stop.”

“Hmmm.” You dip your head down, top of your skull just grazing against his jaw, mouth right next to his neck cables. “How about…this?” You flick out your tongue, kitten-licking between his neck plating and onto the wiring. It tastes vaguely like sucking on a battery, but less acidic, more metallic. It’s a taste you can stomach, especially when Levi whines oh so pretty. “Oh, did that feel good?”

“Shit, fleshie.” Levi sighs, neck tossed back, baring more sensitive wiring for your mouth. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“Like I said,” you take the bait, licking a longer strip up the pulsing lines, “-only for you.”

The hand on your hip presses into your love handles, forcing your body to be fully laid on top of his. Pretenses lost, you roll your hips against his buzzing modesty plate, moaning directly into his audial port as he  vibrates against your sensitive pussy. Levi abandons his own false sense of modesty, grabbing the meaty part of your ass and squeezing.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy, fleshie.” Levi leans his head upward, craning so his visor can look at your ass, watch it jiggle when he gropes it. “Walking around with this ass, this body.” The hand on your hip rubs up and down your side. “How’s a mech supposed to control himself?”

“He doesn’t.” You say, rolling your body again, slowly closing up his abdomen plating. As hot as it is to make him come undone, you don;t feel like getting any second degree burns. Not when you're unzipping your coveralls, throwing off your glove and shimmying the top part over your shoulders, revealing your less-than-sexy work bra. From the way Levi’s systems kick into action, you’d think you were wearing lingerie.

“Damn.” He plays a whistle sound through his drive, a stock noise uploaded just for perverted moments like this. It’s followed by another as you shake your coveralls down your waist, sitting up on your knees to allow it to fall past your ass. The second your skin is bare, Levi's hands are back on your cheeks, palming the fattest part. Gears whirl together in his chest, making a noise not unlike a purr. 

You press another kiss into his chest plating when you have to lean forward, sloughing the fabric over your ankles and tossing them to the side. His plating is pleasantly warm, the chilly air of the empty mechanic den having your body instinctively pull towards his heat. He doesn’t seem to mind, several glitchy hearts flashing across his face display when your breasts push up against him. 

Your panties are soaked, leaving dewy streaks behind as you grind on Levi’s crotch. His modesty plating keeps buzzing, teasing what's underneath, but your brain is caught between wanting it to pull back and wanting it to stay; The vibrations are heaven against your clit.

Levi's digits dig into your ass cheeks, gripping and spreading them open, pressing down as his hips press up. A particular strong buzz shoots up, your toes curling on instinct.

“You like that?” Levi gloats in your ear, purposefully keeping his plating from folding back in, letting it vibrate at a consistent pace. Your fingers scrape against his armor, trying to dig in and find relief, unable to break past what bullets can’t. 

“Uh-uh.” You pant, cheeks feeling flushed, that smarmy tone slowly dipping from your voice. It’s hard to keep up the pretense when you're in underwear, dry humping the very systems you’re meant to be fixing.

“Bet you’ll like what’s underneath more.”

“Shut up.” You chide, no bite in your words. A squeaky whine comes out against your will, your clit catching against a smooth bit of his plating, and Levi laughs. “Just-” You nuzzle your fac into his neck cables, “-give it to me already.”

“As you command,” Live leans so his audial ports are directly against your ears, “-fleshie.”

A shiver runs down your spine. Fuck, never has that shitty nickname sound so hot.

One of Levi’s hands moves down from your ass to under your thigh, hoisting you up and away from his crotch. While your pussy aches for the contact, the sliding sound of multiple pieces moving makes your hole clench. Tits now in Levi's face, you squeeze them together with a coy smile before arching your neck to see what's behind you.

You’ve seen Levi’s cock before. Hell, you’ve seen many a mech’s cock before, just part of business, but his never fails to awe you. It’s just so pretty, lines of neon red highlighting the nodules along the side. Pre-cum like melted cherry candy dribbles down the head, sticky and warm. Tastes like candy too, Levi vain enough to upgrade and get a natural sweetener added to his fluid pumps.

“Just for you, fleshie.”

You’d rolled your eyes when he’d told you, secretly flattered he thought that far ahead. Swallowing base fluid probably wasn’t the most pleasant experience.

A long, segmented digit comes up, pushing on your jaw and turning you back to look at Levi. With no eyes or brows, you’d think it’d be hard to discern his emotions from expression alone. But something about that red glass, the reflection of your own desperation in it, tells you everything you need to know.

“Fuck me, Levi.” You pant, half a command and half a plea. The hand still on your ass squeezes, hard.

“With pleasure.”

You fall back into Levi’s lap, sloppily kissing along his jaw as he lifts up your hips for you and slots his cock against your entrance. One hand deftly pulls aside the fabric of your oversized panties, and your lips clench when a fresh drop of his pre runs down them.

“Levi.” You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck, tongue lathering up towards his visor. When you gasp, metal explodes on your tongue, tangy as his cock starts pushing inside.

His systems whirr to life, a sign of exertion rather than excitement. He’s holding himself back, knowing if he went full throttle he could very well shatter your pelvis. Maybe that's part of the thrill of all of this; Knowing you had someone so powerful underneath you, someone that can tear apart tanks with his hands, deciding to be gentle.

“So tight…” Levi groans, the nodules of his shaft catching on your gooey walls. They roll as he pushes fully inside you, and your pussy is already beginning to spasm around him. “So fucking hot.” Levi slaps your ass again, hips slotted into yours, his dick fully seated inside you. The two of you jolt, trembling where you two interconnect. Levi turns so his visor is facing your eyes. “I’m gonna rock your world.”

With ease Levi heaves you, pulling your sticky pussy off his cock until only the tip remains. You don’t have time to whine about the loss when he’s dropping you back on it, letting gravity force his shaft deep back inside.

“Ungh-!” You gasp, hands turning into clawed fists behind his neck. Lights flash from behind your eyelids. More gears turn as Levi does it again, again, and again. Hard but slow, with the thudding of your ass on the tops of his legs, his cock carves out a space for him inside you. “F-uck, Levi-” Hips rolling, pressing your clit directly against his lower stomach armor, you can barely get out his name before a moan rips from your chest. His hands dig into you ass cheeks, your gyrating making each drop more like a thrust. “Right there~” Your whore-ish voice echoes in the empty hangar.

“Y-yeah, Right-” Levi finally moves his hips, thrusting up and right against your g-spot, “-there?” Another moan bursts from your mouth, and you nod into his neck cabling. “Target; acquired.” 

You don’t have time to cringe at that cheesy line, Levi’s hands moving up to your hips and thrusting again. Your jaw clenches, teeth worrying into your bottom lip, barely holding back another screaming groan as Levi starts fucking you like the machine he is. With power and precision, his cock never fails to hit that electrifying spot. Well-oiled his hips never struggle, never seem to lose the consistent heft behind each hump inside you.

“Oh-oh-oh! Your neck arches back, eyes crunching shut, the pleasure overwhelming. Levi keeps his audio drive shut, but the whirring of his systems speak enough for him. Cooling fluid rushes from underneath his plating, the red glow breaking through the segments as he works himself into an overdrive. Something in his stomach revs when you lean up and press your hips down, meeting his thrusts with half-humps of your own. It has the double effect of giving Levi a generous view of your bouncing tits, and his hands grip even tighter into your ass. 

Strings of sweat connect you and Levi's plating, drops of it beading and falling from your head, only to steam when they hit some bare cables. Levi’s pre-cum spatters across the back of your sides and the bottom part of your ass, no doubt leaving a red sticky tinge on your skin. Neither of you are present enough to care about the mess, of all the fluids you're leaking onto the mechanic’s bay. Hell, someone could walk in right now and you two probably wouldn’t notice, too locked in each other to stop for anything. 

“I’m gonna-” You pant, toes curling.

“Fu-ck, me too.” Levi finally speaks, his audio full of glitches. 

“Shit, cum in me!” You swirl your hips around, opening your eyes a smidge, just to see Levi’s visor go black for a second. It has your stomach twisting, taking in a deep breath and doing it again, making sure to clench around his cock. Engines fire and Levi starts thrusting even harder, pulling out less of his cock and instead battering your insides with short, powerful hits. “Yes, Levi! So fucking good!” Your skin begins to tingle, the wave coming to its highest peak. 

“Fuck!” Levi pulls one of his hands off your ass, folding it around the mechanic chair again. The metal easily bends from his powerful grip. “C-cumming!”

“M-me too!” You throw your head back, orgasm exploding out of your as his hit shim, pumps of sweet syrupy cum filling you up. The hand of the mechanic chair fully breaks off, snapped under Levi's strength. 

Levi’s hips stay up, slotted inside as your bodies tremble, both still gyrating and riding out the aftershocks. You thud forward when Levi collapses, ass back into the chair and your muscles giving out. You don’t even have the strength to pull off of him, the fluid lines going up his shaft still pulsing as you weakly grip around them.

“Holy shit, ____.” Levi finally croaks, a hand thrown over his visor. “I think I offlined for a second there.”

“Me too.” You slur, mouth and cheeks pressed into his shoulder plating. 

You both sit there for a while, still interlocked. With your ear pressed against his shoulder, you can hear the cooling fluid  flushing throughout his system, making sure nothing overheats. You wish you could do the same, mouth feeling dry and fiending for a cup of water. But that would mean you have to move, and your protesting muscles say otherwise.

Levi pats you on the ass.

“Told ya..” His voice tilts, still with an occasional glitch, “...told ya I didn’t need fixing.”

You roll your eyes, and with all your energy, smack him upside his head.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 4 - Sex Pollen

Kink: Sex Pollen

Pairing: M!Dryad x M!Reader

Other tags: Established Relationship, Fluffy Sex, Aphrodisiacs

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2595 words

Kinktober Masterlist

“Ugh.”

Fingernails scratch at the base of your scalp, a familiar scent of daisies sidles up to you in bed.

“Long day?”

“Hmmmph.” You nod into your pillow, too exhausted to move your neck to the side and stare your beautiful boyfriend in the eye. His long fingers card across your skull and start rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Was it Bryan again?”

“Uh-huh.” You sigh, the expelled rage enough to propel you to turn over, now lying chest to chest with Orchis. His thumb presses into the base of your skull, tingling the nerves and rolling relaxation down your back. “Fucking Bryan.”

“Late?” 

“30 minutes.”

“Wow, a whole half of an hour.”

“And not a word.”

“Of course not, because its-”

“-fucking Bryan!”

You throw your hands over your face, silently screaming. Orchis’ fingers rub deeper, moving down and focusing on the knot at the top of your spine.

After you’ve expelled enough anger through your whisper-yelling, you curl inward and nuzzle your face into Orchis’ neck. His familiar floral scent wraps around you, his hair as soft as freshly bloomed petals. He throws an arm around your side, pulling you in deeper into his embrace, his bare chest pressing against yours. Like a lit candle and a long bubble bath, your stress seems to melt away.

“...Missed you.” You mumble into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss into his shoulder. Orchis chuckles.

“I missed you too, honey.” 

Your hands find their place on his waist, drawing slow circles against his pelvis. You’re both bare as the day you were born; You fresh out of the shower, him in his preferred lounging outfit. It's a wonder you make it to work each morning, with the way he beckons in your shared bed, a literal nymph tempting you to throw away your responsibilities.

“Seems someone else missed me too.”

Now it's your time to laugh, Orchis pinching your sides. No doubt a smug look on his face, as if he doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

“Can’t help it.” You open-mouth kiss up Orchis’ shoulder, across his clavicle, and up his neck to under his jaw. A familiar taste explodes on your lips, a honeyed ambrosia that keeps you coming back for more. “You’re too hot.”

“So romantic, babe.” 

“It's true.” 

Orchis rolls his eyes, but giggles and snickers when you keep pecking around his sharp jaw, knowing how sensitive it gets. His hand comes to push away your mischievous lips, but the look he gives you says anything but “stop that.”

“You wanna…?” Orchis taps his own lips. Your eyes go wide, heart thumping in excitement. The sore muscles from today’s work protest, but your heart yearns another way. You nod, excitedly.

“Hell yes. If you’re down, I’m down.”

“Baby, you know I’m always down.” Orchis leans over, a soft peck to your cheek. “Always for you.”

A tingle shoots up your spine, the anticipation making your half-hard cock twitch.

Orchis’ pollen is sweet, like sucking from a honeysuckle. Despite the look of golden powder, it doesn’t feel grainy as he softly blows it into your mouth. It doesn’t make you sneeze when he moves up and presses his angled nose to yours, exhaling and puffing a fresh cloud directly into your nostrils. It doesn’t cling too long to your follicles, quickly dissolving into your skin like a cloud of vapor.

The process is quick; The tingling feeling starting from your face and moving all the way down to your toes, like a warm stream of water being shot directly into your veins. Your heart beat grows loud in your ears, your stomach going taut with tension, but not like when you’re in fight-or-flight, but like when you’re on the edge of something great; When the anticipation has you all tangled up inside and just can’t wait to burst out.

Orchis’ fingers trail a similar path as his pollen; They start by following the line of your clavicle, then dance across your chest and daintily down past your navel. His feather-like touch amplifies the sensations, goosebumps following in his wake as every cell in your body comes alive. Like flowers they bloom under his gentle touch, a shiver tingling down your spine as he lingers just above the belt, nails now grazing down your treasure trail. Your hips jolt when he applies the slightest bit of pressure on your hip bone, cock now rock-hard and leaking. Your brain starts to get fuzzy, blood flow redirected downward and nerves firing. Drool is starting to pool in your mouth, mouth open with small, breathy whines as Orchis stays tantalizing close to where you need him.

“Plea-” Your words are cut short by a desperate whimper, Orchis’ hand now right above the base of your shaft.

“Hmmm?” Orchis says, fluttering his long, wispy eyelashes. Like the tufts of a dandelion. “What was that, honey?”

“Please.” The voice that comes out is raw, animalistic; Like a rabbit caught in a trap, begging for quick mercy. That's how intense the pollen gets you; It melts you into a lusting puddle. “Please, touch me, love.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Orchis’ palm is as smooth as a lilypad, a combination of aloe moisturizer and his natural Dryad oils. Its grip is firm around your cock, moving up to the head like he’s milking a cow. It makes you lurch, back arching with your hips following his soft touch. His laugh is full of tease, but he isn’t such a monster to make a begging man wait. 

Orchis hocks a generous glob of spit into his hand, slow and methodical as he spreads it up and down your cock. Once it’s thoroughly coated, he doesn’t waste time. He jerks you off like you did when you were a desperate teenager; Fast and harried like you’re gonna get caught any minute. There will be time for slow later, when every inch of your skin doesn’t burn with desire, when it doesn’t feel like your balls will explode if they're left unattended for another second.

“F-uck! Yes!” You moan and pant, Orchis’ soft lips kissing your forehead as you rut like a dog into his hand. Your desperate hips force his pace to get sloppy, hard to keep a steady grip on your humping cock. He could probably stop moving his wrist entirely, the pollen having you revved up enough that all you need is a firm, solid grip to get you started. “Ooh, right-there!”

Your first orgasm hits like a firecracker, cum exploding out from between Orchis’ fingers, sparks flying from behind your eyelids. It wracks your body with tremors and robs you of cognitive thought for a couple seconds. It’s Orchis’ touch that keeps you grounded; His chest nuzzled into your sides, his words being whispered against your temple.

“Good boy.” He purrs, hand loose around your cock. His other hand pats your inner thigh, his lips laying soft kisses into the apple of your cheek. Cum is spattered across his wrist and your stomach, steaming off from how hot your skin is. “That feel good?”

“Mmh-yeah.” You croak, half muffled with your face tucked in Orchis’ shoulder. He chuckles, leaning down to kiss the bridge of your nose.

“Ready for more?”

Your dreary eyes open, and if your pupils could become hearts, they would be. Your cock, still hard, twitches to life in Orchis’ palm.

“Yes.”

The kiss Orchis devours you in is hungrier, feistier. You’ve dabbled in his pollen enough to know the first orgasm always comes fast, your body looks for anyway to expel the pent up energy as quickly as possible. If left untended for too long it becomes painful, that kind that has you scratching at your skin until it bleeds. Your human body isn’t built to inhale this much of the substance, and Orchis is always generous in making sure your pleasure is safely reached first. 

Now, the real fun begins.

The hand on your thigh drifts upward, leaving trails of aloe-like lube in its wake. Your cock jerks when his fingers circle around your asshole, dripping its cool honey down onto the tight ring of muscle. Orchis’ palm constricts around your shaft, and you let out a desperate whine. With a slow grip, his hand pushes up so his thumb presses on your frenulum. Fresh beads of pre-cum drip down, mixing with your previous spend and caking Orchis’ hands. 

“Such a handsome cock.” Orchis teases, the pads of his fingers grazing over your aching hole. His thumb presses down on your cock slit, pre-cum gushing over the sides of your head. The head juts against it when the first finger breaches your asshole. Just the tip of his index, but the way Orchis curls it inward has you lurching for more. “Such a desperate thing.” Orchis kisses a trail down the side of your face, nipping at your ear lobe. He pushes his finger down to the first joint, curling farther inward as his middle finger slides right in. His hand slides abc down your cock, slow and languid, squeezing all the way down. Your eyes go cross when he scissors both his fingers outward, already sick with anticipation for what he’s prepping you for. 

When your head arches back, baring your neck, Orchis is quick to slide in and kiss it. With one motion he tightens the grip around your cock and sinks his fingers all the way to the knuckle, pressing right against your prostate. The barrage of sensations has you gasping, a half-formed version of his name choking out.

“Oh, gods-”

“Nu-uh.” Orchis smiles as he nips at your neck, adding to the collage of bruises surely decorating it by now. “They aren’t whose making you feel good right now, are they?” Orchis knuckles dig into your ass cheeks, flicking the tips of both his fingers against your sensitive spot. 

You nod, tears budding at the side of your eyes. 

“N-no!”

The hand around your cock gives you a fast and hard jerk, knocking the air out of your chest.

“Who is?”

“Y-you! You are, Orchi-” He pulls his fingers out and thrust them back inside, timing it with his hand jerking you off, “-Orchis!”

His chuckle is downright salacious, and if it weren’t for years of your relationship that suggest the contrary, you’d assume he was kind of incubus, not just a Dryad. 

“That’s right, sweetie.” He kisses your neck, a parting gift as his hand leaves your cock and his fingers leave your ass, pulling away from your side. Only seconds of no contact and you’re already whining, heels digging into your comforter as you throw your hips up, skin burning where they miss his touch. Relief only comes when you feel his palms on your inner thighs, sliding up and spreading your legs with ease. They travel up and up to your ankles, sliding his knees under your thighs and making your back arched. The pollen makes your muscles relax, extra-flexible as Orchis forms you into an almost-mating press. His hot, gooey cock drips onto your hole, and if your skin weren’t on fire before his natural lube has made it scorching. The head is notched into your hole, and you can barely remember your own name when he’s kissing your temple. “Take it.” Orchis purrs, sinking into you like a hot knife through butter.

When Orchis seats himself inside you, it isn’t just pleasure. It’s Nirvana; Like all is right in the world, like you’ve found the place you’re meant to be. When his cock pulses against your prostate, it’s like a supernova has gone off in your-heart.

“O-oh, Fuck!” You melt, nails digging into the blanket, your pillows, your headboard. Orchis lips curl into a smirk, and his fingers tighten around your ankles.

“Good boy.”

With that, Orchis chases that feeling of his own. The bedframe shakes with each thrust, his slimmer muscles hiding a powerful, immortal might in them. He might not be a full-god, but in moments like these, it’s hard to forget just how divine he is. His breath gets deeper, sweat drips from his forehead to your belly, but he never slows down. Not his hips, nor his mouth.

“Such a perfect little slut for me.”

“You were built to take my cock.”

“So desperate, it would be cruel for me to ignore such adorable pleas.”

“Yes, beg for it.”

He punctuates each word with powerful humps, balls slapping against your ass, strings of cum, sweat, and aloe keeping your skin connected. You’re already totally lost in your mind, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out, when Orchis thumb reaches down and presses on your perineum.

“F-uck! Fuck!” You arch, cock thwapping between your and orchis stomachs. “Yes! Orchis, Yes!”

He must be smiling, but you wouldn't know it, delirious and losing all senses but the ones related to your impending orgasm. He rubs the pad of his thumb under your balls, before gripping them in a firm hand. His pace never flaters, never loosing his rhythm on fucking you open.

“Gonna…” Your words slur, drool leaking like a fountain down your jaw. 

“Yes, c-cum for me.” Orchis finally shows signs of stress, the slightest halt in his words. His hips move impossibly faster, as if Hermes himself had attached wings to them. Your stomach trembles. “Cum for daddy.”

How easily one word undoes you.

“Fuck!”

Your second orgasm of the night is a proper explosion; Like a volcano, or yoi guess mor accurately, like a geyser. Cum shoots all the way up to your neck, spraying across the bottom of your jaw. The pollen has your balls working on overdrive, taking several jets of cum before you cock begins to soften. It makes you lower half spasm, the grip making Orchis’ head toss back, the scent of sweet citrus filling the air as his cum pours inside you.

The air is thick, a miasma of sour and sweet. It’s a collage of your heavy breathes, Orchis’ stamina flattening at last, his cock slipping out as yours grows soft. He is quick to collapse next to you, his heart pounding enough that it nearly vibrates through your ribcage. His body heat is welcome, goosebumps peppering your skin as the pollen’s effects slowly dissipate. It doesn;t have the same intense come down as some other drugs, but it does often leave you chilly and dehydrated. Hence why a water bottle is being pressed to your lips, drips of it going down your jaw. With your energy so drained, you just let your mouth hang open, making Orchis giggle.

“You’re gonna choke, dummy.”

Immediately proving him right, a drip goes down the wrong hole and you gag, forcing yourself to sit up a bit and reorient yourself. Despite the burning at the back of your throat, you and Orchis find yourselves laughing at the ridiculous noise. 

“Told ya.”

“Shut up.” You murmur, no bite in your words as you curl up into Orchis’ side, letting him drip the water at a less-choking-hazard ankle. Letting him know you had enough, you pat his side, Orchis taking a big swig himself before putting it back on the nightstand.

Sliding down, you find yourself face to face with your boyfriend. Even in the low lamplight of your bedroom, you can see the mottled freckles across his green skin, the slight puff at the end of his eyebrows, like dandelion fluff. Every time you look at him, you feel yourself falling in love all over again.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 4 - Predator/Prey

Kink: Predator/Prey

Pairing: M!Were-Polar Bear x GN!Reader

Other Tags: Creameries, Doggy Style

Warnings: Non-Con, Brief descriptions of gore (imagined by reader)

Word Count: 2529 words

Kinktober Masterlist

You’re blazing hot.

Knee deep in arctic snow, layers and layers of insulated clothing meant to keep the cold out and the heat in, and you’re too damn hot. Sweat drips down your face and frosts before it can meet your collar. Your lungs burn, your heart beats in your eardrums, and you’re pretty sure your muscles are 30 seconds away from giving out entirely.

But you can’t stop, your mind refuses, even as your body begins to fall apart at the seams. Not when you can hear the snow being plowed away, the fervent huffs of something coming from behind. Not when your very life is flashing before your eyes, wondering if there will even be enough left of you to identify, to send back home to your family.

I have to keep…going-

White fades to black, but only for a moment. It's your eyes closing on impact, lids shutting to protect from the faceful of snow as you're tackled to the ground. Your panicked breaths heat up the powder and make it stick to your face, so far shoved up your nostrils it almost feels like you're drowning. The snow is freezing cold, yet you are still blazing hot, suffocated under 300 pounds of solid fur and muscle.

Something sharp digs into your scalp, and you’d yelp if not for the precious air you're missing when it yanks your head up. You’re left coughing up slush instead, trying to regain some sense of balance. As your eyes finally adjust, going from black spots to the clear white canvas of before, you feel something wet and hot on the back of your neck.

“Hngh-” A mix of pain and dread escape your lips as the tongue traces a trail from the base of your neck around to behind your ear, a hint of massive fangs following along the skin. Enough to raise goosebumps, to make your blood pump, but not quite to spill.

“Haaaah.” The beast growls, his not-quite-muzzle presses against your pulse. Another sharp intake of breath and your will drains more; Knowing he has your scent, knowing how fruitless any escape is. Spittle and slush gasp from your open mouth, melding with the desperate cries of a creature desperate not to die. So animalistic, you hardly recognize it coming from your own body.

The last dredges of your energy are used to thrash and buck; Fingers clawing senselessing at fur, too numb to tell if you’re doing even damage. It feels like your muscles are tearing themselves apart, like when parents lift a 1000 pound car trying to save their child, and shatter their jaws from how hard they’re  gritting their teeth.

Half your vision goes black, shoved cheek-down into the snow, the beast resting its whole weight on top of you. Fur tickles the top of your forehead, the creature's clavicle resting right above. Under layers of fat and fur, you feel the beast clench, wrapping his large body around you. His inner thighs dig against your pant legs, his stomach pressing hard against the middle of your spine.

Your muscles give out, only so much mechanical strength left in them. Not even adrenaline could save you know. You fall limp to his constrictor hold, and a peaceful feeling washes over. Acceptance, a readiness to move past the pain and into the blissful abyss.

You’re barely conscious when you’re flipped on your back. Eye’s so glassy you can’t even make out your attacker. Half-man, half-polar bear, all your imminent doom. 

Paws bigger than your ribcage move up your sides, the claws just close enough that if you sat up, they’d probably push right through the bone and into your heart. When they start pulling up your shirt, your first thought is that your clothes probably don’t taste too good, that he must be preparing for an unwrapped feast. Your fingers clench in the snow when that same tongue licks up the length of your abdomen, between your pectorals and up to the beginning of your neck. Your fears are being confirmed; You’re about to be eaten. You wish he’d gotten it over with sooner, snapping your neck surely would’ve been more efficient. When his paws snip through your belt and tear down your pants, you imagine how embarrassing it will be if he leaves you pantsless after he’s finished. How even in death you’d feel pathetic.

His nose, wet and big, presses into your inner thigh. He takes a strong inhale of your skin, and a deep growl comes from the back of his throat.

“Good…”

The creature’s voice rumbles like a thunder crack, the only hints of humanity he seems to have left. As much of a senseless beast he seems to be deep down in there is a man, who should know better. At least if it were an actual polar bear, you could be content that you were a part of the circle of life. At least your final act would have contributed to their dying populations.

The light is beginning to fade, your brain deciding that maybe you shouldn’t be awake for this. That maybe the last blessing you’d get is being unconscious while you’re ripped open. But when you feel your lower half lifting, your ass being spread open, suddenly sense returns to you.

“Wha-” Your weak voice startles, caught on the edge of your mouth as the creature licks you from end to end. Your legs twitch on instinct, the flat part of his tongue hitting a nerve that sets off a cascade of feelings. Feelings that do not feel appropriate at the moment. 

A puff of steam comes from your bitten lips, eyes bursting open when the creature does it again, lingering around the most sensitive spot; Right around your hole, the rounded tip of his tongue drawing a circle, and leaving trails of drool in its wake. The hot, viscous feeling drips down between your legs, catching on your entrance and making it slick. Your lower half crunches down, trying its best to escape the feeling, but the beast's grip is like iron cuffs, and forces you back into its mouth.

“A-ha..” You huff, feeling something muscle-y breach inside you, a tentative foray so unlike the beast that’s been hunting you. Your abdomen clenches again but it has the opposite effect, drawing in the intrusion rather than pushing it out. Something like a purr rumbles through the creature's chest, and you can feel its nose pressing deeper into your skin. A hint of his large, deadly canines nip on your inner thighs as his mouth opens wide. You almost convince yourself that this has all been some sick preamble, some ritual for his kind to best prepare their prey. And then- “Hngh!”

Your hips buck when the beast's tongue fully breaches your hole. It’s aided slightly by his thick drool, but it’s not enough to stop the rippling shock that travels up your spine. You feel the length of the appendage as he prods on your inner most parts, more and more spit collecting underneath your raised ass. The beast's lip smack against your near frost-bitten skin, the muscles of his jaw flexing with each curl upward of his tongue. The very tip reaches a particular point that has your life flashing before your eyes, and not in the way it was before.

“Hnrrrggh.” The beast huffs against you, one of his massive paws moving from your legs to your waist, a calloused thumb pad brushing over your belly button. A claw draws a parallel line up that path, an indented path of discolored skin surrounded by goosebumps. You aren’t bleeding (not yet), but your heart still jumps in your throat each time the beast's mouth parts. Like those jaws will finally come clamping down and begging to tear, ripping you open and baring your insides to the world. Well, more than they already are.

But every sloppy swipe of the beast's tongue has that fear slowly fading away, replaced by similar sensations. Your heart still pounds, your body still sweats, but you find yourself lurching into the teeth, not away from it. When the beast's nostrils flare and he soaks in your scent, a pleasant feeling unintentionally rolls through your belly. The feeling of being savored. 

“Ha-aaaah~” Snow flecks across your forehead as your neck curls back, stomach beginning to tighten and toes starting to curl. The deep, raw terror from before is fogged over, shrouded by a haze of pleasure. “Fuck.” You whisper, and one of your hands finds its purchase in the furry paws of the beast. You can’t even wrap your fingers around his wrist, instead senselessly clawing into the thick fur. Something like a chuckle rumbles from down below. It makes your hips roll, chasing the vibrating feeling of his laugh.

The shock of cold has you curling inward, fresh strands of drool icing over the instant the beast's mouth leaves you. Your thighs press together and shivers wrack you,, like your brain just remembered that you’re basically nude in nearly 2 feet of snow. It's blistered by another reminder when you’re flipped over, a fresh puff of snow going up your nostrils and knees digging into the top layer. Your navel just barely touches the ice, skin retching upward from the feeling, when your hips are yanked and your back is forced to arch.

You’re engulfed in heat. Thick, insulated fur covers you from every angle as the beast suffocates you in his embrace. He’s big enough to encase you with his body yet not fully sink you into the snow, one massive paw holding your pelvis up as his nose nuzzles back into your neck. A tongue thick with the scent of you licks up the side of your face, the flat part big enough to cover your jaw all the way to your forehead. 

“Mate.” His voice growls, deep enough to rattle your bones.

A weak shot of adrenaline has your eyes flying open. Your hands tremble when something hot and thick presses against your slick hole.

“Wait-” You try to cry, though your sore throat makes it come out more of a whine. A pathetic whine that creature pays no heed too as he begins to push the monstrous thing inside you. “Hng-grhk!”  You had thought his tongue was massive, but it was nothing compared to his cock. 

“Haaa-” The beast's breath has your nose curling upward, drool already pooling down and out of his jaw, his cock fully settling inside you. Your lower lip feels like it’s about to burst, your teeth digging down with such force, and he hasn’t even moved yet. “So…good…” His tongue licks up at you again. The massive thing twitches inside you, and you hate the way your hips jolt. The miniscule movement is enough to make the beast smile. “Mate.” He whispers into your ear.

When the beast starts to rut, he’s slow. He moves only an inch at a time, like he can’t stand being out of you for long. Yet each time his tip strikes against the deepest part of you, like he’s pressing against the very core of your being. His thick length is like a hot poker tearing you open, a hot poker that is unfortunately starting to feel good.

“Unnggh.”

A fresh stream of saliva drips down and  hits the tundra. From above, the beast's paw digs its claws into the snow. The beast moves faster now, still never fully pulling out, but instead grinding every time his cock fully seats inside. It only further scrambles your brain, the pressure now focused on the sensitive area. The paw around your pelvis holds your hips in a rigid place, and you start to feel a bit like a fleshlight; A warm hole for this monster to chase his pleasure with. 

The fur of his legs stick to your inner thighs with each slap, his sweat and yours mixing together. Your legs are beginning to shake, and you’re sure if he was’;t supporting your lower half, they would have collapsed already. A buzzing rumbles all the way up from your toes, to your thighs, across your belly and through your spine. Another moan sputters past your lips when the beast pulls his cock out the farthest, almost halfway, and slams it back into you. The force is enough to leave you gasping and you think you black out for a second.

The sound of your ass cheeks slapping against his pelvis is loud enough to echo, complimented by the beast grunts and your pitiful moans. A pool has started to form under your bodies, a mix of sweat and slick, a dirty reminder that you’re not hating this as much as you should be. Now when each graze against that spot has you jump, wishing you had the strength to arch you back and press even deeper into him.

You were hot before, but now it feels as if your insides are burning. Your stomach has twisted up into itself, and your leg muscles are starting to spasm. Your hands claw out in front of you, not trying to escape but trying to tether yourself, trying not to get lost in the euphoria bubbling up.

“Oh-fu-uck.” Your voice bounces, chest rubbing up and down the snow, body getting propelled by the beast's sloppy thrusts. His paw is still locked around you but his grip is faltering, his energy focused instead on battering you into a pulp. “Right t-there.” Your eyes scrunch shut, mouth hanging open while your orgasm approaches. The pleasure has you blocking out everything else; The fear, the cold, the common sense. Instead it focuses on the delightful feeling of his thick cock-head, pounding you into oblivion.

“G-good.” The beats grunts between snarling teeth. “Sooo, good!” He punctuates with an especially hard thrust, making you yelp. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover, resuming his pounding with renewed vigor. “Mate, mate, mate…” He rambles on, nostrils flared and blowing hot steamy breaths onto your face. You find yourself turning toward it, desperate for the heat and him.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” You nod, fruitlessly, curling up as best you can, trying to chase the same feeling. “P-please!” 

“Hnghhh!” The beast’s claws streak snow in their wake. He explodes inside you with a monstrous roar, loud enough to shake the trees and make snow fall off the branches. It’s his desperate humping, splattering cum against your thighs that finally sends you over the edge. Your voice is nowhere near as impressive, a pitiful squeal into the dirt and snow. Your knees knocking together, all that holds you up now is his cock, still inside you. Your arms have collapsed, panting face down in the cold.

You’re lucky that the beast doesn’t crush you, somehow having the wherewithal to not lay his complete weight on you. Instead it rests on his forearms and knees, still encasing you in his furry warmth. It’s more awareness than you have, left a drooling, puddle of a person under his shadow. You don’t even flinch when he licks you, when he nuzzles that fearsome muzzle into the side of your face. “Mine.”

[jovialgnomejpeg]

hi guys question ☝️ why does the werewolf themed reeses got a white topping

[jovialgnomejpeg]

Hey Everyone I Was So Distracted By The Collective Werewolf Boyfriend Pulling Out That I Forgot About A Vital Part Of Werewolf Lore ☝️

[official-monsterfucker-posts]

Official Monsterfucker Post.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 3 - Spit Roasting

Kink: Spit Roasting

Pairing: M!Cow Hybrids x GN!Farmer!Reader

Other tags: Lots of Cum, Hybrids

Warnings: Hybrids as property

Word Count: 1748 Words

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s tough being a farmer. Even a hybrid farmer.

It wasn’t all the sunshines and daisies tabloids and stories make it out to be. It was a lot of early mornings, back breaking labor, rinse and repeat. Days off were few and far between, no snow days or rain checks in your line of work. You love it dearly, wouldn’t rather be doing anything else in the world, but you won’t lie and say that there weren’t difficult days in your dream job.

Like today, for example.

“O-oh, fuck!” Harley cries out, cock pulsing as he shoots another fresh load into the trough. You have to admire the young bull's vitality, three orgasms deep and his balls are still swinging heavy. But goddamn is your forearm getting tired. “Right there!”

You’d been jerking the sweet stud off for nearly an hour now, the turning of the season making all you boys ramped up, balls extra full in preparation for the upcoming breeding season. It can add several hours to your chores for the day, the poor things so desperate for milking they have to be tended to first thing in the morning. While toys and machines help lighten your load, the old-fashioned part of you prefers to do things with your hands; Some say it's placebo, but you swear cow-boy cum is better when stroked to completion by the farmer rather than a fleshlight.

“Fucking baby, crying like a damn calf.”

“Travis, settle down.” You spit, squeezing your slickened palm around Harley’s head, the poor stud’s eyes going cross, “You’ll get your turn.”

Travis snorts, stomping his hoof and shaking his horns. He’s always extra cantankerous this time of year, more than the average bull, and gives you the most trouble when it comes to milking. No goddamn patience.

“My balls will be shriveled up and dry by then!” He moos, loud and angry, shaking his horns for good measure.

You sigh, feeling Harley quaking in your hands. The boy has a soft heart and while you already don’t care much for Travis’ attitude, any more harassment and Harley’s cum will start to go sour. These kinds of situations are what you trained for, how to herd and handle two rowdy bulls, damn near double your size.

“Alright boys, let's compromise.” You say, letting go of your grip on Harley’s cock, making the poor thing whimper. Travis eyes light up, hoofs pawing at the ground now. After wiping your hand on a nearby rag, you stand up and shuck down your trousers, letting them hang loose down by your ankles. “I’ll milk you at the same time, how about that?”

Harley immediately perks up at the thought, cheeks going cherry red as he nods excitedly, grabbing onto his aching cock. Travis scoffs, too proud to relent just yet, but the tail flicking furiously back and forth betrays his excitement. You smile, leaning over and grabbing some lube from a nearby drawer.

“See? No need for fighting.” You say, squirting a healthy glob of lube on your fingers. You shuffle over so your ass faces Harley, bending over and rubbing your fingers around your back end. Both bulls pull in close as if magnetized; dicks throbbing, fresh precum already dripping from Travis’ head. You make sure to grab a bucket and place it below both of your ends, desperate to not waste a drop of your boy's hard work.

Travis cock casts a shadow on your face, thick as your forearm and damn near longer. Even from this angle you can see the furrow in his brow. He stomps again.

“Why does he get your-”

“Because he was a good boy and waited his turn, Travis.” You snarl, slapping his weeping cock with the back of your hand. It gets you the first sign of obedience from the gnarly bull, a drop of his ears and a whine; Softens your heart just a bit, knowing all that pent up aggression comes from desperation. Just looking at his throbbing cock and you can tell he’s aching to let out a load. With a sigh, you finally grip at his base with your lubed up hand. “Don’t worry, baby, farmer’s gotcha.” You shoot one last look behind you, wiggling your hips in encouragement. Harley lets out a soft and gentle moo, before pressing his weeping cockhead against your tight hole.

With a deep breath and a thumbs up, Harley slides his throbbing shaft between your cheeks and deep inside. A few focused moments are all you need for him to fully seat inside you. And while lube and your experience certainly help the process go smoothly, Harley’s size still has you feeling pleasantly full. The kind of fullness that makes your toes tingle, makes your stomach clench when his head grazes against the deepest part inside you. There are many benefits to being a hybrid farmer.

Travis is in much more of a rush, practically trying to force his weeping tip past your lips. You give him another disapproving look, but open your mouth and flick your tongue across his slit anyway. That’s enough to have him putty in your hand, keening from just a lick. All bark and no bite, he is.

You’re nice enough not to tease, opening your mouth wide and letting Travis slide his shaft down your throat. At the same time you flex your lower half, purposefully squeezing around sensitive Harley. The moo he lets out is stuttered and almost painful, you can feel his dick twitching inside you. That fourth orgasm doesn’t seem too far away.

It's with a firm tap to Travis thigh that you give both of your boys the go ahead. Flaring your nostrils and curling your toes, you prepare your body to milk.

“Unngh!”

“O-oh!”

Both bulls are familiar enough with the process that they don’t bother going slow, trusting that their farmer is capable. Harley’s hands quickly find a bruising place on your hips, heavy balls slapping with each fervent thrust. Your nose is quickly stuffed in Travis’ crotch, his eyes going wide and chest heaving as he juts his hips against your mouth.

“F-finally!” Travis grunts through bitten lips, always too proud to moo right away. As if he isn’t stirring up dust with his harried hips, fucking your mouth like he’d never gotten his dick wet before. “Fucking- So good!”

Harley has fully lost the ability for words, nothing but moos and slurred groans as he chases his high from inside your guts, ramming his cock in and out. Your clench your stomach, lightning bolts shooting up and down your spine as his head rams against that sensitive spot, almost pinpointed. He may seem green, but the boy was a natural at finding the place that felt best for you. He truly is an award winning stud. It's why you don’t mind when he reels back and spanks you across the ass, cock jerking inside you. He’s a good boy, deserves a treat now and then.

“No fai-air~” Travis huffs, digging his nails into you skull. That gets him a warning slap to the thigh, another keening whine coming from his chest. “I get your ass tomorrow, o-kay?” You lift a brow and roll your eyes, but nod anyway, letting Travis’ cock bounce up and down your tongue. With a stupid smile on his face he starts fucking your face even harder, chasing down his first orgasm with a renewed fervor. Harley is clearly too cock-drunk to argue, a sign that poor bull finally might be nearing the end of today. Good, you don’t want to overspend him before the real breeding season starts.

Well, might as well move things along.

Digging your heels into the barn floor and sucking in a long breath through your nose, you simultaneously squeeze the bulls from both ends: Tightening your insides as you hollow out your cheeks. The barn fills with desperate moos. Music to your ears.

Both boys move even faster, hips clumsier and more frantic. You can feel your own orgasm soon approaching, that slowly stirring fire in your belly growing bigger and bigger with each pretty noise and desperate hump of Harley’s cock.

“C-um~” Is all the stuttering Harley can make out, balls twitching and practically vibrating with every slap against your legs.

“M-me too.” Travis huffs. “F-fuck, please let me finish in your mouth.” You raise your eyebrows. Travis keens, ears hanging low and the saddest, most desperate look on his face. “Please, I’ll put most of it in the bucket, just-please.”

Ahh, I’m way too soft-hearted for this.

With a roll of your eyes you start swirling your tongue around Travis’ shaft, latching on with each hard thrust into the back of your throat, a silent agreement to the bulls plea. He is keen at that, humps getting sloppy and uncoordinated, a big dumb smile now replacing his frown.

You close your eyes, focusing for a moment on your own pleasure. You let your body go limp, let the boys chase their orgasms using just your holes. You sink into the noises, the sweet moans of your prize winning studs, and the high-like feeling building in your stomach. Fuck, right there, right there…

“MMph!” Your body trembles as your orgasm takes you, makes your legs spasm and your mouth constrict. It’s the final straw to break the two bulls' backs, finally sending them over the edge.

“Un-ungh!” Harley whimpers with his final few humps, still cognizant enough to pull out when his climax hits, spraying full the bucket underneath you. Travis is less obedient, letting a few spurts go down your throat before yanking out from your mouth, filling up his own bucket with a wall-shaking moo.

Harley collapses first, sweat slicken and dehydrated to hell and back. Travis is next, collapsing on his ass with a little more decorum, but a delirious look on his face. His normal chatter is replaced by heaving breathing, his freckles brought out by the brilliant blush on his face.

You stand up, stretching out your lower back with a slight groan.

Oof, all that energy and it's not even 11 o’clock.

After another stretch you finally pull up your pants, wiping the remnants of Travis load off your face with the bottom of your flannel. It’s not enough to be a waste, not when you now have two full buckets; nice and overflowing with gleaming, thick, white semen. You pat yourself on the back.

All in a day’s work.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 3 - Bukkake

Kink: Bukkake

Pairing: M!Werewolves x F!Reader

Other Tags: Gang Bang, Anal, Virginity Loss, Cock Worship, Cum Play

Warning: Dubious Consent, Hazing, Slight Misogyny

Word Count: 1637 words

Kinktober Masterlist

You never thought sororities were for you.

It’s cliche, sure, but what with your big glasses, oversized outfits, and shy demeanor you never saw yourselves as one of the beautiful party girls. Which isn’t to say anything disparaging about said sorority girls, but just that you never saw yourself as the type to go to ragers, or mixers, or even to football games. You preferred a night in rather than out; Given how much socialization was required just to rush a sorority, you figured it was a long shot that you’d ever be accepted.

But so new to college and desperate for connection, that hesitance weakens in face of your new friends; All of them just as nerdy as you, singing the praises of their sorority and how great of a fit you’d be. Their words seemed laughable at your first round, surrounded by beautiful girls of all species, feeling so awkward in your borrowed crop top and denim shorts. But your guard drops when the sisters seem so welcoming, so friendly. They ask about your major, your niche hobbies, what books you’re reading. They actually engage with the topics too, don’t just make polite small talk in order to pass the time. They make the house seem fun, like somewhere you can actually belong, thrive even.

The next big step would come after you got your bid, officially joining the sorority. Initiation night was hectic and you were preparing for the worst when it came to hazing. As friendly as everyone had been, as much as you trusted your new friends, you knew all that got thrown out when it came to hazing. You just hoped it wouldn't be too gross, like licking a hallucinogenic toad, or scrubbing toilets with your toothbrush.

What happened was far, far more intense.

—

“Fu-cking-” A rough voice growls from behind your ear, his muzzle pressed against your pulse, “-you’re so goddamn tight. Ungh!”

Every thrust to his hips is another shock up your spine, the force spreading down across the nerves and making your cunt ache. You’d never known how full but empty you could feel at the same time; Not until tonight, at least.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck- hah- yeah.”

The floor is unmistakably sticky. A nose-scrunching mix of bodily fluids and spilled alcohol that was never cleaned up. But that scent is the only thing grounding you at the moment, that and the cool laminate flooring pressed against your burning cheeks. Your tongue would probably be hanging out if not for the nauseating smell, too throughly fucked out to care how you appear anymore. To even notice what a slutty picture you make.

“Gonna fill you up.” He snarls in your ear, the smell of wet-dog adding to the miasma. His chest is pressed to your back, his claws digging lines into the cheap flooring; No problem for a bunch of rich boys, whoever actually manages the house will deal with that. “Gonna fill you up the most.” He says that louder, more for himself and the others than for you. It’s bravado, a show of force, another step in this complicated social ritual you’ve stumbled your way into. “Hngh- here it comes!”

Sharp, furry hips bones dig into your ass, thick cock notched into your guts and filling you deeper than you thought possible. You always thought those erotica novels were exaggerating the feeling of a creampie. No smutty fanfiction had prepared you for the real thing, especially not in the ass.

“Haaaah.” The brother wipers his forehead, cock soft yet still far too thick for your asshole. You cling to his shaft as he pulls out, feeling unnaturally stretched wide.

“A-ah!” Your voice, already weak, barely makes a dent in the cacophony all around you; Slapping skin, sweaty balls, heavy panting. But the brother’s ears still perk up, several of them chuckling at your cute little noises. Those keen werewolf senses miss nothing.

“Aww, miss it already freshie?” One of the boys, you believe named Jacob, coos. “Thought it’d take longer to turn you into a cock-whore.”

“Nah, I think she came that way already.” The one that just slipped his cock out of your ass, David, spanks your raw cheeks, laughing when you jerk away. His claws dig into the fat of your ass, watching the supple flesh jiggle. “Look at this ass, no way she’s been keeping it to herself.” You spasm again when he nips at your thigh, sharp canines no doubt leaving a clear mark. “Why else would she pledge 𝛀𝛃?”

“Well if you’re such a slut,” Another clawed hand finds purchase in your skull, yanking you up by your hair, “-then bet you’d like to clean my balls, huh bitch?” You don’t get a chance to see who it is before his dick is in your face, thick and meaty enough to block your teary-eyed view. His fur reeks of Axe body spray, but that does nothing to help deduce whose cock it is. All you can do is let your mouth hang open, suckle on the sweaty sack and wonder how long he’ll last. The hand on your head tightens its grip, more tears bubbling as his claws dig into your scalp. “Yeah, that's a good little freshman. Lap it up.”

Drops of your own essence and the frat bro’s musk explode on your tongue, only slightly limiting the pool of whose balls you're sucking. 5 brothers have finished in your pussy, evidence of such currently gushing down your legs. The only other hint you get are his moans, deep and gravely, more so than the average werewolf. The hits you get of his fur reek of tobacco. Could this be…Julian?

All thoughts shoot out of your head when a thumb presses into your stretched open ass, so sensitive despite being thoroughly used already. Someone whistles behind you.

“Damn, just a thumb and you’re still gripping like crazy.” Another slap to your ass, your flinch making Julian (or who you think is Julian) groan. “The girls chose good this year.”

“Sure did.” Your face is shoved in deeper against Julian’s cock, strands of sweat sticking his shaft to your forehead. “Think I’m g-gonna keep her.”

“No fair.” A younger, petulant wolf whines. “I want to keep her. She’s only a year younger than me, we’ll have more time together.”

A snap of teeth and a snarl, the hand on your scalp yanks you backward.

“All the more reason for me to have her. I only got a year left to enjoy this.” Julian, now confirmed, slaps his cockhead against your bruised lips. His yellow eyes glow wild with lust, a smug grin across his muzzle. “Ain’t that right, baby? Daddy’s gonna make this the best damn year of your life.”

A shoulder check from another, bigger were has Julian growling, pulling your mouth away from his raging erection. One look from the other has that smug smile off of Julian’s face, ears tilting down in frustrated submission.

A heavy cock, bigger than you thought possible, hangs heavy under its own weight. This one you can recognize by sight alone; The biggest thing you’ve ever seen, the biggest thing you’ve ever taken.

Luther.

Something stirs in your belly, your mouth watering. Fresh streams of slick coat your pussy, still buzzing from its orgasm not 15 minutes ago. That smell, his bulging muscles, that thick, chestnut fur; if you were going to become anyone’s slut for the rest of your college life, you hope you’re his.

“We share. That’s the rules.” Luther’s voice, dripping with command, quiets the bickering. Ever the level-headed one and a true alpha, he knows how to get his boys in line. He’s not one to be swayed by animalistic lust, or careless emotion. He values tradition, and a true alpha never strays from tradition.

The look he gives you, down on your knees, bare and wanting, tells a different story.

“Play with yourself.” He whispers, gripping his cock, making slow circles with your head. “I want you to come when we do.”

Your legs fall apart on their own, head tossing when your fingers graze against your sensitive clit. The wolves all groan at the scent of your gushing pussy, tasting your fresh lust in the air. Just a couple strokes and your stomach already feels taut, nerves alight and desperate to come again. They all pick up their paces, instinctively following their alpha’s orders and trying to match your pace. Even Luther can’t stop his grip from becoming sloppy, his hips jerking into his palm when you reach another hand up to play with your nipple. The circle has devolved into nothing but moans and yelps, closing in on your sitting form, cockheads weeping with excitement.

“Fu-fuck.”

“Ooh, here it comes.”

“Shit, gonna paint your face.”

“Yeah, t-take it bitch.”

“Fucking s-slut.”

“Hrnnggh!”

“Yes.”

Perfectly in sync, as all packs should be. Each cock is different yet all of them cover you in their cum, hot loads enough to fill buckets. They splatter across your face, your neck, your tits, dripping all the way down your pussy. It’s enough to finally send you over the edge, cum coating your fingers. Your heart pounds like a bass drum, skin steaming from your own heat and their semen. The wolves pant all around you, some falling back onto their asses, exhausted by their own rounds of back to back orgasms.

Your eyes roll back into your head, the realization that the night is finally over all your body needs to finally relax. You fall into a pair of warm arms; If you were still conscious, you’d be embarrassed by how much cum you're sticking to his fur.

“Good job, little one.” The voice of Luther rumbles in your ear. “I think you’re going to be my favorite.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025) Week 2 - Phone Sex

Kink: Phone Sex

Pairing: M!Poltergeist x GN!Reader

Other Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Slight Somnophilia

Warnings: Dubious Consent (The somnophilia)

Word Count: 1562 words

Kinktober Masterlist

The first time you answer the phone, it’s an accident.

You just moved into your new home, though calling it new is generous. You’d gotten a deal on the place due to its age and its isolation, the perfect spot for a thoughtful artist like yourself to get some work done. Out here you could enjoy nature, savor the peace and solitude, yet still remain in contact with your friends and family. So when your house phone, damn near as old as the house itself, rings, you don’t even think before answering it.

“What are you wearing?”

That’s all you need before you hang up, not giving the eerie voice on the side the chance to perturb you.  Probably a prankster, a scammer, or hell maybe even a wrong number. Not worth your time, not when there’s so much to be done. You’ve got plenty to unpack, and these ancient foyers are in desperate need of dusting. So the phone call falls to the back of your mind alongside everything else not pertaining to unpacking. 

The second time you answer the phone, it’s on purpose.

You’ve finally settled into your new home; All the boxes unpacked, all the furniture arranged, all your toiletries bought. But the house phone has only become more of a problem. Whatever number it has must still be in the yellow pages, the poor thing constantly besotted by salesmen, telemarketers, and everything else useless of that sort. Considering you have your own cellphone which, unlike that ancient thing, has caller ID, you opt to ignore the ringing whenever it arises. Which of course comes crashing down when your mother, in her eccentric ways, decides to call you on “brand new home phone”, for some reason or another. Of course when you don’t answer after a couple of rings, rather than ring you up the normal way, she immediately panics and is convinced you’ve been murdered out here in the woods.  Your spotty reception means you're soon overwhelmed by concerned family members wondering what's going on, where you are, if you’re alive or not.

So, you’re back to answering your home phone, all in fear of your poor mother’s worrying heart, and not giving her another fright.  When you pick up the ringing phone that second time, you’re poised to hang up immediately, just waiting for the rehearsed words of another furniture salesman telling you about their great new deal.

“You looked so gorgeous today.”

At first you think it's another wrong number. The voice on the other line sounds so…intimate. So passionate. Unless this is a prankster with dreams of being an aspiring voice actor, you think this must be a booty call that misdialed. You should hang up, should break the ice and say “Sorry, wrong number.” And spare you and the person some embarrassment. But before you can force yourself to set the phone down, they continue.

“That cute face you make when you laugh…it drives me wild.” The voice practically melts out of the speaker, less of a purr and more pure magma, burning down your skin and making it melt. “Makes me want to pinch your cheek, or bite your neck.” A pause, and you can so vividly see a bottom lip being bitten, hear the sharp intake of breath. “I wonder what faces you’ll make then.”

You hang up, shoulder shaking. You swear your blush is from embarrassment, shame from listening in too long on something that can’t have been for you.

No other reason.

The third time you answer….it’s hard to say.

You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long afternoon of cleaning; tackling the sisyphean task of decorating every room and making your new house a home. The kind of nap where you’re disoriented by how dark it is when you wake, your mouth feeling like cotton, and your eyes are crusted over. The kind that can pass in the blink of the eye or be filled with the most insane images your brain can conjure. Yours was the latter.

You don’t remember the color of his eyes, his hair, or his skin, but you remember his touch. You remember his hands on your waist, how he pulled you into his chest for a smoldering kiss. You remember the taste of his lips, and the way your stomach twisted when his mouth moved from yours to your neck. You remember his voice, and how it made your skin burn, even when you gasp awake and struggle to remember where you are.

The phone is ringing, set right next to the couch. You answer it, and hear him.

“It’s so unfair.” The voice, his voice, whispers in your ear. Like it's a secret, like you’re not the only two people here. “I wanted to taste more of you.”

You pant, mind still fuzzy, struggling to get your bearings. He’s here, but he’s not. It’s him, but it isn’t, it simply can’t be. You must still be dreaming, the haze of almost-awake conjuring up more of the fantasy.

“I wanted more too.” Your hand furrows in the bottom of your shirt, just the graze of your finger tips against your stomach electric. Every nerve feels alight, and it forces you to continue, “I-”

“Yes. Tell me what you want.”

Like a siren call, you can’t help but answer.

“I wanted your hands on my back.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I wanted to feel your bare chest on mine, and your tongue in my mouth.”

“Hmmm.” The voice moans, and you nearly do too. “I’d want you on your back. Bare for me.” A chuckle, one that only tightens the knot in your stomach. “Though those cute pajama shorts aren’t too bad either.”

If it weren’t for the static in your brain, and your hand shoved down the front of said shorts, you’d probably be more frightened by that statement. How real it made all of this.

“I’d open you up, nice and slow.” The voice revels in your tiny gasps as you finally reach your sex. Your touch is soft and teasing, just like him, just like his was. “Steal all those little noises. Kiss all the way from your mouth, to your neck, to your navel, to…” the voice lilts, and you hate the way your heart catches, longs for more. “I’d make you scream for me. Moan for me.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod, desperate for someone who isn’t there. Who can’t even be real. “I’d be g- good for you.”

“Yeah?” Something like a purr rumbles across the line and directly down to your crotch. Your hand starts to move faster. “You’d take all of it, wouldn’t you? Let me play with you however I like.” The voice laughs again, but underneath you can hear it, the sound of hands moving. “Let me push those cute legs open and have my way with you.”

You nod, a senseless act. He can’t see you, but he moans all the same. 

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Touching m-myself.”

“Good.” The voice darkens, deepens. Something more primal spills out. “I want you to think of me, inside you. Kissing your forehead as I split you from end to end.” The line begins to static, but the voice doesn’t lose its clarity; No, it seems louder than ever. “Think of my hands on your hips as I fuck you like a good little toy. My good little toy.”

Blood starts to pool at the thin layer of your bottom lip, threatening to break under your clenched jaw. Your head tosses back, moans hissing from between your teeth.

“No, don’t hide it from me. I want to hear it.” A simple command and you follow, eagerly. Your mouth forms an O as you shudder out a pathetic groan, wrist beginning to ache. “I need to hear you cum, sweet thing. Cum, thinking of me.” You don't notice but the phone begins to buzz in your hand, raising the hair on your forearms. The taste of ozone linger in the back of your mouth, but falls to the wayside in the face of your oncoming orgasm. “Think of my body on top of yours.” Your back falls to lay prone on the couch, legs hiking up as your hips begin to hump upward. “Think of my face, nuzzled in your neck. My hips against your thighs.” You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. “My cock in that sweet little hole.”

“Ungh-” You throw your hips in the air, legs starting to shake. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!”

“Cum.”

You explode in your hands, head tossed back in pure euphoria as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You can barely hear the voice groan, his stuttered moans as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. 

The phone rests loose in your hand, body slowly coming down from it’s high and feeling weak. Your fingers struggle to maintain their grip, the stifled heavy breathing from the receiver barely a glimpse in your ear. Your brain calls for sleep again, feeling like you melt into the couch.

“Until next time, sweetest.” The voice whispers as it finally falls out of your hand and into the floor, unconsciousness finally winning the battle in your skull. Out of your eyesight, something like static buzzes across the receiver and up the wire. 

Until next time.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 2 - Corruption

Kink: Corruption

Pairing: M!Demon x M!Reader

Other Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Historical/Medieval European setting, Religious Guilt, Virginity Loss

Warning: Dubious Consent, Implications of Homophobia (very slight), War, Blood, Religious Shame

Word Count: 2091 Words

Kinktober Masterlist

You remember the first time you met David.

You were facedown on a battlefield, halfway to accepting your death. Blood and dirt filled your nostrils, your knee singing from the arrow wound currently leaking crimson across the grass. Your ears were ringing, so loud you couldn’t hear the remembered voice of your father; The stories he told of the joyous high of victory, of knowing you were serving a glorious purpose and king, of knowing you were a hero.

Heroes don’t die, slow and dirty, with no one to see. And you’re sure that was what was happening. Your death. A sad, pathetic death that no one would remember, which wouldn’t be tallied among the losses when your army won. If they won.

Soil mixes with the viscera, tasting foul as it becomes mush in your mouth.

Then, a hand on your shoulder.

“Get up! You have to get up!”

Your voice is all wheeze, head not moving as your eyes dart to the noise.

A halo of sun casts his face in shadow, yet you feel like you remember it clear as day.

The hand on your shoulder moves to your side, fingers digging into your ribs. Air comes out in hisses between your teeth. The stranger, at the time, hoists you so your weight rests on his side. He carries you like you’re no burden at all.

“C’mon. Fight’s not over yet.”

God, if only it was.

The strong hand on your side rubs your sore ribs. You feel a sensation other than pain for the first time in months; Warmth, like a crackling fire on a cold night. Your vision feels spotty.

You find the energy to lift your head, look your savior in the eye. You think the blood loss must be addling your mind, as he looks far better than he should.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He smiles, a full set of gleaming white teeth, set behind cupid bow’s lips. “We’re going to make it. I promise.”

In that moment, looking into brown eyes, shining almost like gold, you really believe it. For the first time in your life, you really believe it.

You’re passed out, between the field and camp, going limp in his arms. Somewhere in the fog you hear him say his name for the first time, clear as a whisper directly into your ear.

“David.”

—

You’re shocked you hadn’t noticed him before.

David shines like a beacon amidst the dreary colors of camp. Always with a hand on someone’s shoulder, a smile on his face. He makes war look like it was supposed too; Glorious, righteous fun.

You tell yourself its admiration. The way your stomach clenches when you see him. That’s pride making your heart twist when he hugs you after you recover, how he sticks to your side afterward.

He must’ve fought in wars before, though he never brags about past exploits. But he must have, with how expertly he navigates the battlefield; How calmly and precisely he guides your form. He’s an excellent teacher, always knowing the exact angle to adjust your wrist, how to spread your feet for a more solid base. He never makes you feel ashamed, not like your father or brothers did. Like a torch on a pitch black night, he guides you through the toughest moments. In the absence of anything else, he becomes your savior in these grizzled times.

The first time you think of him…is an accident.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, hands deep down your underclothes, hyper aware of the men sleeping around you. You remember what the priest had said about self-pleasuring, and the sin and the stress of being caught has you antsy. But it doesn’t stop you, not when your palm cups your balls and you feel the first good thing since David picked you up from the battlefield. It must be an accident, with how quickly his face comes and goes from your mind. 

Your cock jumps in your grip, forced to bite down on your bottom lip and hold down a moan. It’s gone as soon as it comes, but the etches of his smile on your brain linger. Even as your head jerks, an instinctual reaction trying to get away from the wayward thought, its the phantom feeling of that hand on your chest that has you finishing on your stomach.

The shame comes after, bitter and bleak. You convince yourself it was a trick of the mind, a crossing of thoughts, an accidental blend of fantasy and the stress you were trying to relieve.

David sticks to your side even more than usual the next day, and the embarrassment of your wandering mind has you forgetting to wonder why. Why does he focus on you, when he is so beloved and you are so….you. A nobody, a common foot soldier that nobody would miss if you never returned from the fight.

Nobody but him.

—

You can’t remember what urged you to find him tonight.

It was quiet, quiet as a war camp can be. The men of import are planning out battle tactics for the next day, hidden in tents and leaving their lessers to furrow in their anxiety. Most of your fellow soldiers have contented to drink themselves silly, knocking themselves out the only guarantee of a good night’s sleep. You find yourself wandering amongst them, trying to find your torch, your beacon.

“Think he said he was heading to the river.” An older soldier says, too keen of your wandering eyes. “Some quiet contemplation, or some other shit.”

You nod, not getting the subtle hint that maybe David wants to be alone.

That's how you find him; Alone, shirt untucked from his trousers and his cock in his hand.

“____.” He says your name calmly, as if he hasn’t been caught. Your shocked eyes go down and then up, focusing on the sweat budding at his brow and not the quick glance you got of his cock, the head cherry-red.

He chuckles at our aghast face, only slightly slowing his hand. A detail you notice, of course, impossible not too.

“I-” You fail to stumble out an excuse fast enough, brain scrambling for the next logical step.

“Would you like to join me?” His wrist stops, palm now just rubbing the underside of his weeping tip. You swallow a breath.

“It’s a sin.” Is what you should say.

“I should go.” is what you should say.

“Have you no shame?” Is what you should say.

“Okay.” is what you do say.

Those gorgeous, princely-like lips smile, and the words of your village priest falls to the wayside.

It’s painful how hard you become. Especially as you walk closer, notice David’s eyes darting up and down. How his fist (the hand) squeezes the base of his shaft once you sit down. The way his gaze lights up when you undo your pant laces.

“A stressed mind is a faulty one.” David says,acting as if his voice doesn’t set your skin aflame. His thumb brushes across his tip, a creamy smear left in its wake. “A faulty mind is a dead one, out here.” He gestures his head to the field, the stage of tomorrow’s skirmish. Those golden-brown eyes find their way back to you. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod, too breathless to try speaking. Instead your mind tries to stay on other things, other than him, other than what you’re doing. It’s hard when you can hear the squelch of precum beneath his palm, the soft exhale of breath through his nose.

“Is it wrong to want to live? To prepare himself anyway he can?”

“N-no.” You finally squeak out, heart nearly stopping when you squeeze around your shaft, feel it twitching at every word. David smiles.

“I knew you’d understand, ____.”

His shoulder brushes yours, the mere graze of his pants against your knee making your cock jump in your hands. Unlike you, David does not hide his staring, unassuredly watching you, matching your pace. A sinful thought passes again, a fantasy of his hand being the one around you. And despite knowing better, you chase the delightful feeling it conjures. Fresh sin drips down your knuckles.

Closing your eyes offers no respite, senses now hyperfocused on the sound of your hand, the heaviness of your breath. It feels hot despite the nightly chill, as if you’re back on the battlefield, tucked into David’s side. A moan bursts from your lips and a shiver, imperceptible, runs down David’s back.

“Look at me.”

A voice, so familiar yet so different, beckons amidst the lewd darkness. You fight it, almost on instinct, chasing the fantasy of David’s strong grip, of his breathtaking smile and his chest-

“Look at me.”

Nails dig into your cheeks, pinpricks of pain forcing your eyes open; Staring into a deep gold, deeper than ever before. Those soft pillowy lips now curl in a wicked smile, with teeth too sharp to fit them.

He is beautiful and he is terrifying.

A knot tightens in your stomach, groans gasping from your lips, forced to face your sin head on. Your skin feels molten, like any moment you both might burst into flames. But the burn feels good, too good, especially as you look David head on.

“Perfect.” A sultry purr yanks the knot even tighter, has your wrist aching as you chase the feeling. Your noses are brushing now, your body like putty, effortlessly molded by David's grip. His breath has become yours, and you swear you can taste the salty sweat dripping down his cheek. He must too, the way his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips.

“U-uh-huh…” You whine, hips thrusting into your own palm. It’s never felt this good before, not even the first time. Bolts of lightning shoot down from your stomach to your toes, forcing them to curl. You pant into David’s lips, hazy gaze instinctively looking to him for guidance. Your guiding light. Your savior.

His pupils are like that of a snake’s.

“David-” You call out, not sure if it’s in fear or pleasure.

Then, he’s kissing you.

You’ve never been kissed before. Not like this, with the taste of the other’s tongues on yours, with your heated breaths melting together. It’s agonizing, it’s euphoric, it's too much. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you don't fight when David’s hand yanks your jaw to the side for a better angle. The pace of your hand grows sloppy, brain beginning to mush. David, as always, comes to your rescue. He never falters, even under the greatest pressure. That firm grip wraps around your cock and guides you along. His name is caught in between your mouths; The only thing you can say. Your hips jolt under his touch, humping into it like a mindless, drooling dog. Saliva drips from your messy tongues, yet David seems as controlled as ever.

“Come for me.” His voice lulls, commanding and true. It reaches down into your gut, and pulls apart your insides. Long fingers squeeze at the base of your cock, milking it like a cow’s teet.

“I-” Your hands claw at his chest, desperate for something you don’t recognize.

The pad of his thumb presses against your slit and stars explode across your vision.

“I know you can, ____.” David’s lips dance from your mouth to your cheek, his voice ringing in your ear. “Do it-” Something nips at your ear lobe, a stinging sensation that shouldn’t feel as good as it does, “-for me.”

“A-ah!” You moan, no pillowy lips to silence it. Your eyes screw shut as the knot is pulled taut. “David!”

With his lips so close to your face, you can feel his smirk as you come undone in his hand. Even more you can feel his tongue, lapping at the streams of sweat, flicking across the beaded tear at the corner of your eye.

When you collapse into his chest, you don’t think about the stickiness. How your skin clings to his, or how your shame covers his stomach and your legs. You think of how strong he feels, how soft. How your fingers grip onto his arms, like you’re adrift at sea and he's the only refuse for miles. You think of his lips kissing the top of your head and the fingers stroking your cheek. Fingers with nails that are far too sharp.

“Don’t worry, ____.” David kisses the crown of your head, his lips kissing like licks of flame. “I’ve got you.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2025): Week 1 - Double Penetration

Kink: Double Penetration (In One Hole)

Pairing: M!Dragon x F!Reader

Other tags: Sacrifices, Slight Breeding Kink, Possessiveness

Warnings: Heavy Non-Con

Word Count: 1978

Kinktober Masterlist

Narsuss doesn’t care much for his followers.

For such an enthusiastic group, they never seem to learn exactly what their master requires. Their offerings were endless yet not quite satisfying, often over-done in their preparation. Like when they had successfully hunted a buck and displayed it across his altar, taking hours and hours to decorate and contort the thing into a showworthy display, not realizing that that spent time had soured the meat. They had a knack for….overdoing it. Not seeing the forest for the trees and obsessed with the prestige of their offerings rather than what their master actually craves. Obsessed with being the perfect servants, with doing everything they can, never considering that Narsuss may enjoy the hunt every once in a while. That he may savor the slow work of preparing things for himself.

You are a treasure, dressed in the finest silks and jewels, chained to his altar like Andromeda, beauty beckoning this monster to eat you whole. The smell of your skin permeates his flared nostrils, a mix of your sweat and the lavender oils his followers lathered you with. Your fluttering heart beats in his ears, only quickening pace as his powerful steps draw nearer, his long tail dragging behind him in the graveled path; Betraying to you, even in your blindfold, that no ordinary man has come to savor you.

Your voice is weak, nothing but whimpers as he drags a long nail up the center of your bare stomach, the diaphanous silks wrapping your breasts nearly shearing at just a touch. He imagines at first your screams were loud, that your fight was strong. That you kicked and bit and scratched at his followers as they held you down. But their preparations have worn you down, your screams already spent on mortal means, fear and exhaustion weighing heavily until all you can do now is hiccup, tears already dried. He wishes he could have seen it, seen the fire as you realized your fate was inescapable, that your future was decided. 

Narsuss’ nostrils flare as he roves his gaze down your seductive form, your scent peaking at the apex of your thighs. His followers had done their best to clean you, wiping away the copious amounts of slick and sweat near your opened holes, but not enough to hide their deeds. 

They’d done it again. Prepared you in advance, Narsuss can smell it. The stench of fingers, of mouths, of your poor holes being stretched and fucked open. Stolen several orgasms to make you soft and pliable, a perfect, fuckable display for their master. Narsuss can barely hold back his growl. Those fools, thinking he is some sort of dragonling, who needs his catch thoroughly chewed before he can enjoy it. They're lucky that they had the brains to not defile you with anything more than that, no human cock or seed lingering in the cloud of your scent. Good, that might have been the last straw. Narsuss might’ve had to build his cult anew, and gods, that would be exhausting.

His claws meet the thick fat of your thighs, which fall open like soft butter at the slightest pressure. The shivering goosebumps on your skin offer Narsuss some solace, a hint that your sensitivity still lingers, that it can be rebuilt. His tongue lathers up the inside of one of your legs, and your hips jerk. Good, he wants you aware, awake and feeling. Not just some used play-hole for him to use, but a proper sacrifice he can fuck.

He hears your heart skipping when he lays atop you, feels your skin tense and shiver once the cold plate of his chest scales press against you. Your nipples perk under the cool touch, pressing through the silk of your outfit. Your breath begins to catch, fresh sweat beading at your brow. He can actually smell you over the perfumes and the lotions. Narsuss licks his long, ribbed tongue up the side of your face, savoring the taste and your frightened gasp.

Delicious.

For all his followers' faults, they did know luxury when they saw it.

Narsuss is sure your hips burn as he slots in between your legs, forced to accommodate his massive size. No amount of preparation could prepare you for the sheer might of a dragon like him, for all 7 feet of his more humanoid shape. He has to hunch his neck forward to keep his eyes on you, a minimal strain that is worth the effort, especially when your face scrunches up into such palpable fear. Especially for the gasping breath as he lines himself up with your sweet cunt, as you feel what is about to defile you.

The chains around your arms and ankles rustle when Narsuss applies the slightest bit of pressure against your entrance. Your whole lower half clenches up, soft belly nearly rigid with fear as your hips and legs wiggle and uselessly try to pull yourself away. Good, there is still some fight left in you, maybe not all his pleasure is lost.

It's obvious how your body tries to reject them, your walls clamping around his cockheads like a vice, enough to make Narsuss hiss between his rows of sharp teeth. They had faltered under his followers many machinations, but now they reject him, trying their best to force him out despite their slickness. But it is fruitless, pointless, for even as you gasp and cry, Narsuss sinks into you like you are made for him; like you were crafted just for his enjoyment. In a way, you were, but Narsuss pushes that thought aside. Can’t let his followers know he approves so heavily of their choice.

Your gummy walls pull on his shafts, forcing his back to roll as they light his inner fire. Gods, you feel divine, and he can only imagine how you’ll feel when it is he who gets to prepare you. When he gets to feel you stretch on his tongue, his digits, his tail. How you will scream and moan, though he is enjoying your whispered noises just the same. Especially when he forces his cocks back into the very base, notching against the deepest part of you and forcing the prettiest gasp out of those succulent lips.

Your lips grow flush with blood as he drags out his cockheads, the ribbed edges pressing against every sensitive nerve of your insides, rewarding him with a frush of gush of slick. Even now you try to fight the pleasure, despite being thoroughly robbed of it already. Yes, Narsuss thinks he will like unraveling you very much.

Your legs can't help but thrash when he starts thrusting, slow and methodical as it is. At first they flail outward, the final remnants of your fight trying its best to push him off. Fruitless, like all other endeavors against him, for the flailing only makes his cocks twitch inside you. Just that small movement makes both of you jump, unintentionally rolling your throbbing clit against his scaled abdomen. A proper moan finally bursts through those well-bitten lips, and Narsuss’ smile is wicked. He rolls his hips intentionally, focusing on that sensitive spot, and a keening whine like that of a whipped dog bursts from your chest. Your hips jerk once more, but this time it is forward, into Narsuss’ stomach. 

You must be exhausted, both mentally and physically, fighting against yourself. As much as Narsuss loves the struggle, he loves your acceptance more. Loves the way the last of your tears dribble down your cheeks, the way your lips part open as his cockheads press into your guts. Narsuss is generous enough to be gentle at the start, teasing you with the smallest of movements against that sensitive spot. Half-inch thrusts that seem to only emphasize how stretched you are, how every possible corner of your walls is pressed against his shafts.

It is after several minutes of such agonizing torture that your legs find their natural place around his, calves curling around the back of his knees. Precious pussy asking him to go deeper, begging her master to fill her completely. And Narsuss is nothing if not a generous dragon.

Smoke fills your nostril as Narsuss huffs, flexing his abdomen and starts to thrust faster inside you, finally establishing his pace. Sticky strands of your juices now connect him to your inner thighs, slapping against both of your skins to create the lewdest of noises. Narsuss stretches one of his palms out above, pressing his scaled chest even closer to yours and letting his muzzle touch the tip of your nose. This close and he can taste every whimper, every filtered moan as he starts to pound you properly. Take the time and ravage his delicious sacrifice, truly indulge like the wild beast he is.

“G-gods.” Narsuss moans, his voice with an unusual hesitance as his cocks throb inside you. “Fucking d-divine.” His long, forked tongue finds itself down your throat, soaking up every inch of your insides, now from both ends. His claws dig long, white streaks across the altar. His followers will now doubt revel in that, idolize any sign of their master’s pleasure. But Narsuss can’t think of them right now, refuses to think of them. Not when you’re underneath him. 

“A-ah-” You moan around his tongue, drool now dripping in rivulets down your jaw and to the altar below. It makes Narsuss’ nostrils flare, the taste of you like ambrosia on his lips. Your soft flesh digs into his scales from every angle, from your calves to your thighs to your stomach to your breasts. He can’t wait to have you on him like this at all times. He can see it now; You, perched on his lap as he receives his followers, warm and soft and perfect. Or your soft cheeks resting on his stomach as you both sleep, legs locked around one his thighs. Or your ass jiggling as he bounces you on his cocks, hands wrapped around your waist and feeling every slap of your succulent behind against his pelvis.

Narsuss snarls into the wet kiss, aware of your yelps as he pounds even harder, scooting you up the altar. Your head would hang off the side if not his massive paw cradling your skull, refusing to detach from your mouth for even a moment. The grip of your legs around his has slackened as you become more and more cock drunk. Muscles losing control as your nerves are set a light as much as his.

When Narsuss finally pulls his tongue out of your mouth, its so he can growl in your ear.

“I’m going to cum inside you.” The stone altar cracks under his grip. “I’m going to cum inside you every day, every night and every morning. Until you will only know the feeling of being full of me.” Narsuss shafts pulse inside you, his movements becoming more harried than ever. Your body, limp from the stimulation, stills finds its power to convulse as your own pleasure reaches it peak. “Now, cum.”

You follow your master's orders at once.

“Oh, gods!” Your voice echoes, beck craned back. Naruss roars as his orgasm hits, torrents of his seed filling you until your cunt is sopping; Until its coming out from the sides in spurts, dripping down the altar like candle wax.

Your legs lie limp by his sides, your breasts heaving with every breath. You don’t even have the energy to prop yourself back up, head still cradled in your masters hands. Even soft his cocks are a stretch for your poor cunt, the relief minimal as he catches his breath, still inside you. 

You don’t flinch when his mouth lays upon your cheek, when his claws draw circles into your scalp. When the hot smoke dances across your face.

“My perfect little sacrifice.”