🚩This is an adult blog, dni if you are underage. Please put your age in some fashion on your blog ("In my 20s," "born in the 90s," the point is, you've got options!), or I WILL block you.
You'll see many reblogs and perhaps my own drabbles/works of fiction, too. If you see your work on my blog and wish for it to be removed or it's incorrectly credited, please send me a message, and I will happily fix it! This is also a sideblog 🩵
My loves, in no particular order, because who can pick just one beast?
Werewolves
Orcs
Shifters
Naga
Minautors
Gargoyles
Merfolk
Demons
Dragons
Aliens
Anything human resembling too (Fae, vampires, etc.)
This list is liable to grow 😉
I love multiple genres of monsters, from historical fiction to modern depictions (like co-habitation) and sci-fi! Polyam monsters is also super hot, and I love it. Feel free to ask questions, I might just answer.
Kinks and things you'll find here:
Breeding/impregnation, cnc and dubcon, size differences, kidnapping/abduction, slave/master, light degradation, multiple partners and polyamory, choking, dirty talk, yandere.
As I think of more I will add them to act as cw before you continue scrolling here
This is an AI-free space. I will never use AI, and do not condone the use of it. While I don't have many original works on here, do NOT feed my work into AI. Better yet, don't steal anyone's work to feed into AI!
#curiousmons is created by yours truly
#curiousmons writes includes the short stories/imagines/reader inserts with all the spice that my dirty lil mind concocts
#my monster mania manifesting as a self call-out when I'm being horny as shit
#soft sweeties for the abnormal sft post, or those that give the warm fuzzies inside (no, you pervert, not a werewolf litter)
tentacle monster who loves to force a bunch of aphrodisiac in me and then hold me in embarrassingly exposing positions and then enjoy the show as i struggle and moan and beg while it doesn't give me any stimulation at all
Warnings : mention of blood, afab reader, mdni, no use of y/n, vampire, piv, no protections used (wrap it before you tap it), smut, sex without romance
Masterlist
The last stool had been empty for twenty minutes already. You were wiping down the counter, the rag moving in slow circles across the polished wood, when the bell above the door chimed.
You looked up. Of course.
He always came at closing time. Never early enough to bother the other customers, never late enough to find the door locked. Just at that precise moment when you were alone and tired and ready to go home.
The man was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than your monthly rent. His hair was dark, combed back neatly, and his skin had that particular pallor that some people mistook for anemia or too many hours in an office. You knew better now. You'd known for about three months, ever since he first walked in and ordered something you didn't serve.
"Mister...," you said, setting the rag aside. "We're closing."
"I'm aware." He walked toward the bar, his steps measured and deliberate. "I won't keep you long."
He settled onto the stool, adjusting his cuffs with practiced precision. You already knew what was coming. The same conversation every few weeks, always at this hour, always when you were alone.
"I need a drink," he said.
"We have whiskey. Vodka. Some wine too"
"Not that kind of drink."
You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Mister, you know I can't serve what you're asking for."
Three months of this. Three months of him coming in, ordering something you couldn't provide, and leaving with that same polite smile when you refused. He never pushed. He never argued. He just showed up, asked, and accepted your answer like a gentleman accepting bad weather.
But tonight felt different. Maybe because you were tired. Maybe because the bar was empty and the city outside was quiet and there was something about the way the streetlight caught his face that made him look almost lonely.
"Mister." You gluped, not sure anymore. "I still can't serve what you're asking."
"I know." He tilted his head, studying you. "But I also know you have a storage room in the back. And I know you close in five minutes."
Your heart did something complicated in your chest. A skip, then a flutter, then a steady thump that felt too loud in the quiet room.
"That's not something I do."
"I'm not asking you to make it a habit."
"Why me?" you asked. "Surely you have other options."
He considered the question carefully, which you appreciated. Most people just said whatever came to mind first. This man, or whatever he was, seemed like the type who weighed every word before releasing it.
"You're clean," he said finally. "I can tell. You take care of yourself. You don't smoke, you drink moderately, and I've never seen you touch anything harder than coffee during your shifts." He paused. "Also, you're kind. You let the homeless man off the street use your bathroom last winter when every other business on this block turned him away. I saw that."
You remembered that night. The man had been shivering, covered in snow, and you'd let him warm up in the back for an hour before the police came to take him to a shelter. You hadn't thought anyone noticed.
"Three months," you said slowly. "You've been watching me for three months?"
"I'm a patient man." He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. Just barely. "I had to be sure."
The bar was empty. The clock on the wall ticked past closing time, and outside, the city hummed its usual nighttime melody.
You made a decision.
"Follow me."
The storage room was small, cramped with boxes of liquor and stacked chairs and a mop bucket that never seemed to dry properly. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a yellow glow that made the space feel smaller than it was.
He followed you inside, closing the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the tight space.
You rolled up your sleeve, exposing the pale skin of your forearm. The veins were visible underneath, blue lines traced against flesh in the dim light. You'd thought about this moment before, in the abstract way people think about unlikely scenarios. Never seriously. Never expecting it to actually happen.
He stepped closer, his movements slow and careful. He reached out and took your wrist, his fingers cool against your skin.
"Thank you," he said, and he sounded genuine. "This is not something I take lightly."
"Just do it."
He brought your arm to his lips, and for a moment, nothing happened. Just his breath against your skin, cool and steady. Then his mouth opened, and you felt the sharp pinch of teeth breaking through.
The pain was immediate but brief. A sting, then a warmth that spread outward from the wound. You watched, half-fascinated and half-horrified, as his mouth pressed against your arm. He didn't suck, not aggressively. Instead, he seemed to let the blood flow naturally, taking slow and deliberate draws that made your head spin.
The world narrowed to the sensation of his mouth on your skin. The warmth of your own blood leaving your body. The strange intimacy of standing in a storage room with a man you barely knew, giving him something that felt almost sacred.
He drank slowly, as though savoring it. Minutes passed, or maybe seconds. Time lost its shape in that small yellow room.
When he finally pulled away, you expected him to stop there. To wipe his mouth and thank you and leave. But he didn't.
He leaned in again, and his lips pressed against the wound. Not to drink this time. To kiss it.
The gesture was so tender, so unexpected, that your breath caught in your throat. His lips lingered on your skin, soft and cool, and when he pulled back, the wound had stopped bleeding. He'd sealed it somehow, with his saliva or his tongue or something you didn't understand.
"There," he said quietly. "That should heal quickly."
He released your wrist and stepped back, giving you space. His eyes were darker now, the pupils dilated, but his expression remained calm and composed.
"Thank you," he said. "That was... more than I expected."
You lowered your sleeve, feeling lightheaded. "You're welcome."
He reached into his jacket. His hand emerged with a handkerchief, crisp and white, which he offered to you.
"For your arm. In case it stains."
You took it, not knowing what else to do. The fabric was soft, expensive, monogrammed with what probably were his initials.
"Is there anything I can offer you in return?" he asked. "A tip, perhaps, for the service?"
The question hung in the air between you. You should have said no. Should have thanked him and sent him on his way. That would have been the smart thing, the safe thing.
But you didn't.
"I'm open to suggestions," you heard yourself say.
Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of interest, of hunger, though not the same hunger he'd walked in with. This was something else entirely.
"I could show you," he said, his voice dropping lower, "what it feels like to be wanted. To be taken care of." He stepped closer again, his hand reaching up to cup your face. His palm was cool against your cheek. "If you'd let me."
Your heart hammered in your chest. The storage room felt smaller, warmer, charged with an energy that made your skin prickle.
"Yes," you said.
He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, the way he'd drunk from you. His mouth was cool but not cold, tasting faintly of copper. Your blood, still on his lips. The thought should have disgusted you. Instead, it sent a thrill through your body that settled somewhere deep in your stomach.
His hands found your waist, guiding you backward until your back hit the wall. Boxes rattled somewhere behind him, a bottle clinking against another bottle. The sound was distant, unimportant.
His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, exposing your skin to the cool air. His fingers traced along your waist, your ribs, mapping the contours of your body with an attention that made you shiver.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "I knew you would be."
His mouth found your neck, pressing kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His teeth grazed your skin, not breaking it, just teasing. A reminder of what he was, what he could do.
Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling the expensive fabric of his jacket beneath your fingers. He was solid, real, even if the rest of this felt like a dream.
He turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the wall. The storage room door stared back at you, locked, a flimsy barrier between this moment and the rest of the world.
His hands worked at his belt, the sound of metal sliding against leather sharp in the quiet room. Then his fingers found the waistband of your pants, sliding them down with your underwear.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice rough but still polite, still controlled, "how long I've wanted this."
His hands gripped your hips, steadying you. You felt the pressure of him against you, the cool touch of his skin, and then he pushed inside.
The sound you made was not a word. It was something deeper, more primal, torn from your throat without permission. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that made your knees weak.
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "I know. Take a moment."
He stayed still, letting you adjust, his hands warm on your hips even through the coolness of his skin. Patient. Always patient.
When you moved against him, a small shift of your hips, he took it as permission. He began to move, slow at first, each thrust measured and deliberate. His breath was cool against your neck, his body pressed against your back, hemming you in against the wall.
"You feel incredible," he said, the words almost a whisper. "I knew you would. I could tell, just by looking at you."
Your hands scraped against the wall, searching for purchase. The pleasure built slowly, a wave rising from somewhere deep inside you.
"Tell me what you need," he said, his voice still that same polite murmur. "I want to give you what you need."
Faster. Deeper. The words wouldn't form properly on your lips, so you pushed back against him instead, showing him through movement what you couldn't say.
He understood. His thrusts grew harder, faster, the rhythm of his body driving you toward the edge. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you steady, keeping you close.
"That's it," he said. "Let go. I've got you."
And you did. The wave crested and broke, pleasure flooding through you in hot waves that made your vision blur. You cried out, the sound muffled by your own hand, by the wall, by the sheer intensity of the moment.
He followed moments later, his body tensing against yours, a low groan escaping his lips. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.
The silence that followed was heavy. Intimate. The kind of silence that felt more honest than words.
He pulled out slowly, carefully, and you felt the sudden emptiness like a loss. Your legs gave out, and you slid down the wall, sitting on the cold floor of the storage room.
He knelt beside you, adjusting his clothes with practiced efficiency. Then he turned to you, his expression soft in a way you hadn't seen before.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
You couldn't answer. Your body was still trembling, your mind still catching up to what had just happened. Tears had gathered in your eyes, the kind that came after intense pleasure, and they spilled over before you could stop them.
He saw the tears. Something in his face shifted — concern, maybe, or tenderness. He reached out and brushed the tears away with his thumb, his touch impossibly gentle.
"It's alright," he said quietly. "That happens sometimes. It's just your body processing everything."
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, a soft press of lips against your skin. Then he pulled back and smiled, a real smile this time, one that made him look almost human.
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. "You're welcome."
He stood and straightened his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles with practiced ease. At the door, he paused, looking back at you.
"I'll come more often," he said.
Then he unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving you alone in the yellow light of the storage room, your body still humming with the memory of his touch.
god i love the idea of a monster with fat, squirmy tentacles holding me tightly, teasing me for hours with their tendrils stroking against my nipples and my swollen clit, rubbing against my tongue, leaving behind its pheromones that make me hotter and hotter with every delicious caress, before finally sliding its thickest tentacle inside my cunt to fuck me silly for hours
Gargoyle who stalks you from the victorian building across the street.
You realize there's creepy figures across the street, and one of them seems to be looking at your bedroom. He's a creature to be admired, big and tall even from afar. His wings so big they cover half the building, his torso naked and his horns pointy. He has something about him that draws you to him, that makes you have thoughts... Naughty thoughts.
The idea of the gargoyle being alive turns you on. You always had a bit of an exhibitionist side, and thinking that gargoyle is looking at you as you change... That makes you wet. Thinking he could see you touching yourself makes you so horny you have to rub one off. So you do all that. You change clothes and do little jumps to make your tits jiggle, you do little naked dances in front of the window, you touch yourself looking right at him. You try to get a reaction and you chastise yourself for such silly thoughts. He's a statue. Just that.
You think you see him move. He looks back at you. But that can't be, that's not possible. He's a statue... Just a statue. But his eyes are looking right at you, right at your fingers still buried inside your pussy. You stare back, but laugh it off. You ignore it, might be a trick of light or something. The gargoyle didn't move. He's just a statue. A statue which you thought about while jerking off, but that's your problem.
Until your dry spell is not your only problem. You wake up in the middle of the night with a big gargoyle right outside your window, intensely looking at you as he knocks on the glass. He grins at you, his fangs bright under the moonlight, his wings moving behind him. He looks like a destroyer of words and it ignites a fire inside of you...
The first time you ever laid eyes on the the handsome older orc was a day prior while he was fixing up the porch to your neighbors house. While the man was taking a break you couldn’t help your curiosity as you made your way over seeing your neighbor inspecting the work. You waved and they smiled and waved back.
“So, who was that guy?” You ask nonchalantly.
“Oh, Farah? He’s just a local handyman. I needed some work done and he was looking for some work so I figured I’d give him a go.”
“Mind giving me their number? I could really use some work done inside the house.” You lie through your teeth. You didn’t need any work done, if anything you thought your house was perfect, but that didn’t stop you from calling up the number the next day and asking for assistance for a non existent problem that now lead you to the position you were in now.
Head pressed against your pillows with your ass in the air as Farah greedily pounded into from behind. His hand at the gape of your neck keeping you pressed firmly down and the other on your hip in a bruising grip.
“Such a dirty little slut, calling me to fix something in your room just so I can fuck you. Do you do this to every orc you see?” He huskily says into your ear, not stopping his brutal pace.
“No! Just you! Fuck!” You groan as a knot starts to form in your stomach.
He lets go of your neck and reaches in front of you to rub your clit. That’s all it takes to make you snap. You clench down hard on him as you cum and he bites down gently on your shoulder at the feeling of you tightening around him. You start to slouch down but he’s quick to pull you back towards him.
“You think we’re done here? Far from it since you wanted to waste my time.” He growls.
You had never thought aliens were real until one appeared in your backyard. When it happened, you had only been in your new home for about a month. As a writer, you had moved to a small, secluded house in the countryside for some peace and quiet while working. Other than the bi-monthly trips to the food market, you were completely alone with your work and thoughts.
The day had started like any other. You had made breakfast, showered, and even got in a few hours of writing. Suddenly, there was a noise outside your office window. Upon looking, you had seen nothing and waved it off, but moments later, you heard it again. No longer able to ignore it, you had gone out back to see what it was.
Imagine your shock when a massive creature stood in your backyard, poking around your garden. The creature stood about eleven feet tall and was a dark blue, almost black. Its chest was broad, double the length of your shoulders, and seemed packed with hard muscle. Its shoulders had sharp ridges that nearly looked like thick scales. Its thick thighs had similar ridged scales along the outside. Strong arms lead down to large hands that look terrifying with their sharp nails. The creature’s head was all sharp angles, and its eyes were solid black as they stared at you.
The scream had been stuck in your throat, but the creature must have seen the panic on your face because it quickly held up its hands and claimed that it meant no harm. You still kept your distance as the creature explained that he was not of your planet but was currently stuck on earth while working out how to build a way home.
You had taken pity on the creature and, against what most would consider better judgment, had decided not to freak out and instead befriend the large creature. You learned his name was Oltuth, and he came from a planet you had never heard of. He was traveling and exploring when his ship malfunctioned and crashed a few miles from your secluded home. Your house was the first place he had come upon that wasn’t just open land, so he had been looking for sustenance in your garden.
You knew you probably shouldn’t invite some strange alien creature into your home, but you felt bad for him, and you couldn’t deny that it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to. You also knew that most people would probably just attack Oltuth without hesitation if they found him, so you offered him refuge in your home under the promise of him being peaceful and kind. He quickly promised, and you were very glad he did.
He became a great help around your house and an even better friend. He helped you around the house and with your now flourishing garden. You both built a routine together while you worked on your book, and he worked on a way to rebuild and repair his ship. The days passed much faster with him to talk to, and before you knew it, months had passed. You both grew closer, and you grew almost sad when you thought about him eventually leaving you to return home.
Today had gone like any other with Oltuth, and you now sat with a nice cold glass of sweet tea, simply enjoying the late-night sky full of stars while you both talked about the different ways of your species.
Oltuth clears his throat before he says, “I would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you have shown me these past few months. If you are okay with it, I would like to show you how the males of my planet thank our females for caring for us the way you have for me”. Excited to learn something new about his species; you quickly agree with an enthusiastic, “Yes.”
He grabs your smaller hand in his own and brings you inside to the couch. He gently guides you to sit, your butt on the edge of the sofa. Your breath hitches as Oltuth moves his large body between your legs, gently prying your legs open. He kneels before you, gently removing your shorts along with your panties. His long, pointed tongue starts gently lapping at your clit as soft mewls leave your mouth. His jet-black eyes stay trained on your face as you wriggle on the couch.
His hands grip your thighs tighter as he shifts his tongue into your wet hole. The thickness makes you moan as he licks along your inner walls. You lay back against the cushions, hips thrusting against his face as you slowly feel that beautiful high building. Without warning, you feel something wet, flicking against your swollen clit. Your eyes snap open, and you look down. His large tongue is still buried deep in your cunt, but another slightly smaller tongue is now playing with your needy clit.
You whimper and moan out his name at the double stimulation, tears gathering in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling. The tip of his tongue flicks along that special spot deep inside you, and you try to close your legs on reflex. Oltuth growls and pulls your thighs further apart, speeding up both of his tongues.
Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the couch. The tongue inside you practically vibrates with how fast it’s thrusting inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches as the smaller tongue moves to match the speed and vibrations of his bigger tongue.
You look down again to find Oltuth staring right at you, and with one more thrust, you cum hard, clenching on his tongue, your juices squirting out of you as a scream is ripped from your body. Each clench of your cunt is met with another thrust from him, making your orgasm feel like it lasts for hours. He finally slows down as your legs twitch in his hands, giving you a few final licks to clean you up.
He stands before picking you up and bringing you to your room to lay you on the bed. You give him a smile and say, “I really like how your males say thank you, Oltuth.” He gives you a grin before saying, “That was just to get you ready for the real way we say thank you.” Your eyes widen as you look down at his body. A slit at the apex between his thighs opens as three large cocks extend out, one by one, each a little bigger than the last.
Your eyes flick back up to his face, and all you can think is that your next book is definitely going to be a smutty alien romance story.
lying exposed in the dark, just begging for the tentacle monster under your bed to slowly sneak its way up the mattress, soft, teasing touches along your inner thighs and aching rubs up and down your bare cunt
easing its way in, oozing aphrodisiacs from its pores, your mind going fuzzy as it thrusts in and out, another tentacle trailing up your body to toy with your nipples, rolling and suckling the sensitive buds
fucking you for hours, insatiable no matter how much you cum on it, leaking down your thighs, your legs held firmly open and arms bound at the wrists above your head as you daze in and out of consciousness, unsure if you’re dreaming or not
you wake up to light streaming across your naked, slick body, hole empty and begging to be filled again, nipples sensitive and red, and mind still woozy as you get up to start the day, already planning on going to bed just as exposed tonight
