Tricking your abusive husband into camping with you in the spooky woods so a mimic can take his place and be your husband instead <3
It took so much courage just to bring up the idea but you managed to convince him that he deserved a relaxing getaway in nature and he agreed with the condition that you'd plan it, drive all the way there and pay for the whole thing.
You did it all with a pep in your step and a smile on your face. Listening to him complain the whole hike into the forest as you urged him to go deeper and deeper, making sure you followed your map exactly. You went through everything you'd read about these creatures in your head as you made camp, every corroborated story on every forum and every message from your own trusted source.
A twig snaps just beyond camp.
"I heard something."
You try your best to contain your excitement.
"Oh, shut the f-"
You husband is interrupted by another rustle from the bushes just out of sight from the glow of your little camp fire. You know better than to ask him to check it out so you stay silent, waiting for him to pluck up the courage himself.
"It's probably just a rabbit." He picks up a stick he was poking into the fire and walks out towards the darkness. You turn your back towards him. Making sure you don't see him actually leave or return.
There's a very brief struggle that you pretend not to hear as you stare into the fire. A long silence follows, punctuated by the crackling of your fire and sick snapping sounds coming from the bush your husband just disappeared behind.
When you hear footsteps behind you, you don't turn. You tap the space next to you, making sure the entity knows you're not suspicious or a threat.
"Did you find it?"
"W h a -" It starts but clears it's throat, speaking again in a voice much closer to your husband. "What?"
It sits next to you, stiff and mechanical.
"The rabbit in the bushes."
You shuffle closer, placing a gentle hand on his thigh, trying to seem like this is something you do often. You don't look at him yet.
"No."
You hear a soft squelching sound and he twitches slightly. You lean into his side.
"It was probably nothing. I feel safe with you, anyway."
The creature doesn't say anything, you hear tiny clicking sounds like bones setting into place. It slides an arm around your waist and you try not to look to happy as you shuffle closer.
"Do you remember how we met?"
You don't let it answer before taking your phone out of your pocket and showing it pictures of your husband, continuing,
"You were so sweet, even back then."
You wax on to the creature about a love that never happened with a man that never existed. Nothing too fantastical, just about how much of a loving husband he is, how he's so kind hearted and never raised a hand to anyone in his life. Showing him pictures you had to painstakingly search for of you and your late husband looking happy to help the creature get his looks right in case it's having trouble.
The creature slowly starts accommodating to what it thinks your husband was like. It's fingers twitch at your side, slowly starting to move up and down your waist. It gives little hums and huffs out a little laugh whenever it feels appropriate.
You almost jump out of its arms when you hear a screech from somewhere deep in the forest. It holds you closer, soothing it's hand down you arm,
"Nothing will hurt you"
For the first time since this thing walked into your camp, you look at it's face. It's morbid that you would never know this isn't your husband if you hadn't orchestrated the whole thing yourself. It's breathing is a bit forced, chest moving up and down a bit too mechanically and you haven't seen it blink yet but all in all it's a direct copy. It stares into the woods with a deep frown on its face.
You can't help but lean up and softly kiss it's cheek, curiously stroking the skin along it's jaw like you're afraid it might peel off if you touch too hard. It blinks a few times, looking back at you. Your gaze flickers from it's eyes to it's lips and you watch it do the same.
You close the gap between you without any guilt or second thoughts, kissing your husband deeply like married couples are supposed to. He copies your movements, pulling you closer by your shirt. You eventually have to pull away and take in a deep breath, he stares at your lips, copying your breaths like he doesn't know how to do it himself.
You stand and pull him up with you, guiding him towards your tent. You still have so much to show him.
You're just a caretaker, you feed them, clean the tanks, make sure they're content and check for any sick or injured mers.
You've really loved this job…up until now.
“I know he looks scary, Doll but he's just playing."
Your superior pats you on the back as you stare at the huge mer on the other side of the glass. His big black eyes bore into you, sharp grin bared with his huge hands placed on the glass. Yeah, he's obviously trying to scare you but that doesn't make it any less scary!
“He can get touchy but you just gotta shoo him away."
She waves you into the room where his tank is and you hesitantly walk in with all your cleaning gear. He gets a little secluded tank all to himself because apparently he bullies the other mers and jump cares any guests that come past the small observation window of the tanks.
You keep the door open for some sense of comfort, your steps echoing in the silent room. His head pops up from the water, only his eyes visible as he watches you get all your gear ready. You just stand at the edge of the steps leading into his tank for a moment and he stays in his same spot, unblinking.
You shuffle around in your pocket and pull out a sardine, tossing it in front of him. He watches the dead fish sink into the water and then points his gaze right back at you.
You resist a shiver, sighing in defeat and taking the first few steps into the shallow waters. As soon as you reached knee deep, he sinks down into the water and you can see his huge figure swim deeper into the darker parts of the tank.
Hoping that he lost interest, you decide to just get this over with as quick as possible and start wiping down the thick glass of the tank. You go around the whole tank, only doing the areas closest to the surface while trying not to think about how you'll possibly clean the deeper parts.
Every now and then you feel a brush against your leg or a force in the water next to you but you end up getting the whole top section of the tank done without much incident.
You sit on the edge of the tank, getting your scuba gear ready, eyes flicking around the pool every now and then. The silence makes everything so unsettling, it feels like he's just waiting for-
You don't even register the huge black blur moving towards you before he bursts out of the water, claws and teeth bared. You scream and swing your fist at the thing your instincts are telling you is trying to eat you, punching the mer right in the nose.
You gasp immediately after, holding in a tense breath as he groans and cradles his face. He looks at his bloody hand and then back at you in what appears to be shock. You wait for him to rip you in two but he just stares. Then his mouth slowly turns up in a sharp grin, blood still dripping from his nose.
He lunges forward and wraps his thick arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your stomach. You wheeze at the crushing hug, confused and still a little scared but if his happy clicking sounds are anything to go by, he definitely doesn't want to kill you.
You're not sure if you would've preferred cleaning the tank in constant fear for your life or if having a massive mer clinging to you the whole time was the better option.
You managed to get it done, with much struggle. He actually helped you a little at first, but got bored quickly and opted for seeing how far he could unzip your swimsuit before you swatted him away. He also stole one of your flippers at one point and only gave it back when you gave him sufficient head scratches.
Once the job was done, you knew he wouldn't just let you leave and you kind of felt bad when you started packing up and he let out sad little whines so you sat on the edge of the tank, patting his head until your superior came looking for you.
“So…you punched him?"
You sheepishly nodded to her, munching gratefully on the donut she brought for you since you missed your lunch break.
“and now he's in love with you?”
You give her a solemn nod this time, watching as he traces patterns on your thigh.
“Well shit."
All you can do is nod once more in agreement to that accurate assesment of your situation.
The problem with your house facing the woods is that you often have wild, strange things wandering in. It started small with little fluffy creatures that ate the spiderwebs in the corners of your house. Fox-like monsters would sit on the lawn and yip until you put your leftovers out for them, and tiny bat people were constantly flying into your attic and getting stuck until you opened a window for them and carried them out in the cradle of your palms.
The small creatures are okay, those you can handle. However, tonight you have a visitor who's anything but that. You're fresh out of the shower, walking through your house in a bathrobe and trying to detangle your hair, when you hear a massive racket coming from the pantry. You think it might be a raccoon or stray cat, but when you pull open the door, a huge, gangly-limbed figure is hunched in there, ripping open a bag of uncooked macaroni.
Your first reaction is to scream and throw the brush, startled by the size of it. The brush glances off one of its bone-decorated shoulders. Glowing eyes turn to observe you calmly as its clawed hand scoops out a handful of macaroni to munch on. For a few minutes, you just stare at each other. You wince every time it chews and the pasta crunches in its mouth.
"It's much better when it's cooked," you tell it. "Do you want me to make some for you?"
The creature hands you the bag, and that's how you end up sharing a pot of macaroni and meatballs. You eat on the porch because the creature is getting sauce everywhere. The fox monsters come slinking up begging for a taste, and the creature shares a meatball between them, chittering with something like laughter as it watches them fight over it. From then on, you have a weekly visitor, and it never comes empty-handed, always bringing something foraged out of the forest for you.
Synopsis: You’re a dutiful spouse; you kiss your husband goodbye, and you clean up the bloody, leather-like skin sheddings he leaves on your basement floor.
Warnings: desc. of body snatching, yandere monster, willing/ morally grey reader.
Male! Parasite Yandere X Gender Neutral Reader
The acid has burned an imprint into the garage again. It reeks; like sick, salty vomit, its smell filtering throughout the house vents and settling into the couch cushions.
It wasn’t even the shedding of a body in your house that irritated you, it was the mess it always made. You’d have to call the cleaners again to see if they could get out the smell, the rotten husk of course being long gone before they arrive and somewhere in the back of a ‘hazardous waste’ truck that you’ve had on speed dial for the past several years.
Each time, no matter how recklessly and carelessly he disposed of his last body, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and fall back into his lukewarm arms, his body slowly becoming chillier and pulseless; a walking corpse.
The first few days were always the hardest to adjust to, but sometimes they could be the best; he felt the healthiest, the most capable. He could lift you without a forethought, without the unnatural cracking of bone or sickly color in the pads of his fingers. So your anger never lasted, even if you tried to pout at the dinner table, a clothespin shutting your nostrils tightly.
“So many theatrics,” He takes a pair of tongs and places a large piece of chicken on your plate, his apron clean and a freshly pressed shirt untainted. He must’ve gotten cleaned up right after. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow, love. And you know, I feel really good about this one! I mean look at me, aren’t I glowing?”
He does a little spin, clean and bare faced as he struts for you. He does look good-- unnaturally so. Some of the hosts left him rotted and grey the second he switched to them; but this one… it looked like it was him. That’s what he belonged inside of, what his true self should be.
Green-grey eyes and soft skin, hair covering his forearms up his bouldered shoulders. He was husky, built with strength and handsomeness that most men enviously attempted to emulate.
“You do look rather healthy,” You comment, your voice nasal and clogged from the clothespin. “But our house still stinks of a dead body. How are you going to make it up to me?”
Your husband lifts the plate of meat, proposing another one of his meals as a way to satisfy you. You loved him, but you loved being able to breathe without deadly suffocation more.
Shaking your head, you fold your arms over your chest, no longer hungry as the sharp twinge of acid sits in your throat.
Your husband heaves a loud sigh, throwing back his head.
So much for ‘your’ theatrics.
“What If I make it up to you, using this brand new body of mine.” He says, drawing closer and lingering from above the dining chair you sat in. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what this can offer.”
He gestures to himself, almost like a prize to be won. You had never needed to play a game to win him as your prize, your ownership of him as your spouse and soulmate having been concluded since the moment he met you. That factor doubled down tenfold the moment you discovered his parasitic nature, shrugging and seeing it as merely an advantageous quirk.
Your parasitic husband pulls the clothespin from your nose, sticking it behind him before he plants a quick kiss on your lips. He isn’t cold yet, his body still slightly temperate and soft. Maybe if this one takes, he won’t ever get cold.
“Are you really trying to sell yourself out just to appease me?” You mumble, judgemental and baffled as his face indiscreetly leans towards yours. A dark, earthy brown fills the greens of his eyes; it looks like he was already starting to shift the body’s genetics.
“Is it working?” He asks, tilting his head, eager to press his forehead against yours.
You take a beat to answer; he was unusually handsome tonight, in a good mood, and not nearly as clingy as usual. Not to mention, you did want to see all that his new body had to offer.
“...Maybe.” You mumble. You were insatiably strung on his charisma, his charm and sweetness. He always snagged you in, even after you’ve witnessed him break bones, watching as the life drains from some of his host's eyes when he strips from their bodies.
You didn’t know some of them were still alive when he wore them; that was if they could hold on long enough until he needed a new body, and theirs had begun to decay.
You didn’t tend to linger on it too much.
He tries to kiss you again, one hand resting on the back of your chair as he grips onto it, tight.
Charismatic, sweet, and oh so proprietorial.
You let him draw you in again, a possessive, sweet kiss that faintly tasted of bleach entering your mouth. It was worth it, with how he let out a relieved hum, desperate to have you just for himself. How lucky did he become, to have a spouse that not only watched as he shredded grown men into nothing but pieces after parading around in them, but also held and caressed him at night, easing his obsessive fears of you leaving him, of having to drag you by the ankles to keep you in his life?
It wasn’t easy to keep an unquenchable, leeching parasite. Especially with so many weaknesses in taking bodies that often won’t cooperate, and the terrifying state he landed in if he didn’t move bodies in time, or one began to rot much faster than expected.
He could take your teasing and belittling on how violent and wretched his ‘sheddings’ could be, so long as by the end of the night you were kissing his new vessel and praising him for how good he picked this one out, how pretty it was to you. He knew what you truly loved was what lied underneath, the dark and eldritch black that filled the host’s veins and muscles and inch of blood flow beneath the skin.
“Mmm, sure you’re still hungry? I could put it away, just have the rest of the night for the two of us…” He murmured, ready to have your gentle eyes and hands fawn over the body he felt euphoric inside. He couldn’t wait to show you the things he couldn’t do with the last one, the hidden tongue piercing you would’ve never expected on such a refined host. You might tease him about it, but it’d only make him all the giddier.
“How convenient for you, wouldn’t that be?” You laugh, watching as his downturned eyes are like that of a puppy dog, the veins lining beneath his eyes and throat having become a sickly grey. You traced them with a finger, down to his collar. It made him shudder; delighted. “But I’m afraid there’s something I have to take care of before you try to cheat out from making my meal.”
“Oh?” Your husband watches as you pull away, pushing on your slippers and heading to the garage door with another clothespin pulled from your pocket. You sigh, hoping the heavy dish gloves are still under the sink.
“Where are you going?”
He lets out a small laugh, the sight of your hand on the door handle causing an intense spike in his heart. No, he knew you better than that; right.. He just needed to be patient. Calm. Tensions rose higher with new bodies; he knew this.
“I’m not leaving that thing in our garage for it to continue to stink up the house, it at least needs to be in a garbage bag outside.”
You snap the clothespin on your nose again, sighing as your husband's shoulders relax. He still didn’t seem to understand that you had seen all the horrors he had to offer, that if you had intended to run, you would not have idly sat by and remorselessly watched as he consumed the bodies and minds of countless men.
Your husband picked up the platter of chicken, shuffling after you.
Your friends think you're handling your breakup badly, and you don't correct that assumption because the truth is far worse. Hookups have become your new normal or at least, that's what everyone believes. You make sure they are a little drunk when you take them home, so they don't stop to question things.
It's easy, often their pants are around their ankles even before you've closed your front door. From there it's a misleading play of kissing and fondling as you herd them towards the guest bedroom. It's dark in there and after the first few times, you don't bother with turning on the light.
None of them ever notice the shadows detaching from the ceiling until it's too late and tonight's prey is no different. He's ripped out of your arms by the long, bony fingers of your unwanted houseguest. The creature lets out a hiss as it retreats into the meager shadows, warning you not to get too close to its meal. Their fangs pierce the man's neck followed by their tongue, squirming into the puncture wounds to draw blood right from the source, like a human juice box.
You tremble, lingering idiotically despite your fear. You want to know more about this creature. You need to know why it's in your house and why it won't leave. You've been feeding it to keep it from feeding on you, but that task only seems to get harder. Sometimes you wake up in the witching hours to find the thing hunched at the foot of your bed like it's considering how tasty of a morsel you would be. It's too tall, perpetually skinny despite the blood you provide it with, hips pointed and ribcage flared. It's some kind of vampire, though unlike any you've ever heard of.
Once, you disturbed its sleep during the day and it flared its wings and easily punched a hole in the drywall. Those waxy wings drag behind its body like a used umbrella, too big to be tucked away. Its gait is lurching, too fast or too slow but never in between.
Tonight it doesn't seem interested in staying in the guest bedroom and shuffles after you when you go to make yourself dinner. It's too tall to stand comfortably and so opts to hunker on the kitchen floor, its blood-painted chin resting on its knees as it watches you cook. Its black eyes take in every detail, its large pointed ears picking up on every sound–including your thunderous heartbeat. You can't tell if it enjoys your fear.
After dinner and a movie that fails to distract, you go to brush your teeth and get ready for bed, locking the bathroom door so it can't follow you. The creature knocks on the door slowly until you give in and cut your shower short, getting into your pajamas and storming out of the bathroom. When you're angry you always forget just how scared you are.
"Go bother someone else," you snap over your shoulder.
For the better part of an hour, you almost believe your words have actually worked. The house is quiet save for the sound of rain pattering on the windows. You begin to doze off only to wake up with a start as a large body drops on your bed. Wings and knobby limbs knock against you as the creature arranges itself on your bed, twisting several times until it settles for curling against you, nestling its face in your hair, warm breaths heating your scalp.
There's nothing to do but fall into a disturbed sleep and when you wake up the next day you find your personal nightmare resting beside you, undead and ashen in the early morning light.
You decide to bake some cookies for your neighbor, a hulking orc who just moved in. You ring the doorbell and put on your best smile as the door opens. You cheerfully welcome him to the neighborhood. He seems dazed as he accepts the housewarming present, the box of cookies looking minuscule in his hands.
The next day you sneak glances at him while you water your flowers. He's been doing some cleaning and renovating and right now, he's carrying furniture out of his house. You think it's amazing that he can carry the heavy couch so easily and point it out in admiration. He almost drops the thing on his toes, his cheeks and neck flushing a darker shade of green.
That weekend you both end up on your porches at the same time. He freezes awkwardly with the tiny handle of the front door still in his hand as though he's contemplating going back inside. You invite him over for tea. He insists on sitting on the porch steps instead of risking breaking your weathered porch chairs so you join him there, sipping comfortably from your mug. You make easy conversation but you can tell he wants to ask you something but he's holding back. After some gentle prodding on your end, he finally caves.
"This kindness you show, is it because we are neighbors?"
"I make it a rule to be kind to others regardless of who they are but I do like getting along with my neighbors, so I guess you can say I'm putting in extra effort," you reply.
"Ah, so it is a human thing," he muses.
"Does it mean something else to orcs?"
He drums his fingers on his knee, looking bashful. "Giving gifts and praise are the way we show interest in a potential mate."
"Oh... I didn't know. So I've been sending you mixed messages?"
"I know humans have their own customs," he says sheepishly. "I am yet to get used to this friendliness. I was caught off guard. It won't happen again."
A couple of days later–because you leave the orc in peace to get settled–you're retrieving your mail early in the morning when you hear an awful racket. It would appear your neighbor has fallen down his porch steps.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" You cross the lawn your houses share to check on him.
"Forgive me." He sits up, looking flustered. "T-this too is human custom?"
He's staring at your bare thighs and your skimpy outfit. You're still in your pajamas, a deep-cut tank top, and a pair of shorts that are very short.
"Clothes?" You question playfully.
He shakes his head. "My apologies. I was simply not prepared to see–"
"Do you think I could be a potential mate?"
"Pardon?"
You smile at how polite he is and lower your voice like you're imparting a secret. "I may have wandered out like this on purpose. I knew you'd see."
He groans. "Mercy, please," he says. "I do not know what to do. I like you very much but I am unsure of how to act."
"We can teach each other," you offer.
"Then what would a human male do in this situation?"
"He'd probably take me to his bed." You give your neighbor a grin.
"Would you like that?" His pupils dilate so wide that his eyes nearly look black and his chest swells with each deep breath he takes, almost like he's taking in your scent.
"Yes."
He lurches up to his feet and scoops you off the floor, pressing you close enough that you can feel the thud of his heart.
"That I can understand," he says seriously. "I will make love to you until you scream in pleasure."
Imagine meeting a fallen angel that hasn’t been touched in centuries because every time a living being makes contact with them, they die immediately.
He’s been lonely since his birth, cursed to walk the earth without anyone by his side. Though his features were soft and angelic, no amount of beauty could keep a potential lover alive when just caressing his cheek would kill them.
Imagine being the only one in existence that could touch him, how he’d instantly fall head over heels in love with you. Can you imagine how touch starved he would be, how he’d press agaisnt you just to feel warm flesh against his body for the first time without growing cold after a while?
He’s practically plastered to your side at all times, unable to let you go for even a second. How could he, when he has so much to catch up on?
God, and when he gets to make love to you for the first time… he’s an absolute mess. He’s fucked his fist numerous times over the past few centuries, but being inside your wet pussy is just heavenly.
Did god decide to have mercy on him and give you him you? It’s almost enough to have him praying again… almost.
Just know that you’re pretty much stuck with him forever!! He’s not letting his precious one out of his sight!
(More on this concept? I wanna write about how you met him HEHEHE also yes this is inspired by angel devil)
Naga Producer has worked with countless artists in the industry. He’s just about the most sought after producer to work with on upcoming albums. There isn’t much time for him where he isn’t busy. But he makes sure that any free time he has he spends with you, his lovely mate. He owes all his success to you anyway.
You’re his muse, he couldn’t have created any song he has written without you.
And even when he is busy he still makes sure you’re with him in the studio every minute you can spare. In fact, he prefers to work with everyone but you out of the studio. Because he creates such good work he usually doesn’t face many problems when kicking everyone out just so he could be alone with you.
Naga Producer’s work is just that good. He constantly gets compliments on it. Everyone always telling him that there’s just something about the beats he creates on these artists tracks. It forms an electrifying atmosphere, a tension in that air that just elevates the song to a whole other level.
Of course he could take that credit for that and attribute it to a couple of different things. But he knows what really sets his music apart and it’s all because of you. Despite him thinking it’s fairly obvious, no one has yet to notice that within every single one of the songs he’s worked on he’s hidden your moans, mewls, shrieks, and screams of pleasure.
It’s a dirty little secret just between you and him. Whenever someone gives him a compliment the two of you share a glance and a smirk, completely in your own little world, knowing things people would never even guess happens.
Sure, when the two of you are in the studio a lot of the time you’re both just sitting in silence. He’s working with his headphones in while you’re laying on the couch behind him either working or doing something you enjoy to pass the time.
Though every so often he’ll let out a soft hiss, his long tail rattling and disrupting the silence. Letting you know exactly what he’s about to say before he says it.
Naga Producer will slip off his headphones and motion for you to get in the studio. “C’mon, baby, I need you to scream f’me, Kay?” No matter how many times you hear it you’re still shocked frozen. But with a single warning hiss you’re practically running into the studio, shedding off your clothes and laying on the little nest he created just for you. For this moment.
And every time it still never gets to be enough. You love the way he uses you, you crave it. The way his tail slithers down your body, his scales causing goosebumps to rise up on your flesh and send shivers down your spine. Pulling out all the stops to turn you on more and more till you’re a dripping mess, your thighs a mess with your arousal.
He always makes you count how many orgasms he wracks through your plump frame. Says he’ll find a use for the recordings sooner or later.
Always snarling as he rocks his cock into your tight holes or plunges his thick fingers into your core. Pouring praises all over you saying, “Love the way your voice gets breathier, how your words start to slur as I fuck you dumb on this cock. Don’t gotta think, pretty. Just count.”
Naga Producer never fails to get another orgasm out of you after saying that. Your back arching off the nest as you scream out in ecstasy. He flashes you a sharp grin and fucks into you even harder, pounding his throbbing red angry tip straight into your squishy soft cervix as he works you through your release.
Even he’s a groaning mess at this point as your walls suck him in, painting his dick with your slick, while massaging his length like you’re just begging to be bred.
Yet while he’s still so focused on you, his thoughts do split. Always thinking about work in some way shape or form. He clicks his tongue, tightening his hold his tail has around your waist. His disappointment so evident it makes your dumb little brain wanna sob. Needing to please him as good as he’s been pleasing you.
“Hmm. That was good, precious, but I think we’re gonna have to go again. Something about it’s just not right…” he trails off, his clawed hand lightly trailing down your body. You gasp, frame jumping up to eagerly greet him. Wanting nothing more than all of his touch.
Almost like you want him to crush you just to be closer.
When his mischievous fingers make their way to your entrance all the air leaves your lungs. It’s a tight fit but somehow he manages to slip his digits inside you too, tugging and pulling at your hole, forcing your form to stretch even wider for him.
With how sensitive you are right now you can’t even try to control your screams for him, your entire being like it’s on fire, heat burning through you as more beads of sticky white cum dribble out of you and form a ring around his massive girth.
He sighs heavily and now tears start to pour down your cheeks, letting out another weak scream that you know isn’t what he’s looking for. He already has one like it after all. “Close but not quite, sweets. Don’t worry, I know just what you need.”
It takes far too long for his words to register past the heavy fog in your mind. So it isn’t until you feel a third presence press at your gaping leaking hole, not as thick but quite possibly even longer than the first, do you realize what he’s about to do.
You’re not sure if you can handle both his cocks while in this state. But you also can’t let him down, not when he needs this for his work. It’ll really be better for you both to try and manage this. Because when you do adjust you know you’ll get to experience the most explosive orgasm of your life. And he’ll get just the recording he needs. Win-win.
“Try and make the pitch a little lower this time, yeah?” He asks with a ragged moan as he starts to push his second dick inside you, your eyes rolling back into your head. The only thing on your mind being him and the scream he needs from you.
And when that song finally does come out, everyone gathered around at the listening party, it’s only him that knows exactly why you can’t stop shuddering with pleasure against him. You two really do make the world’s greatest team.
Yandere! Asexual Slime Monster - who is endlessly frustrated by how humans insist on imagining him. Tentacles and heat and filth? No, no, no. He isn’t like the rest of level one slime monsters posing as level ten creatures, who slip themselves recklessly into anyone just to feel wanted. That's how you catch STDs! They're not exactly practicing safe sex in the dungeons and on the steets! He is different. Softer. Gentler. He only wants you.
Most nights he pools quietly beneath your bed, after you accidentally brought him home from a raid, the steady thump of your heartbeat above him making his whole body quiver with bliss. Sometimes he lingers behind your shower curtain, letting warm droplets patter into his form, savoring the illusion of sharing a morning routine with you. But where he feels most alive is when you drift into sleep, and he dares to rise.
Cool and silken, he winds himself around you with infinite care, molding into a blanket, a pillow, a soft cradle just for you. He thrills at the little noises you make, convinced they’re murmurs of affection, proof that you feel him too. When you stir and mutter about your “skin feeling strange” in the morning, he chuckles shyly, certain that it’s his love making you radiant and supple. If only you’d let him hold you fully, you’d wake with skin kissed by dew, glowing from the inside out.
In his mind, you’re already his beloved. His darling. His reason for existing outside the crumbling dungeon walls. He only hides because he is shy, because he fears startling you. But he knows, with all the innocence of a devoted heart, that one day you’ll look beneath the bed, or part the shower curtain, and finally smile at him the way he’s always smiled at you.
Until then, he’ll keep cradling you through the night, convinced that no one could ever love you as deeply as he does.
What if humans captured vampires for their power? What if the older your vampire is the more strength and vitality you get when you drink their blood? You have to keep your vampire in a muzzle, so he doesn't take a bite out of you. He wears an enchanted collar too, because he keeps trying to transform into a bat and fly off. One night you forget to put the muzzle on him before bed and wake up to him not ripping into your throat, but rather nuzzling between your thighs. The hunger in his eyes has nothing to do with bloodlust.
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