summary: a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,299 words
warnings: gothic romance (set in 1800’s), talk of death and murder, slow burn, horror, MDNI (18+ only)
notes: hi first time writing in like 2-3 years so be nice please xoxoxo if you can’t tell i’ve gotten into writing horror/thriller and this was the perfect opportunity to dip my toes back in. anyways if you’re reading this here’s a kiss mwah
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
He’d been haunting the tree line long before you ever saw him.
At least, that’s what he believed.
All winter, something bigger than any wolf stalked the border of your little cottage, keeping the growls and yellow eyes at bay. You’d wake to claw marks in the snow that didn’t belong to any animal you knew, to the broken bodies of wolves dragged far from your door, as if someone didn’t want you to see what he’d done for you. Your lanterns never ran out of oil. Your firewood stack never emptied. Sometimes, there were heavy footprints in the mud—too large, too uneven to be human—leading back into the forest and vanishing with the mist.
He thought you didn’t know.
But you saw him.
You always saw him.
The first time, it was only a shadow: a towering figure half-hidden behind the black skeleton of a pine tree, watching you as you hung freshly washed sheets beneath a washed-out winter sky. Another time, you caught the briefest flash of his eyes, pale and aching with something that wasn’t quite hunger and wasn’t quite hatred, as he melted back into the dark.
The creature.
Adam Frankenstein.
The villagers whispered about a monster in the woods, a patchwork horror that should have never drawn breath, but you knew better. Monsters didn’t leave bread on your windowsill on nights you forgot to eat. Monsters didn’t stack kindling by your step after snowstorms, or set down a freshly killed hare just close enough that your old dog could sniff it out in the morning. Monsters didn’t linger at the edge of your light like a shield, taking every blow the world had meant for you.
So you started leaving things for him, too.
A still-warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and left on a flat stone near the forest’s edge. A thick, clumsily sewn shirt you’d stitched by candlelight, big enough to fit the breadth of his shoulders as best you could guess. A pair of gloves with uneven fingers. Each offering would be gone by morning, and in their place there’d be… nothing. No note. No mark. Just a silence that somehow felt shy.
Spring came slowly, softening the snow into streams and coaxing green from the hard earth. One bright morning, you took your dog and followed the familiar path beneath the budding branches, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. You could feel him behind you—no longer a rumour, but a steady presence in the spaces between birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
He was careful with his distance.
Careful with you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air behind you changed—thicker somehow, as if the very forest were holding its breath.
Your dog’s ears flicked, tail giving the smallest wag, but he did not bark. He sat at your heel, as though he, too, had long grown used to the giant shadow that haunted the trees.
You stood in the clearing, sunlight painting your skirts in pale gold, fingers resting lightly upon your dog’s head.
“I know you are there,” you said, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You have been there for a very long time, have you not?”
Silence.
The birds went quiet. A breeze stirred the budding branches overhead, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—old smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of soap, as though someone had tried, clumsily, to scrub himself clean.
You swallowed your nervousness and smiled, though he could not see it. Not yet.
“Tell me, Adam,” you continued, your tone turning wry, “how much longer until you understand that I have always known about you… and that you do not frighten me in the least?”
Something shifted among the trees to your left. A heavy footstep, then another, crunching over last year’s leaves. Your dog gave a low, pleased whine.
Slowly, as though dragged forward by some unseen chain, he stepped out from the shadows.
He was larger than you had imagined, even after months of stolen glances. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the very shirt you had sewn by candlelight. The fabric sat oddly upon him, as if he were still unsure he had the right to wear something made with care.
His face—oh, his face.
You had prepared yourself for horror.
Instead, you found sadness.
Features too sharply cut, as though chiseled in haste and anger. Eyes a pale, unnatural blue, ringed by the kind of weariness usually reserved for much older men. There were scars, yes, and those patchwork seams that betrayed the unnatural hand that had pieced him together, but beneath them all… he was simply a man who did not know how to occupy his own skin.
He stopped several paces away, hands held slightly out from his sides, as though to show he carried no weapon.
“You… you ought to run,” he said at last, his voice rough and low, the words strangely precise yet hesitant, like a man learning to speak again after a long illness. “The villagers would tell you to flee.”
“The villagers,” you replied, “have never once stacked firewood by my door after a storm.”
His jaw tightened. He glanced away, as though ashamed.
“That was nothing,” he muttered. “A mere… task. I happened to be near.”
“And the hare left upon my step in January? Was that another mere task?”
He shifted his weight, great hands curling into fists. “You were thin,” he said grudgingly. “There were no tracks near your home. I deduced you did not hunt.”
“And the wolves?” you pressed gently. “The ones that never cross the boundary of my field, though their howls wake me in the night?”
His throat worked. For a moment, the creature looked almost… irritated. “They are foolish animals,” he said. “They do not understand when they trespass upon what is mine to guard.”
Your heart stuttered at that word.
“Yours to guard,” you echoed softly.
At last his gaze met yours. There was a terrible vulnerability in it, like a child braced for mockery.
“You ought not look at me so,” he said, voice rougher now. “You ought to scream. Or at the very least, avert your eyes.”
“I shall do neither,” you answered. “You have been my unseen champion all winter, sir. I should think it discourteous to shriek at you now.”
He frowned, as though the very notion of courtesy applied to him was offensive.
“I am no ‘sir’,” he said. “The man who stitched me together did not deem me fit for such a title.”
“Then what shall I call you?” you asked, ignoring the chill that raced down your spine at his choice of words. “The villagers speak of a monster. A demon. A fiend. I do not care for any of those.”
A shadow of something like humour passed over his face. “He called me Adam,” he said quietly. “As though I were the first of my kind.”
You nodded once. “Very well, Adam.”
Your dog, emboldened by your calm, trotted forward and sniffed at his boots. Adam stared down at him as though the small creature were some strange, new invention.
“He does not fear me,” Adam murmured, almost to himself.
“Animals are often better judges of character than men,” you replied. “He knows you have watched over us.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I watched to ensure no harm came to you,” he corrected. “Whether you knew of it or not is of little consequence.”
“On the contrary.” You took a small step closer. His eyes widened, as though you had moved a mile instead of a foot. “It is of great consequence. You believed yourself unseen, did you not?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Then you must also have believed that the bread, and the shirt, and the gloves appeared by some miracle of the woods.” You tilted your head. “Or did you imagine the forest itself had begun to sew?”
Colour—faint but unmistakable—rose along the visible seam of his throat. He looked past you, toward the stone where you always left your gifts.
“I thought…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “I wondered if perhaps you had set them out for the poor. For some wandering soul more deserving than I.”
Your chest ached. “And yet you took them.”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to his hands, as though the gloves were still upon them. “I told myself I had stolen them. That you would never know. That is the sort of thing a monster does, is it not? Take what is not his?”
“If I leave something upon the edge of the wood with no name attached,” you said gently, “is it truly theft for the one I hoped would claim it… to do so?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, startled. “You… hoped…?”
“For whom else do you suppose I stitched sleeves of that length?” you asked, lips quirking. “There is no man in the village with shoulders so broad as yours, Adam.”
He stared at you as though you had struck him. Not in pain—more in stunned disbelief.
“You… knew,” he breathed. “You knew I was there. All this time.”
“Yes.”
“And you were not afraid.”
You considered this. “I was wary,” you said honestly. “At first. One does not wake to strange footprints and dead wolves without a certain degree of alarm. But then I saw you. Hiding like a boy behind those poor trees, trying very hard not to be seen. And I thought—”
You broke off, biting your lip.
He took a half-step forward despite himself. “You thought what?”
“I thought,” you said slowly, “that no true monster skulks in the shadows to keep a woman’s cottage safe through a winter as harsh as this last one. No true monster leaves food instead of taking it. No true monster looks at another living soul the way you looked at my dog last month—do not pretend you were not there, I saw you through the curtain—like you were afraid to even breathe in his direction for fear you might somehow break him.”
He said nothing. His breath misted faintly in the cool spring air, harsh and uneven.
“You should not look so kindly upon me,” he managed at last. “It is… improper.”
“Improper,” you repeated, amusement bubbling up despite the solemnity of his tone. “We are alone in the forest, Adam. There is no vicar here to scold us.”
“It is not the vicar I fear,” he muttered. “It is myself.”
Your smile faded.
“Why?” you asked.
He looked down at his hands again, turning them palm up as though they were strange objects he’d found rather than parts of his own body.
“These hands have done terrible things,” he said quietly. “I have torn wolves apart, as you have seen. I have broken men who sought to harm me. I have throttled hatred at its source and found only more hatred beneath it. I was created in violence and I fear I shall end in it as well.” His eyes lifted to yours, desperate. “I cannot trust myself near that which is gentle.”
Your throat tightened. “You have been near me all winter.”
“At a distance,” he insisted. “A barrier of trees. Of shadow. Of night. It is different now.”
“Is it?” You closed the gap between you by another small step. He sucked in a breath, shoulders going rigid. You could feel the heat radiating from him now, unnatural in its intensity, like standing too close to a forge. “I feel no danger from you, Adam.”
“You should.”
“But I do not.” You lifted your hand, giving him every opportunity to retreat. “May I?”
He stared at your outstretched fingers as though they were some holy relic. “I… do not know.”
“We shall discover it together,” you said softly.
After a moment that stretched thin as spun sugar, he extended his own hand, large and scarred and trembling just enough for you to see. You laid your palm against his.
Warm. Solid. Very real.
He flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of contact.
“See?” you murmured. “You have not broken me.”
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely.
You squeezed his fingers. “Nor shall you, if I have any say in the matter.”
For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but the two of you and the soft panting of your dog at your side. A bird dared a tentative trill somewhere above, as though deciding the danger had passed.
“You treat me as though I were… a man,” Adam said quietly, almost accusingly.
“You are,” you replied simply.
His brows drew together. “I am a collection of parts stolen from graves. I am a blasphemy against God and nature both.”
“You are standing in the sunlight speaking to me with more courtesy than half the men in town,” you countered. “If that is blasphemy, then perhaps we have misjudged Heaven.”
A startled, rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half exhale. As though he had forgotten how ordinary mirth should feel in his chest.
“You should not say such things,” he chided, but there was no true censure in it. “You are too bold.”
“You have been listening to me mutter to myself all winter,” you reminded him. “You ought to know by now that my tongue is not easily tamed.”
“I know many things about you,” he admitted, voice going soft. “I know you speak kindly to your dog even when he chews your shoes. I know you hum that same song each morning when you light the stove. I know you eat too little when you are anxious. I know you cry when you believe no one can hear.”
Your breath caught. “You ought not watch a lady in such moments,” you said, flustered.
“I know,” he said, guilt flickering through his gaze. “And yet I could not look away. Your sorrow… it frightened me more than wolves ever could. I wished to tear apart whatever had caused it, but there was nothing there. Only you, and your hands shaking, and your tears falling into the dough you were kneading.”
You blinked rapidly, your throat thick. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think yourself a monster,” you whispered.
He hesitated. “Do you not?”
You stepped closer until there was barely a breath between you, your hand still cradled in his. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes fully.
“If I say no,” you asked, “will you believe me?”
“I… do not know.” His voice cracked on the words.
“Then I shall tell you as many times as necessary until you do.” Your lips curved into a small, earnest smile. “You are not a monster to me, Adam. You are the reason I have slept safely these many months. You are the reason my dog still runs through these woods without fear. You are the reason I am standing here today, whole and unharmed.”
He swallowed hard. “Any man might have done as much.”
“But no man did.” You lifted your free hand to his chest, pressing your palm lightly over where his heart would be—if it beat. “You did.”
His breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed to forget how limbs functioned, standing utterly still as though one wrong move might shatter the moment into fragments.
“You should not touch me so,” he said weakly.
“And yet,” you murmured, “you do not step away.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. “Because I am selfish. Because I have spent a season watching you from afar and I am not yet strong enough to deny myself this one brief… kindness.”
“Adam,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He obeyed. Slowly, hesitantly, but he obeyed.
“There is nothing ‘brief’ about what I intend,” you told him. “You have guarded my cottage as though it were a kingdom. Will you not allow me, at the very least, to guard your heart in return?”
His lips parted, but no sound came. You could see the war waging behind his eyes—fear and longing and disbelief all tangled together.
“You… would keep company with me?” he managed at last. “Knowing what I am?”
“Knowing who you are,” you corrected. “A man named Adam who walks the tree line at night so that I may sleep. A man who refuses to let wolves cross my field. A man who looks at my foolish old dog as though he were some creature made of glass.” Your fingers curled briefly against his chest. “If that is monstrosity, I shall gladly consort with monsters.”
Another laugh—clearer this time—escaped him. It transformed his face, smoothing some of the harsh lines, revealing the man beneath the scars.
“You are very stubborn,” he said.
“So I have been told.”
“And you would not… flee, if I came nearer? If I…” He faltered, gaze flickering to your joined hands. “If I visited your cottage when the sun has set?”
“I should be most put out if you did not,” you said lightly. “I have an extra chair by the hearth and no one to fill it. My dog prefers company. As, I suspect, do I.”
He stared at you as though trying to determine whether this were some cruel trick of the mind. At last, cautiously, he lifted his other hand to hover near your cheek, stopping inches away.
“May I?” he asked, echoing your earlier words.
You leaned into the space between, closing the distance yourself. His fingers brushed your skin—calloused, uncertain, trembling. He cupped your cheek as though cradling something far more fragile than you felt.
“You are warm,” he whispered, wonder in his tone.
“And you are real,” you replied.
His thumb swept once, reverently, along your cheekbone. “If I frighten you,” he said softly, “you must tell me at once. I will go, and I shall not trouble you again, though it break what passes for my heart.”
“I do not believe you capable of breaking my heart,” you said. “Guarding it, perhaps. As you have guarded everything else.”
His eyes shone, sudden moisture gathering there. He blinked it away quickly, as though ashamed.
“I do not understand why you would offer such mercy to me,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” you said gently, “it is not mercy. Perhaps it is simply… affection.”
The word seemed to strike him with more force than any blow.
“Affection,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “For me.”
“For you,” you affirmed. “For Adam, who walks the forest so that I might live another day to bake too much bread and scold my dog and sew shirts far too large.” Your smile softened. “Stay with me, and I shall show you there is more for you than shadows and solitude.”
He drew in a long, shaky breath. When he exhaled, something in his posture eased—the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. As though a burden he had carried alone for far too long had shifted, just slightly, into your waiting hands.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice low but resolute. “I shall try.”
Your heart lifted, light as the first spring breeze.
“Good,” you replied. “Then you shall walk me home, Adam. And after that, if you wish, you may sit by my fire and tell me all the things you have seen from the edge of the wood.”
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then back to you—the woman who had left bread and stitched shirts and dared to speak kindly to the creature everyone else feared.
“As you wish,” he said quietly.
And when you turned toward the path, his heavy footsteps fell in beside yours—not behind, no longer hiding in the trees, but at your side. Where, you suspected, he had always longed to be.
݈݇— pairings: The Creature(2025) x Duke's Daughter!reader
݈݇— themes: Established Relationship. Friends To Lovers, Fluff, Gentle Giant, Self-Doubt (Adam), 1800s Era, Desire, First Kiss, Size Difference No use of y/n.
݈݇— summary: Hidden beyond the your father's manicured gardens lies a secret only you know: a towering, gentle creature who saved your life and asked for nothing but friendship in return.
A/N: I am playing it safe because The Creature is precious and deserves to be loved T_T Also forgive me, it ain't proof read.
You had a friend.
A peculiar one.
A friend who is tall, broad, and unyielding as the trees itself. He is a peculiar thing, indeed, for though he is large in a manner that makes even the pines appear diminished for a heartbeat, he is gentle and shy as a fawn startled in the underbrush.
He saved your life long ago, when a pack of wolves had made sport of chasing you through the frost-bitten dark. You would have surely perished had he not stepped between you and their snarling jaws.
After he saving you, he lingered only at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the shadows. You had been shaking, breathless, terrified, and yet something in his stance begged reassurance, not fear.
You offered him the smallest smile you could muster and whispered, “Please, come into the light. I wish to see the face of the one who saved me.”
It became a code. Your gentle call that told him you are safe with me.
You told him then that you owed him your life. When you asked how you might repay him, he had hesitated the way only Adam hesitates; almost frightened of his own voice.
He asked for a friend.
So you granted it.
Night after night, beneath the moon’s silver eye, you met him in the forest beyond your father’s gardens, arms full of novels, philosophy, and whatever academic curiosities you thought might delight him. And he always listened, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched, great hands folded as if unsure where else they ought to rest.
Tonight, you arrive early. A soldier had stopped you on the path back to the manor, handsome in a polished sort of way. He flirted boldly, bowing far too close, fingers brushing yours as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear.
You had smiled simply to be polite.
But in the trees behind him, unseen even by you, Adam watched.
He stood stiff as a plank. Unblinking. Arms tight at his sides. A strange, smouldering something burning low behind his dark eyes. He did not understand the word for it.
He only felt… wrong.
Later that night, the soldier forgotten, you step into your forest clearing and speak softly into the shadows, “Adam… come into the light.”
A breath.
A rustle.
And then he emerges, immense and hesitant, because he knows the code is only spoken when it is you approaching him.
You sit together beneath your usual tree. You finish reading to him and close the book upon your lap. The night hums. The air is velvet.
He is too quiet.
His voice breaks the silence.
“Why did your face alter,” he asks slowly, “when that man laid his hand upon yours?”
You blink. “…My face?”
He nods, gaze following the ground like he fears he has overstepped. “It moved. I know not the term for it. Yet… it changed.”
You let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “How so? What manner of expression did I wear?”
Adam considers the memory with earnest seriousness, brow furrowing.
“You appeared… startled. And warm,” he says carefully. “As though your breath escaped you.” He looks up, eyes gentle, confused. “Does touch compel such a feeling? When the one touching is… desired?”
The laugh dies in your throat.
Your heart seizes. Because you want him. You want him in ways you barely allow yourself to think, let alone admit in the open air.
His voice lowers. Almost frightened. “Tell me… what is it like, to be wanted?”
You freeze.
He is looking at your mouth. Or perhaps you are looking at his. You cannot tell, because the world goes silent except for your pulse.
Your breath hitches and you lean—
No.
No.
You scoot away from him so abruptly the leaves whisper under you, because you nearly did something catastrophically foolish.
His head lifts.
“I see you look at me, at times,” he says, tone soft as moss, deeply innocent. “It confounds me. Am I… displeasing to behold?”
You choke on nothing.
You are caught between You’re beautiful and I must throw myself into a swamp immediately.
He misreads your silence. Of course he does.
“I meant no insult,” he murmurs quickly, shoulders curling inward, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I am aware my form is… strange. I am—”
“Oh heavens,” you cry, hands flying up. “I think you’re beautiful! Inside and out. Must we suffer through this?”
He startles like you’ve hurled a stone at him.
“Beautiful?” he repeats, voice a low, incredulous echo.
You bury your face in your hands. “Yes. Beautiful—Handsome. Maddeningly so. Would you stop looking so wounded? You unsettle me, Adam. You unsettle me dreadfully.”
He moves then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like approaching a wild creature that might flee.
His fingers brush yours.
Barely.
Traced with hesitance, reverence, fear, longing, everything he does not yet have language for.
“Then… why did you draw away from me?”
Because his touch sets your world on fire.
Because you want him with a weight that makes the earth seem too small.
Because if you stay close, you might do the very thing you are terrified he will not want.
You swallow, voice a thin whisper.
“Because had I remained… I fear I would have forgotten myself.”
His brows pull together. “Forgotten… in what fashion?”
You meet his eyes.
They widen.
Very gently, he lifts your hand between both of his, treating it as though it is the most precious thing in creation.
“I wish,” he says quietly, “to understand such a fashion.”
Your breath leaves you in a rush.
You do not kiss him. But you lean just close enough that he feels the tremble of the need you carry for him alone.
And his thumb strokes once, reverently, across your knuckles.
“Would you show me?” he asks, voice unsteady. “What it is… to be wanted?”
The forest holds its breath.
You lift his hand to your lips and whisper, “Put your lips on mine, and I will show you.”
Then he leans in.
Very carefully. Very slowly. Like a man approaching fire with the knowledge it may burn him… yet choosing it anyway.
His lips touch yours.
A tremor goes through him so sharply you feel it in your bones.
This is his first kiss—You can sense it in the hesitant brush of his mouth, the fragile uncertainty of his breath, the reverence in the way he barely dares to touch.
You kiss him gently at first, soft and coaxing, because you do not wish to startle him, do not wish to overwhelm him. Your fingers find the side of his jaw, guiding him, telling him he is welcome in this closeness.
He answers you with a broken exhale.
Then his hand rises—slow, trembling—and he cradles your face.
His palm is broad, slightly cold, shaking as though the moment itself is too precious, too impossible to hold steady. He cups your cheek as though you are something divine, something he fears the world might take from him at any second.
You deepen the kiss by a bare breath, only enough for your lips to mold softly against his—and a sound escapes you.
A quiet, helpless little hum.
He startles.
His entire body jerks back as if struck.
Adam tears away from your mouth, eyes wide, chest heaving, gaze fixed shamefully on the ground.
“I… I did not mean—” He swallows, throat working. “Did I hurt you? Forgive me, I did not know… I thought… I feared I—”
His breath stutters, the words entangled in panic. “Your sound—I feared it was pain.”
Your heart breaks and swells all at once.
You reach for him carefully, your fingers brushing the back of his knuckles.
“Adam,” you whisper, soft but sure. “Look at me.”
He hesitates, shoulders drawn tight, but he obeys.
His eyes lift, and the fear in them is a living thing.
You cradle his face with both hands, mirroring how he had held you moments before, and your voice steadies.
“You could never hurt me.”
His breath shudders. “But you—”
“That sound,” you murmur, leaning close enough that your words warm his lips, “was not pain. It was… pleasure. It was want.”
His eyes flicker.
Understanding comes slowly, uncertainly—yet with a hunger that feels older than his bones.
You draw him nearer again, your lips brushing his as delicately as flower petals.
“This is wanted,” you breathe. “This is me… wanting you.”
He makes a low, astonished sound—and when he kisses you again, it is still gentle, still careful…but fuller. Warmer.
A trembling, reverent claiming from a man who has never dared to claim anything.
One of his hands stays on your cheek, shaking; the other settles at your waist, large enough to span nearly its whole curve, holding you.
Your lips move together slowly, sweetly, with a rising thrum of passion beneath the tenderness.
Not urgent. Not rushed. But something blooming—deep, molten, inevitable.
Every breath, shared. Every tremble felt. Every inch of him learning you.
And every inch of you, melting.
When you part, the air is warm between you, his forehead resting almost shyly against yours.
He whispers, voice barely more than a breath, “Is… is this what it is to be wanted?”
Your smile answers before your words do.
“Yes,” you whisper. “This is precisely what it is.”
And he breathes you in like a man starved.
You barely have time to savor the trembling stillness between you before he leans in again—less hesitant this time, more drawn, as though something inside him has unlatched and will not be shut again.
His mouth finds yours with new hunger. Still gentle…but no longer timid. A firmer press. A seeking. A wanting he has no name for, yet feels with every part of him.
His hand cups your jaw fully now, his thumb grazing the corner of your mouth in a motion that feels almost—possessive.
Your breath catches.
You kiss him back with equal fervor, lips parting for him just enough to draw a quiet, startled sound from his throat. He answers with a soft growl of need, the faintest hint of bite in the way he pulls you closer—your bodies brushing, your pulse thundering.
It is slow and deep and dizzying.
A kiss that tastes like discovery and hunger and that first spark of something far too dangerous to name.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.
His other hand hesitates at your waist—then grips, warm and trembling, pulling you the slightest fraction nearer. The kiss deepens again, heat rising, your lips molding, parting, meeting with a rhythm that feels older than breath.
You make another sound—soft, wanting, shameless.
He echoes it, a low, rumbling answer in his chest that sends shivers down your spine.
You are just about to lose yourself entirely in the press of him—When a voice in the distance calls your name.
“My lady? My lady—are you in the gardens?”
You freeze.
Adam stills instantly, every muscle locking beneath your hands.
Another call. Closer this time. “My lady!”
You breathe out against his mouth, reluctant, trembling.
He draws back only a few inches, eyes wide and dark, the left iris glinting, lips parted, confused and almost wounded by the interruption.
You rest your forehead to his, breath warm between you.
“Adam…” you whisper, already aching for the kiss you have no choice but to leave behind.
His hand stays on your waist, gentle, uncertain. Yours lingers on his cheek.
The voices draw nearer.
You swallow, whispering, “I will see you again soon. Wait for me.”
He nods once.
And as you rise to slip back through the brush, he watches you with lips still swollen from your kiss…and longing blazing in his eyes.
You didn't mean to do it. You didn't mean to look for too long. But you're curious, and he's pretty.
He covers his face back up, "One ugly mug, innit?" He says quietly, looking anywhere but you. His fists balled up.
You knew this took a lot from him. It's been a long time since anyone saw his face. It's scarred, covered in long gashes. But he's still pretty. His nose was a little crooked from being broken too many times, long scar cutting through his eyebrow, and burn marks creeping up his chin.
"No! Si, I'm sorry! You're just so.. cute. I think you're cute. I was in awe," You grab his wrists and pull his mask back up. Giving him a soft kiss.
"Don't gotta lie ta me, dove. 'm an ugly bastard. Don't know why a pretty bird like ye gives an ol' dog like me a bone." He tsks.
"I think you're pretty! My pretty boy," You leave soft kisses all over his face.
"Tha right? I've been through 'ell n back, don't think I came back pretty." He rolls his eyes, but he secretly enjoys the attention.
"Do you think I'm pretty? Even though I'm a little big?" You drawl, knowing exactly what you're doing.
"Of course I fuckin do. The prettiest bird in the damn sky. If anythin, yer just small enough not to slip between my fingers." He growls. He hates when you down talk yourself.
"Well, you're the cutest dog at the pound! My pretty boy." You kiss every scar.
A new type of admiration shines in his eyes. He finds a piece of heaven when you praise him and look at him like he hasn't killed more men than you've ever been alone with.
"Think 'm pretty, mm? Like my pretty face? Sit on it."
"Wait- what?"
"You 'eard me." A devilish smile sits on his face.
Next thing you know, you're sitting on his face while he eats you like a man starved. Murmuring praise into your pretty cunt.
Grumbles of "Too pretty fa me," "don't deserve you," "my good girl telling me I'm pretty." "Gorgeous dove," vibrate against your pussy.
He has a death grip on your thighs, keeping you pressed against his face till you be a good girl and cum in his mouth. Once he lifts you up, he licks his lips. "Taste as sweet as you act."
He's gentle as he pulls you onto his cock. Staring up at you hungrily as you take him whole. He pulls you up and down, letting you relax and sit there while he does the work. Though he'll look at you like you've hung the stars.
Well, at least he'll make you see some.
He starts to thrust up into you quickly. Wanting more, wishing he could get deeper. "You really think 'm pretty?" He whispers.
"Yes- oh, yes, Si! My pretty boy," You whine, struggling to think when he's pounding into you how he is.
This time, he fills you up with his cum. "Then we'll 'ave some pretty babes."
(smut drabble?? Ramble? Idk, it doesn't feel like a full fic. I'm literally feral, I've been a bit sick, so better, more poetic stuff when the horrible headaches clear ♡)
(Heavy Smut ✨️ 9k ✨️ M!Lizard Monster x F!Reader) -previous story here
Warnings/Themes:
Male Lizard Monster x Female Reader, smut, heavy smut, smut with no plot, double penetration, double penetration in the same hole, P in V, oral- female receiving, dirty talk, praise kink, breeding kink, size difference, cum play, mentions of cum, portal pussy, jealous monster, territorial monster, modern time universe, handjob, strange dick descriptions, monster dick description, monster scales, monster tail, cock warming, sleeping while still inside, reptilian monster, spiked dick, panty sniffing
Notes:
Hiya! This became a much bigger smut fest than I expected. Massively self-indulgent but also a little challenge to myself to make a decently in-depth scene.
Feedback or criticism is welcome! I'm trying to improve in any way I can.
Enjoy!
For writing context, anything written like this, is the Lizard's past dialogue during your time together with the portal ❤️
Ping! - The phone notification startled you. Almost causing you to mess up your careful application of eyeliner.
“Oh Gods! Really!?” You had but a moment to prepare yourself before you felt an all too familiar tongue dive into your portal.
You braced against the sink, manicured nails clawing at the porcelain surface as your velvety walls were assaulted by a heated attack barely reaching your cervix.
He felt hungry. Maddeningly desperate to brush the tip of his pointed tongue against that part of you that had your walls clamping down on him.
Within seconds your Regular had your breaths turn to gasps and your thighs parting, as if waiting for a thicker intrusion.
"Getting one last taste in before I close for the night, huh?” You asked no one in particular. It wasn't like the hunk of a reptile on the other end of your portal could hear you.
You squeezed around him, rolling your hips in time with the strokes of his mouth. You were rewarded by two fingers spreading you wider and your back arched with the welcome penetration.
Your legs nearly buckled out from under you when his claws scraped along your inner walls. A cry bouncing off the bathroom walls as the Regular began fingering you at a rapid pace.
Even when this man was stuffing you with his long, slender digits- he was so utterly careful it was sinful.
Other Monsters had attempted to use their hands while pleasuring themselves with your portal. But every time their talons caused discomfort or pain. Twice your Handlers had to remove a Patron that had gotten too frisky with your portal, causing small cuts in areas you found excruciatingly painful.
But this Regular? A Lizard-Man who visited your portal every Friday evening, paying for a full afternoon in a private room- was the exception to your ‘no claws allowed’ boundary.
He was just…so dominantly tender with your pussy it made your head spin. He took his pleasure from you like you owed him a life debt. But he was always mindful of your body’s limits.
On days your walls couldn't handle both his cocks- he wouldn’t shove them in or get aggressive. Instead, he’d work you up to it. Talking you through it, even if he thought you couldn’t hear him.
You occasionally stayed in the Portal Hostel on your shifts, especially on a Friday, just to watch him. You used to think he knew you were there behind that one way mirror. But your Handlers explained that was impossible. Their Workers, unless they asked otherwise, were kept anonymous. And the rooms you could use to watch were completely sound proof- there was no way the Lizard-Man knew you were watching.
Meaning every praise and compliment, every tease, was for his own enjoyment.
He was your faverite…and you would admit you had a fleeting bubble of disappointment when you had to close your portal off this afternoon. You kept the option for oral open- but ultimately closed all appointments so you didn’t reek of sex on your date.
You didn't expect anyone to take the last slot. Oral appointments weren’t usually that popular. But your Regular never did like to disappoint you.
The Lizard-Man’s fingers didn’t stop their rapid thrusting until your bathroom filled with the sloppy sounds of your sex. He then withdrew them with deliberate slowness, making you groan out a frustrated curse, before his tongue returned.
Messily- greedily -slurping up your slick until he forced your climax from you. You felt him purring. Making you writhe until you were sitting on the tiled floor, twitching and moaning with the steady vibrations from his lips crushed against your portal edge.
He licked you clean.
A habit your Regular commonly performed after your sessions together. Taking care to swipe his tongue along the rim of your pussy before withdrawing from the portal with one last careful nip to your folds.
The portal closed with a notification from your phone displaying the session was over and your portal had been disconnected from the Hostel.
What should have been a quick trip to the bathroom instead turned out to be a thirty minute long stand-off between your body and the Lizard-Man’s mouth.
He won. Every damn time.
“Gods…you’re going to ruin other men for me.” You laughed, breathless, while hauling yourself up by the edge of the sink. Your legs trembled and every inch of you tingled with a fuzzy heat.
You had to take a second shower to remove the mess from between your legs. Having half a mind to choose a different outfit in case the material reeked of your arousal.
But despite the hassle of washing yourself down again, you felt a lot less nervous about tonight now your body was buzzing with post-fuck endorphins.
“I should thank that man with a free session.” You joked to your reflection in the mirror. It was getting harder and harder to keep the pre-date jitters down now the reservation time was getting closer.
At least you had something to keep you relaxed- the afterglow of your Regular’s tongue ravishing the deepest parts of you.
It wasn’t exactly a great thought to have when you were on your way to a blind-date set up by a friend.
But anything was better than spiralling into a mess of nerves and exaggerated thoughts of how horribly this date could go.
You only knew two things about the man you were on your way to see.
The first is that your friend Joane spoke nothing but good things about him. Her exact words being; ‘He’s really charming! Super sweet. He helped me out of a few problems at work and I have a feeling you’d both get along great! You’re both workaholics! I promise he’s not some weirdo.’ It had been a playful jest. But you weren’t sure how to feel about this ‘amazing guy’ that your friend has kept all hush-hush about. She gave almost nothing away about him.
The second piece of information given to you was that he was a lawyer. You weren’t sure how good of a lawyer or any smaller details; just that Joane had said he was very good at what he did.
“And what happens if he’s a creep?” You asked Joane one time. During one of her long and nagging attempts to get you to agree to a blind-date with her ‘awesome, very handsome lawyer’ friend. “It’s even worse that you are setting me up with nothing, Joane. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t I see a picture of him?”
“Because that’s no fun!” Joane had huffed in return. “Come on! You can have me on speed dial and I will pick you up no questions asked if you feel things aren’t going well. I’m doing the same for him too. No offense.”
You had rolled your eyes and brunted another hour of constant begging until you finally gave in and agreed to the stupid date.
For a while, you tried not to think about it. Happy to continue your life pushing back the rising dread of stepping out of your comfortable routine and meet someone completely new. With how popular your portal was and your job doing well, dating had been put on the shelf for a later time.
Previous relationships were either lacking or downright horrible, you didn’t mind taking some time for yourself. Your sexual desires have been met almost every night. And you had your own money flying into your account every week.
You were in no rush to meet someone new.
But alas, time moves on and before you knew it; you were approaching the restaurant Joane had reserved a table for the two of you.
You’ll definitely give it to Joane, she knows how to pick a good place for a first date.
The establishment was beautiful. Fancy enough that you needed a reservation dating back weeks but casual enough that you didn’t need a million dollar outfit to fit in.
Your waiter was Humanoid, with dark fur neatly combed flat against his tanned arms and a face similar to a wolf’s. He greeted you with a smile and led you to an outdoor table when you gave Joane’s reservation name.
And there, bathed under the warm glow of the countless strings of fairy-lights, was your date.
And Joane had been right, he was handsome.
But you already knew that. Because he was a Monster you recognized immediately, having had him balls deep in you on more than one occasion. His attire was much more elegant than your usual appointments- a dark emerald suit with a black tie and white undershirt.
But those liquid gold eyes gleamed just the same. And the scales peppering his dark leathery skin along his neck, were just as tantalizing here as they were back in the Hostel.
“Hi! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Xavier.” His smile was as warm as his words and a soft purr layered his tone. When he stood from the table to greet you, he towered over you. Easily so, even in heels- you only reached his chest in comparison.
Fuck this pussy feels so good…A-Ah! I-I’ll pay extra- please -let me cum inside you.
He didn’t harbor the same heavy husk that usually made your insides liquify. But when you shook his hand- larger than your own and with a strength hidden under a gentle embrace - introducing yourself, your little horny mindset came screeching forward. Reminding you of the many times you’ve fantasized about the feeling of his palms on your skin.
You had to beat back the heated flush that crept through you with a mental bat. Smiling through your inner thoughts of absolute insanity “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.” You offered as an ice-breaker. Xavier pulled out your chair and then slid you smoothly back against the table when you sat down. “I rarely visit this part of the city.”
“I only just got here myself.” Xavier replied, dismissing your words with a chuckle. “I was looking over the menu. Did you have a drink in mind?” He let you order a beverage first, still deciding himself.
You tried not to stare.
You really, really tried not to. But it was difficult when you’ve watched this man come undone with your walls suffocating his thick cocks.
Not to mention that he had eaten you out only half an hour earlier. You were still deciding if it was worth fussing over; that your date had gone to a brothel, used a portal and in the same hour arrived to have dinner.
But a part of you swelled wickedly knowing that it had been you he licked clean. Whether it was a means of exhausting some pent up nerves or a greedy hunger- you might later find out.
“Have you visited this restaurant before?” You asked as the waiter took your orders and hurried away.
“It was all Joane’s doing.” Xavier sighed. A knowing curl pulling at the corners of his wide mouth. “I’m sure she also wrangled you into agreeing to let her pick the place?”
You nodded, kicking a leg over one knee and it was a thrilling sight to see how his primordial gaze followed the movement. Almost as quickly returning his attention back to you.
You pretended not to notice.
“I didn’t bother fighting her on anything once I agreed. She has an uncanny ability to annoy me into doing what she wants. Lovingly, I should clarify.” You said laughing. “I don’t think she’s fought so hard for anything more than getting us to go out.”
Xavier nodded, taking a sip from his drink. And you hated how closely you watched his throat bob with the swallow of the amber liquid. You forced your eyes to move elsewhere.
“The moment she told me about you, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be something I can wriggle out of.” His claws clicked against the glass nestled between his fingers. It looked so small.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But I..did agree to this to get her off my back.”
Some part of you wobbled with relief. Your shoulders even relaxed a little, to your surprise.
You quickly waved away his worried expression, “Don’t worry about it. I was dubious about this date as well. I haven’t had the motivation to date or go looking for dates lately. I was trying to figure out a way to let you down nicely. Nothing against you. I guess you could say I’m in my ‘me era’.”
Xavier released a breath. Heavy, and on a sound like you felt deep in your stomach. “By the Gods, I’m glad to hear that. I was very worried there would be an awkward miscommunication tonight.”
You couldn't help but smile at how genuinely relieved this Monster looked. His tail, once resting tightly around the legs of his chair, now swooped along the floor beneath the table. Out of the way of anyone walking by but with enough room between you two it wasn’t impeding on your space.
“Well, we can at least have a nice meal out.” You said, raising your glass towards Xavier. “There’s no harm in that.”
Xavier’s smile showed a row of fangs thicker than your fingers. And his eyes had a sparkle to them that made the ghostly brush of a shiver run up your spine.
“To a nice dinner.” He clinked the glass to yours and you very quickly hid yourself behind the rim of your drink.
Come on beautiful- I know you can take both of me. Just a little more…Good girl..that’s it…
That husk was there. On the edge of his tone and you internally screamed because of it.
You damn well nearly combusted when his tongue made an appearance to lick his lips after placing down his glass.
You chatted while waiting for your meal. Going through the usual topics of work and hobbies outside of the office.
Xavier answered your month-long question of what type of lawyer he was. It somehow didn’t surprise you that he worked in criminal justice.
You had half the mind to somehow slip in about the portal side-hustle, but it just didn’t seem appropriate. And you were still unsure how Xavier would handle such news.
Would he even be the type of guy who was ok with knowing who was on the other side of the portal?
He’s so different here outside the Hostel. You found yourself thinking as Xavier bashfully told a story of an embarrassing work story. It was endearing. He was endearing. He had a smile that was too cute to be real and his whole face was so frustratingly nice to look at, you wanted to take him home after the date.
But he’s not looking for anything outside this nice meal. You grumbled to yourself.
Don’t you dare clean up. I’m going to go buy another hour and I’m going to fuck my cum properly into you.
I wonder if that confidence in the room is an act or if this is an act. You started wondering half-way through the date. With the alcohol starting to trickle a bit of fire into your veins, you didn’t mind the occasional horny memory coming to the surface.
And a part of you was juggling with openly asking Xavier if he would be interested in extending the date back to your place. He was open with you at the start, so you saw no reason why you couldn’t continue the communication further.
But after dessert. You cowardly decided. Unable to shake the worry that your idea of this Monster was a facade built by him and your fantasies.
Dessert came and went. Followed by some more drinks and more chatter. The conversation became friendly…very friendly. Jokes and banter started to flow from your lips and Xavier countered each one with a grin and a laugh.
“I’ve had more fun than I thought I would.” Xavier said after polishing off his latest glass. He had moved closer during the night. Subtly, in a way you didn’t realize until his hand reached over and brushed his fingers along the back of your palm.
When you didn’t flinch away from the scrape of his claws, Xavier grinned and properly intertwined his fingers with yours. “I don’t want to seem too forward…but would you be comfortable continuing this date elsewhere?”
There he was. Just when you started to think it was all a hoax, your hungry eyed reptile emerged through a half-dazed gentleman.
Either it was the alcohol that made his mask slip or he was feeling a little more comfortable with you, his body language shifted entirely. And you eagerly leaned towards him when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, breaking your thoughts with the soft brush of cool skin.
It took you a full second to recalibrate your voice under such a searing gaze, “I would be more than comfortable.” You nibbled on your lower lip. Your pulse galloped when his eyes bounced between the drag of your painted lips and your gaze.
“There is something I should tell you first.” You bit the bullet before your nerves took the words away.
You weren’t sure what would have been worse; Xavier pulling away from you or how his tail grazed along your thigh under the table. Hidden beneath the tablecloth as it coiled around your leg, squeezing lightly.
With how easily you welcomed his touch, you almost begged him to lean away so you could properly breathe.
“If it’s your first time with a Reptilian, I don’t mind.” His gaze softened. Liquifying his jeweled gaze into something close to reassuring.
Your face went hot and you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. “No. I’ve been with a Reptilian before…” You lowered your voice and motioned him closer with a stroke of your forefinger against the soft underside of his jaw.
His eyes fluttered closed but moved closer so you could whisper into his ear. “You used my portal just before our date.”
His tail tightened along your thigh and his body went rigid beside you. For a brief moment, you feared the worst. But just as quickly, Xavier relaxed and the cool breath of his throaty laugh fanned over your cheek.
“I thought you smelled familiar.” Molten fire flooded through your veins when his voice took on that proper husky drawl. He leaned away, just enough so he could meet your gaze again. “You’re not…upset that I used your portal before our date?”
He was so adorably worried. You gave his hand a squeeze, mimicking the way you gently clasped your thighs together around the rings of his tail against your leg.
“Are you upset I left my portal open before our date?” You countered. And you weren’t sure if he didn’t have an answer or you had distracted him too much with the warm embrace of your thighs.
You smiled and moved your legs so you rubbed his tail between them. He jerked with a low hiss and you chuckled lightly at the reaction. Rewarded with that returning want in his eyes again.
“At least you know I can take both of you.”
His nostrils flared and the darkened look turned your insides to puddy. “I’ve always tried visualizing what you might look like.” He said. You released his tail from your thighs when you felt him tug on it lightly. “I could never think of a face that could suit such a-” He caught himself before he spoke. Clearing his throat, he stood from the table. You caught a glimpse of his growing bulge as he led the way from the table to the counter to pay.
You followed after him. Unable to keep down your smug grin.
“And am I an acceptable face?” You said, meaning the question to be a tease. But the glance down at you created a very, very warm pool to form between your legs.
“Oh, yes. “ Was his replying growl.
You made it to his car. But you didn’t make it much further than that before Xavier had you pinned against a wall and his lips crushing yours.
It was a dance of teeth and tongues with your back pressed against a cold brick wall, standing on your toes and his large hands cradling your face to angle you up to him. Bent over like he was to reach you, you were completely shielded from the dark parking lot. The street-lights weren’t working. Giving the two of you the perfect shadowy corner to relieve some of your pent up need.
His thigh pushed between your legs and you eagerly welcomed the hard muscle pressing against your core. You’ve been wet for the majority of the date. And finally with some friction you could breathe a little more easily.
“Fuck- I can smell how wet you are.” Xavier hissed against your lips. Pulling away long enough to lick a long strip along the exposed ‘V’ between your breasts. “The scent of you is burned into my mind. I thought I was going crazy in that restaurant smelling your slick. What a small world we live in.”
You couldn’t reply like you wanted. His hand was now crawling up under your dress to rub hard against your soaked underwear. Tracing the curve of your thigh, squeezing the plush flesh once, before gliding under your skirt to eagerly feel the wet material. The feeling of his fingers down where you needed it most pulled a shaking gasp from your lungs.
And oh, how Xavier enjoyed that sound.
“I’m never going to be able to use that portal again without you being right here.” He emphasized his words by slipping his fingers around your panties and pushing the tips into your core.
You had to grip onto his arms to keep yourself from falling. “Can I take you home? Please.”
Through the fog of ecstasy, his begging fueled a needy part of you that had you nodding in earnest.
And in a fumbling blur of groping palms and sloppy lips against your throat and lips, you were in his car, one clawed hand between your thighs and your half tipsy fingers trying to undo his belt as he drove the late night traffic.
You rocked your hips against his hand. Uncaring of the light pricking of his talons against the supple skin down there. Whining when he withdrew his fingers once, hissing softly. “Slowly.” The word rippled through the air in the car like a prayer. And you nodded, impatiently lifting your hips towards his hovering touch until your skin was flush with the rough pads of his fingers.
You ripped down his zipper once the belt was free and with a slight shift of his waist, the first cock slipped from its confined prison.
It was no wonder Xavier could pull climax after climax from you
You got brief glimpses during your sessions at the Hostel; but now you could finally see what has been ravaging your walls so perfectly for the past few months.
They were a pale green in color that deepened to a black at the very tip. Thickest around the middle, rolling into an oval peak that curved with a slight sharp summit. Near the base, just before the beginning of the steep slope of Xavier’s shaft- were numerous waxy spikes. But you don’t ever recall feeling these against your walls.
The very thought of them had your thighs closing around Xavier’s hand and the smirk he shot down at you was viciously wicked.
“The portal was always too small for me to fit both of them to the hilt.” He explained, rolling his hips so you managed to glimpse the second, larger, member still trapped in his pants. “I hope you don’t mind if I try tonight.”
“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” You replied and Xavier’s next breath rattled on a hiss-like growl.
Your mouth was near watering as a bead of pre-cum appeared on the apex of his cock.
He was much thicker than you thought. And cool to the touch as you wrapped an experimental hand around the girthy middle.
A whisper of a grunt escaped from Xavier’s lips and you grinned at the sweet sound. “I always wondered what you would taste like.” You murmured. Tilting the rounded peak towards your lips, you gave the bead of pre-cum an experimental lick.
You felt the car jerk and Xavier’s hand fisted around the back of your head. Holding you above his bobbing length. You felt the tip of his claws scratch against your scalp and something deep within you bristled keenly at the sensation of your hair tangled between his fingers.
Your core fluttered around the empty space that now replaced Xavier’s hand. And you looked up at him from where he held you near his hips.
But he didn’t push you down or pull you away, instead held you a tortuous inch away from his cock.
“We should wait until we’re out of traffic.” Xavier breathlessly laughed. His pupils were blown wide. A black pool rimmed by gold. “I can’t concentrate if you use your mouth.”
You pouted but lifted your head further away from him. You felt no restriction, but his fingers stayed curled around your hair. “Can I stroke you at least?” You asked.
Xavier nodded. The passing street-lights flashed him briefly in pools of white. Giving you the illusion of a fanged nightmare looming over your bowed body.
“Slowly…Please.”
The manners felt like an after-thought. As if he just remembered he should be using them.
But you obliged his command with a slow drag of your hand along his shaft. The hard muscle barely gave way under your tight grip. And your palm found smaller, unseen nubs coating Xavier’s cock. They were much softer than the spines near his base, but nonetheless massaged your fingers in a way that felt very familiar.
Looking up at Xavier, you noticed the dazed look overcoming him. The traffic at this hour was near non-existent but you still felt you needed to help the poor Monster concentrate on getting you both home.
“Why do you visit the Hostel only on Fridays?” You asked, moving your hand in a continuous squeezing, slow motion.
“Lets call it a little treat for finishing the week.” Xavier grunted. The bob of his throat seemed to be caused by your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers. His breath hitching when you carefully scraped your nails along the second cocks firm spines. They felt…longer than what the first cock’s protrusions. And just a touch less pliable. “And a refreshing start to my weekend. Better than any stiff drink or spa-day.” He tried to joke, you knew he did. But with the heaviness layering his words, he sounded like he was spitting out his reply.
You hummed in agreement, resisting the urge to lick the thick teardrop of pre that was collecting on the valley of his slit. Instead you used it to wetten your palm so your hand stroked him more easily.
“I open my portal hours for longer durations for the same reason.” You told him. His cock throbbed in your hand, as if it grew more excited at the mention of the device. “You’re by far my favorite client. But being used late into the night by others does wonders after a stressful week.”
The hand around your hair tightened and your eyes watered in response. You peeked up at him, smirking when a passing light reflected off his ivory white fangs. “Don’t tell me you’re a jealous type.”
“I think territorial is more fitting with my kind.” Xavier nearly growled. Something whispered to you that he was restraining himself. And to calm him, you wrapped your other hand around the hilt of his shaft. Massaging the spines there while your first hand continued to stroke him.
“Is it horrible that I found that incredibly sexy?” You chuckled.
A shaking hiss whistled through Xavier’s jaw. His entire body seemed to vibrate against your waist. The thigh you were half draped over was as firm as a rock. “If I do start making you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me.” He said and he tugged on your hair to ensure your attention was surely on him. “When I use your portal, I always make sure I don’t do anything I would need your permission to do. But now we’re together, if you’re ok with it, I would like to fuck you properly.” You nodded but Xavier’s eyes sharpened when they glanced down at you, pulling his attention away from the road for a second to drill in how serious he was being. “Use your words.”
“I’m more than comfortable with us experimenting my limits tonight.” You said in equal firmness. Stalling your curious playing so nothing separated you or him from this discussion. “If you want, we can use a safe-word. Or a color code to help with our comfort levels.”
Xavier nodded. The car began to slow down and you felt the dip and rise of him driving onto a sloped driveway. When Xavier parked the car and switched off the engine, he lifted you onto his lap. In one smooth motion- unclicking your seat-belt then looping his arm around your waist to drag you over so your thighs straddled his waist.
“I need you to hide this.” He said and bucked his hips up so the hard length pressed sharply against your core. His eyes fluttered close when your warm slick coated panties rubbed along him.
And you laughed softly when he continued to grind up against you. Rolling his head back against the seat while you took the opportunity to kiss and nip along his exposed throat. “You’re so warm.” Xavier murmured. His arms tightened around you, caging you against his chest. “You’re incredibly distracting. What were we doing again?” He attempted to joke again but the clouded expression of his portrayed just how reluctant he was to move.
You couldn’t complain either. You met every lazy twitch of his hips with an impatient jerk of yours. Angled as you were, you couldn’t press him against the part of you that was aching for friction. But the spines on his cock were at least giving you an electrifying ride.
“Xavier, please…” You whimpered. Burying your face into the hard nook of his neck. “Can we go inside already?”
His laugh felt like a drum-roll through your body. And he finally opened the car door and stepped out into the dimly lit driveway.
Xavier held you tight against his body. One hand possessively splayed over the expanse of your ass, holding you with ease against his chest. While still cradling your clothed pussy forcibly against his cock. Your dress pooled around your legs. Perfectly covering the sinful connection between your waists.
When he reached the front door of his home, Xavier pressed your back against the cool wood and trapped you there. He kissed you deeply while fumbling with his keys. His tongue sliding tenderly along yours, tasting and swiping until you felt him reach the back of your throat. Your eyes watered as you fought not to gag on the tickling sensation.
The teasing chuckle made you push down on his cock. Making his tongue falter and him stumble into the house when he managed to unlock the door.
His tail slammed the door shut behind him. The kiss continued, needy and passionate, until you had to break away to breathe. Xavier chased after you. Growling about not being done tasting you as he walked through the house to a dark room.
With a flick of his tail tip on the switch, the overhead lights blazed to life. Bathing you in a cozy orange light that started to warm your skin almost immediately.
Your back hit the bed a second later and Xavier made no hesitation in removing your clothes. His claws slipped under the skirt of your dress to first hook under the thin material of your panties. When they came free of your legs, Xavier brought them up to his nose and breathed in the wettened patch.
His eyes rolled close to the back of his head. Then they focused on you and he threw the bundle across the room.
“Your arousal is intoxicating.” Xavier hummed against the skin of your neck. There he licked and nipped, leaving the beginning of small bruises along your throat as he guided the straps of your dress over your shoulders. “The first time I smelled your pussy I couldn’t help but immediately taste you. And now I'm going to be lucky enough to have my sheets coated in your scent.”
He was massive on top of you. Half hanging off the side of the bed, his tail sweeping across the floor lazily while he impatiently dragged your dress away from your body. Your hands wandered just as eagerly as his. Sweeping down the hard curves of his sides. Following the sharp ridges of scales trailing down his back that then spread out into softer skin above his tail and belly.
With each layer of his clothes he removed, you tasted with your mouth. Finding sensitive spots only where the skin was pale and supple under your lips.
You excitedly found a collection of rounded scales patterning the ‘V’ of his hips. Creating a trail of smooth bumps that disappeared into soft flesh circling the hilt of his cocks. When you shoved his pants down his legs, his tail whipped back and forth to help wriggle himself out of the restrictive clothing.
“Green for keep going.” Xavier panted through a kiss that had you crushed against the bed. “Yellow for slow. Red for stop.”
It took you a second to understand what he was saying. The fog of ecstasy had taken away most of your thoughts. But when you connected the dots, you nodded.
Quickly adding words when he started to pull away. “Green!” You yanked him back down on top of you and with a hearty laugh, Xavier shoved you further up the bed. Crawling after you, he parted your legs with his mouth. Giving your folds a slow, heavy lick before continuing up along your stomach.
You spread your legs wider and Xavier took up the space between them. Taking no time to press his two lengths against your aching warmth. He sagged on top of you. His weight held aloft by his elbows on either side of your head.
“Is this a lizard thing?” You lightly teased. Moving your thighs to better accommodate the vast width of his waist and roll your hips against the throbbing peaks. He shuddered above you. Frozen against your pussy. “Is it my pussy or the warmth?”
“Both.” He rasped. “H-human holes are..fuck..are unfairly addicting. And with your warm-blood, I instinctually want to be pressed against you all the time.”
As if to concrete his words, Xavier lowered his body until you were completely enveloped by him. His weight pressing down against you until you felt every breath he took. Every twitch and subtle jerk of his hips rubbing the pebbles of pre-cum through your folds.
You moaned against his chest when the textured underside of his cock nudged against your clit.
The two of you stayed like this until you were whining for him to go faster. “I'm close.” You gasped and Xavier hissed when he pulled away. Drawing himself up to sit on his calves, kneeling between your thighs while his hands trailed his claws down your sides. Making you squirm and wriggle until his palms locked around your hips and dragged you to settle on the slope of his thighs.
You relaxed your legs on either side of his waist. Whimpering when his fingers explored the crevasse of your core. Pushing the tips of his fingers inside you to massage your walls, gently spreading you until your breath left your lungs in heated pants.
“Color?” Xavier asked. Sounding as winded as you felt while he stretched you with his hand.
“G-Green.” You replied, unable to look away from where his cocks lay sprawled against your hip. Xavier had to move them to the side so he could watch his knuckles disappear into your velvety walls.
It felt crowded between your legs. But Xavier made no move to shift you. Keeping you flush against his hips.
That is until he wrapped a tight fist around his first cock and lifted himself to angle his hips towards your pussy. Your breath froze in your chest. Your eyes wide in anticipation as Xavier probed your entrance with his rounded peak.
Your head rolled back against the mattress- eyes fluttering close as your walls began to stretch to accommodate him. There wasn't a heavy burn. Just a sweet familiar ache that swept through your core and up along your lower back. Sparks began to sizzle along your skin when the thickest part of him pushed past your entrance.
Xavier watched you with a searing intensity. Aiding the careful glide of his length with devastating precision. When your walls spasmed, Xavier stalled and coaxed your calm forward with a brush of his thumb against your clit.
When your breathing evened, Xavier would move again. His hips pulsated with gentle thrusts until you felt the first row of spines jab at your soft skin.
When the prodding sensation prickled your flesh, your hands flew to latch around Xavier’s wrists. Helping ground you to the unusual feeling.
Xavier immediately stopped. Eyes heavy and lidded, but violently focused.
“O-Orange.” You managed to push the word through your leaded tongue.
Xavier nodded and drew out of you until only the head of his cock remained smothered by your heated body. “During our sessions together, I didn’t want to use them without your permission.” His voice sounded like a thundercloud in his throat. The sharp hiss of lightning sharpening each word. “They won’t hurt-”
“It’s n-not that.” You said. Cutting off his worried explanation. “They just felt weird. It surprised me.” You looked up from where the two of you were connected. His pale skin gleamed with your slick and you noticed that the small nubs were deeper in color now. Looking swollen against Xavier’s smooth length. “Green.”
Xavier sank into you in one smooth glide. And your back arched off the bed- a gasp breaking from your chest.
“Sorry.” Xavier whispered. So devastatingly focused on the last two inches that had yet to slip inside you. He held himself there while your walls attempted to suck him in. Greeding begging for him to go deeper.
“I want to be sure you’re comfortable taking these.”
You knew it was sweet. In the back of your mind, you appreciated this Monster and his cautious behavior.
But holy fuck, you wanted him to pound you into this bed. You were sure he could break this it if he unleashed himself fully onto you.
With a soft murmur, Xavier pushed against your heat and your eyes flew open when the first spines scraped past your entrance. It was a strange sensation. And every time Xavier moved, you felt him grinding against your walls. The protrusions gave way enough that the sharp peaks didn’t harm you. But caused just enough pressure that by the time Xavier was flush against your hole; you were trembling under his hands.
“F-Fuck…” The curse fell from Xavier’s lips like a prayer. His back was arched over you, lips occasionally brushing your brow every time Xavier rolled his hip. You had to bend your head back to kiss him. Sloppy and breathless, trying to ground yourself so you didn't fall too soon. “Color?”
“Green.” You said against his throat. Whimpering when he started to pull out. “Please, I’m so close…”
“I know baby~” Xavier hissed, trembling above you. Shoulders tight, muscles coiled as he braced himself against every slow curl of his hips that buried him snugly against your body. “Hold on for a little longer. And then I want you cumming on my cock as many times as you need.”
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Using him as an anchor while he slowly picked up speed. But you felt his impatience breaking his resolve. And the second Xavier realized you were taking him without any resistance, a ruthless pace was set.
Your body was rocked with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixing with your pitched cries as you clawed his back. Burying your nails into the nooks of his scales.
Xavier hissed above you, leaning low over your body in a possessive crouch of pleasure that made the bed creak with his rhythm. Your body tried to writhe, pressing your breasts against his cool skin as a searing pleasure flamed through your core.
His second cock bounced against your ass. A heavy weight that pressed against your cheeks and was crushed by his balls swinging in motion to his body.
And then you were undone. A strangled cry, muffled by Xavier’s chest, echoed through the room and Xavier’s chuckle was dark and vicious.
“That’s it.” He whispered between thrusts. Each slam of his hips now produced a wet, slick sound. “Such a good girl for me. Letting me use you like this. I knew you could take all of me. But now I need to stuff you properly.”
Xavier’s pace shifted, slowing into a lazy grind. He lifted himself off of you, just enough that he could move his legs and let your body fall to the bed completely. You felt a wet patch meet your skin but your mind was too dazed to care.
Then he reached between your driving bodies to adjust the angle of the second cock.
“Color?” The question was carried on silk wrapped around iron. Steady, but restrained.
“Green.” You told him. Beginning to find your focus again as you felt the heavy weight push against your entrance, bumping against the already stuffed hole. “A-Actually, orange.”
The eager prodding slowed. And Xavier leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss so tender your head spun. “Good girl.”
You forced your back to lie flat against the bed. Relaxing your muscles while the second cock massaged to stretch your walls. Xavier’s tongue did wonders to distract you. Carving a path down your chin, to your throat, brushing the sharp curves of his fangs against your jugular. Where you could feel your racing heart-beat against the thrilling presence of his maw.
You felt him apply pressure but then stopped. A heart-beat passed and his voice rumbled through your skin.
“Color?”
You smiled and tilted your chin up, “Green.”
The growl came from deep within his chest. And your body shivered on a gasp as his lips encased your throat between his fangs. He bit down gently. Applying just enough force that your skin prickled with discomfort but no pain.
Growing impatient, Xavier adjusted his legs and angled your hip to meet the slow push of his next thrust. He lifted your hips off the bed, driving in the head of his length until it popped inside your warm embrace.
The pressure of him filling you made something in you snap again and this time, your breath rattled on a groan-like whimper of his name.
Xavier’s purr was dark and triumphant. His teeth still possessively locked around your throat, he shifted his legs again. Spreading them further apart so he had a deeper angle to drive down into you until your ass was smooshed against the bed.
Tears blurred your vision. But you didn't stop him. Spilling murmured nonsense into the humid air while he set a brutally shallow pace. Burying inch after inch each time his hips swooped down to meet yours.
You were helpless beneath him. Sprawled open by his knees against your thighs. His left hand was locked on your waist to keep you still while you were stretched to your limits.
Xavier dragged the back of his knuckles along your arm. Gently pulling your grasping hand away from his body to rest against the bed above your head. His fingers slid between yours. Tangling your hand with his and you felt him squeeze your warm palm twice.
You mimicked the pressure. Sighing a long shaky breath at the first sharp touch of his thicker cock’s spines.
“Green.” You said before Xavier could pull away. You felt his lips curl in a smile and his body tensed above you. His back coiled like a spring, carefully restraining himself as he sank the last few inches into you.
Another climax ripped through your exhausted body and your thighs locked against his legs. Trembling and shaking, boneless under him while he buried himself until nothing was left between the two of you.
“You stretch so deliciously for me.” Xavier whispered into your skin. Nipping his way to your lips to bruise them in a kiss. Hungrily taking the taste of your tongue with his until your hand squeezed his fingers. Begging for breath. “Now consider my next words carefully- can I breed you” The words were said in a voice as velvety as dark chocolate.
Asked so plainly your befuddled mind didn’t realize he had asked it until he nipped your throat, yanking a startled yelp out of you.
“W-What?”
“Can I breed you?” He asked again. Said more softly but nonetheless just as serious. “When I use your portal, I only ever ejaculated out of one cock. The larger one secretes thicker semen. It feels indescribably good to ejaculate with it. But if I do that, I will want to keep you full of it. Instincts.” He said as if it explained everything clearly. “And because I…I might have a thing for it.”
You laughed quietly and relaxed your head against the pillows behind you. You hadn’t realized how far up the bed your thrusting bodies had climbed until you felt the doughy embrace.
“You can breed me.” You said quietly, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. “And please, fuck me as roughly as you do when you use my portal.”
Xavier’s smile was as eager as it was wicked.
He nuzzled roughly against your neck, a purr rattling your ribs as he crawled his way up your body until he was stretched over you like a living roof. Properly prone, your face nestled between the plates of his pectoral scales. And when he pressed his body against yours, the bundle of scales above his hips aligned deliciously with your clit.
So when he jerked his hips experimentally, your pitched gasp wasn’t just from his cocks spearing a deep part of you. But also the sharp twinge of pleasure from the grinding bumps over your sensitive nub.
Xavier halted. Stomach hard like a brick wall. “Color?” He asked. His cheek resting on a pile of pillows just above your head.
“Green.”
You barely finish the word before the coils in Xaver’s body sapped. And what you thought before of his rough pounding, was now thrown out the window. Replaced with the snap of his hips that was so devastating- so powerful -enough to drag your body up with him after every recoil.
A strangled scream tangled with the messy sounds of your sex. Skin slapping skin, slick with sweat and nectar from your centre with the profounding crack of his balls striking your ass. Each merciless curve of Xaveri’s hips felt precisioned to hit against the perfect spot. He was unrelenting. Ruthless with each strike.
Your walls were ravaged by the spines. Massaged and soothed by the small nubs before the sharp scrape of the hilts drove your walls into a furious flutter. Every time you clamped down, Xavier would groan and his rhythm would falter. For every deep thrust- he had to rut once so your walls wouldn’t lock him inside you.
The inter-changing pace unravelled guttural whimpers and bubbling moans from deep within your chest. You clung to him. Squeezing your interlocked fingers so tightly it hurt. His claws left marks on your skin.
His grip around your waist promised a belt of bruises for the following morning. All the while Xavier buried his face into the pillows. His snarls sounded like distant thunder as he took what he wanted from you.
You weren’t sure if the continuous grind of his pelvis against your clit was deliberate, but fuck, did it feel like he had control over every aspect of your pleasure.
As tears pooled from your eyes and your thighs cramped around his waist, your final climax crumbled your mind. Wave after wave of fiery heat blazed through you, convulsing your walls and suffocating Xavier between your pooling sex.
Xavier was unrelenting. The slam of his thrusts caused your breaths to turn to broken cries until his body coiled. Muscles tightening until it felt like he’d snap beneath your fingers- and you felt his cocks throb, pulsate and then spill a globulous liquid deep inside you.
Your eyes widened, startled by the flood of cool fluid that bathed your tinging walls like a soothing balm. Xavier’s roar shattered through his throat.. His tail whipped above your bodies like a mindless snake, whistling through the air with every stuttering thrust from Xavier’s hips.
You could only lay there, trapped and made from puddy, as Xavier milked himself between your legs. He had released your hand, his claws buried into the blanket to keep from crushing your fingers between his. But you kept your hand wrapped around his wrist. Squeezing him, helping anchor him as he chased the pleasure into a blind haze.
“Yes, yes! Such a good girl for me. I’ll fill you up so good. Make you leak with my seed…A-AH!” You felt his cocks twitch and then a second wave of cool liquid joined the first. Your walls swelled to accommodate the load and you whimpered when the hooks buried themselves into your entrance. Nothing that would cause pain, but the unsettling feeling of being locked together was alien.
“Hmm, feels so good- let me cum again. Just once more.” How could you say no to such a gravelly tone? Pitched at the end by a whine- desperate and pained.
“I need you again, Xavier.” You dragged your free hand up along his chest. Rubbing your palm against the soft skin under his jaw to then scratch your way down to where your clit was grinding against his small cluster of scales. “I can fit one more load in me. Come on, baby.”
A trembling hiss rippled from Xavier’s chest but your words fueled his hips into moving again. The rhythm was lazy this time. His hips trembled with overexertion. His breathing ragged, a string of praises tumbling from his lips as you rolled in tandem with him.
“That’s it, Xavier. Cum for me, baby.”
“A-Ah!” The splintered shout carried a hiss that made your hairs stand on end. But you ignored your fluttered pulse and traced the flexing muscles that clenched and relaxed with each lethargic spurt of his finish.
“Good boy.” You murmured to him. Pressing open mouthed kisses along the soft flesh of his chest and belly. Anywhere you could reach, you licked and worshipped. “Hmm, I'm so full. Fuck, Xavier…”
You finally allowed your body to relax. Sprawling over the expanse of the bed, wincing at your cramping thighs that refused to settle properly against Xavier’s crouched position.
Panting, Xavier lifted himself up enough to hunch over and sloppily kiss you. He cupped the side of your face, his palm encompassing your head as he eased you both down from your highs.
“That was…unreal.” He murmured against your puffy lips. “Unforutnately, we’ll be stuck like this for a while.” He gave his hips an experimental tug but his cocks were buried firm. You chuckled and petted a hand down your stomach, where a small bulge had now grown from the weight settled there.
“That’s ok. I need a breather.” You said. And Xavier tilted your chin so your eyes returned to his.
They were soft, searching your face. “What’s wrong?” You asked. Suddenly paranoid.
“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” A sound low in his throat made his lips vibrate when he kissed you again. “You can stay the night if you want.” Was all he said. But his eyes were conveying something else. Possibly something you were both thinking, but you weren’t going to ruin a perfectly good night by saying something stupid.
“Where’d that confidence go?” You teasingly asked. Stroking a knuckle along his jaw. “Don’t tell me I fucked the sexy lawyer out of you.”
Xavier laughed, jostling your swollen core, making you both gasp. He quickly quietened himself. Burying his face into the crook of your neck out of embarrassment.
“Ugh, do not tell Joane that you sucked the smart-ass out of me. She’d never let me live it down.”
You scoffed a laugh, pretending to be insulted. “Are you seriously talking about another woman while still balls deep inside me?”
Xavier’s eyes sparkled like polished treasure. “You spoke about other Monster’s fucking you while my cock was in your hand!” He countered. “Count it as even.”
You tried to continue being petty, but you couldn't help but laugh. Having to stop rather quickly when a shiver of overstimulation sizzled through your skin.
“Alright, alright. Stop making me laugh.” You sighed and rested back against the pillows. Xavier shifted a few more around you to create a comfortable nest of support against your body. “So…how long does this normally last?”
Xavier winced. Tickling his claws along the area that was now swollen and red from the small marks he left on your hip. “A..A few hours.”
You gawked up at him. Then very lightly chuckled. “Guess I am staying here. I hope you don’t mind a needy cuddler. That’s my only demand as after-care.”
Xavier rested his head above yours. The brush of his lips against the crown of your head made you shiver. And his arms wrapped around you. Carefully pulling you flush against his body. “As long as you don’t mind us sleeping with me still inside you. My little demand as after-care.”
You shifted your hips and was rewarded by a throaty moan from Xavier. “Am I at risk of being bred again?”
“Keep moving like that and I’ll ensure you’re bred thrice before dawn.” He growled playfully in return.
Orc Mate who loves marking you up with his tusks, leaving marks to show everyone who you belong to. He's so proud to show you off to everyone, to show them his cute little tusk-marked mate. He might act all aloof about it, but you can see the glint in his eyes as he holds your hand on outings. You can hear the slightly higher tone of his deep voice as he happily introduces you to his friends and family.
Maybe he pretends to be a grump, but he's your grump, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
when you ask your dear friend kyle to help you with your pregnancy, you expect him to donate some sperm, drive you to your ivf appointments, etc etc.
what you don't expect is him to press your knees to your chest one evening, slamming his cock so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel it entering your womb.
"s'fuckin' good for me," he groans, applying more pressure to the back of your thighs, "takin' my cock like a champ, baby," somehow he manages to thrust deeper, a soft whine leaving your lips.
he doesn't stop praising you throughout the whole ordeal, admiration entering one ear then shooting down into your body, pussy squeezing after every phrase.
such a sweet girl. absolutely perfect. gonna be such a good mama.
the way you tighten up at that last bit has kyle gritting his teeth, eyes clenched up before opening to reveal fully dilated pupils, "yeah? you like when i call you that? mama?" the word gets the same physical reaction from you, and kyle grins.
he adjusts himself, chest nearly touching yours as he raises his hips till only the tips insde. then, he slams home.
"can't wait to make you a mama. gonna ruin this cunt every day till it takes. yeah? you want that?" the drag of his cock inside of you is so distracting, addicting. you almost don't answer his question, but the high-pitched mewl he punches out of you is answer enough.
he keeps talking to you, how excited he is to watch your soft belly expand, to see your tits swell up, have your stretchmarks extend.
you hear him say something along the lines of i'll be such a good daddy, mama, jus' you wait, but you blame the cotton in your ears. after all, the only thing you can focus on is the warm feeling of his cum coating your insides and making good on his previous promises.
The wild doesn’t ask—it claims. With heat, with hunger, with hands that know you.
This *might* become a series. I haven't decided yet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“I know you’re awake,” he says, voice like smoke and velvet. “Open your eyes and look at me, love.”
You force your lashes to lift, heart hammering as you blink up at the stranger in your bedroom. All the true crime podcasts in the world didn’t prepare you for this—darkness curled into the shape of a man, sitting at the edge of your bed like he belongs there.
He chuckles, low and amused. “Good girl.”
Your breath catches. He’s massive. Broad shoulders stretch beneath a black tshirt that looks like the seams are about to give way. His eyes drink you in, dragging slowly over every inch of your body beneath the blanket. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t pretend to be polite.
“You surprised me,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect to find you here. I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.”
Your voice scrapes out raw. “E-excuse me?”
He leans closer, one hand lifting to brush your cheek, deceptively gentle. Warm. Possessive.
“Did you really think you could run from me forever?”
You want to shrink back from the touch, but you simply can't. “Run from… I don’t— I don’t even know who you are—”
His fingers trail through your hair, stroking idly like he’s petting something he already owns. Something obedient. Tamed. His smile is full of secrets and something darker—something hungry.
“Of course you don’t understand. Not yet.”
He leans in close, lips nearly brushing your ear, voice dropping into something cold and unrelenting.
“But you will.”
His hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head back until you have no choice but to look into his eyes—so deep and golden you could drown in them. He watches you like he’s memorizing every flicker of fear across your face, and then he smiles.
“You really are pretty, aren’t you? I can see why they all wanted you.”
“They… who?”
“Oh, love.” He laughs softly. “You’ve got no idea. So many admirers. All sniffing around like dogs in heat. But I’m the one who got here first.”
“This has to be a dream,” you whisper. “Some twisted—no one’s ever even looked at me like that.”
Another laugh, this one quieter. Almost fond. His fingers slide from your hair to your chin, tilting your face up.
“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how wanted you are.”
He leans closer, his breath hot against your throat as he murmurs, “There are plenty of creatures who’d love to sink their teeth into you. But I’m the one who caught you.”
His fingers trail down your neck, making you shiver despite the heat radiating from his body. You try to pull back, but he tightens his grip on your shoulder—firm, commanding, inescapable.
“You want to know why I’ve been searching for you?” he murmurs. “Because you’re special. Rare. And I always get what I want.”
Your heart stutters. “What do you want from me?”
His lips curl into something feral.
“You’re breedable, little one. And that’s not something I come across often. Breedable humans are few and far between.”
“Breedable?” you choke, voice shrill.
He purrs, hand sliding possessively down your side. “Oh yes. And you’re exactly my type. So soft, so full in all the right places. Just looking at you makes me feral.”
Your body tenses beneath the blanket as his eyes drag down your curves, slow and consuming.
“Such pretty eyes. That plush little body. You were made for this. Made for me.”
“I don’t— I don’t understand—”
“Shhh.” He strokes your hair again, gentler now. Calming you like a creature about to bolt. “Don’t be afraid. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”
He leans in, lips barely brushing your cheek. “Let me take care of you. Let me own you. Everything you could ever need—warmth, safety, pleasure—you’ll have it. All you have to do is give yourself to me.”
Your voice is barely a breath. “What are you?”
He laughs, low and amused, then bares his teeth. Sharp. Predatory.
“What do you think, little bird? Can’t you see what I am?”
Your eyes fixate on the twin curves of horns half-hidden in the wild mess of his hair—black and spiraled like bone. His skin shimmers in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, deep grey-blue like smoke given form.
“You’re… not human.”
His grin widens. “Smart girl.”
Then he moves. Swift. Smooth. One second you’re lying back, the next you’re in his lap, straddling him, thighs splayed across his hips as he pulls you close—arms coiled around your waist like steel.
“There we go,” he whispers, hand tipping your chin up again. “That’s better. Look how perfect you are like this. Right where you belong.”
His hand slides up your thigh, fingers biting into your flesh like he’s marking you. The scent of him invades your senses—earth, smoke, something wild and ancient. Heat radiates from his chest, burning through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.
You’re trembling.
He notices. Smiles.
“You can touch them,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “My horns. I know you want to.”
Your fingers lift before you can stop them, brushing against the smooth curve of one horn. It’s warm, bone-hard, pulsing faintly with some kind of energy.
He lets out a pleased sound—half purr, half growl—as you stroke him. His head falls back, eyes fluttering shut.
“That feels good.”
Your hand jerks back. “You can… feel that?”
“Oh yes.” His voice is thicker now, breath hitching against your throat as he presses closer, inhaling the scent of your skin.
“My kind feels everything. Every breath, every brush of your fingers, every beat of your little heart against mine. It’s intoxicating.”
Your voice trembles. “What is your kind?”
He hums, lips skimming your throat. “A demon, if you like. A thing from the pit, pulled from darkness with teeth and heat and want. And now… I want you.”
His hands slide down your back, strong and insistent, dragging you flush against him. You can feel the hard length of him beneath you, thick and hot even through your clothes.
“You’ve got so many questions,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “I can feel your curiosity, little bird. But I don’t think questions are the best use for that pretty mouth of yours right now.”
Your hand presses flat to his chest, halting his advance. He’s solid under your palm—burning hot, heartbeat deep and slow like some ancient drumbeat.
“Not so fast,” you say, lifting your chin.
He leans back slightly, still holding your thigh with one large hand. His grip tightens just enough to remind you who has the power here, even if he’s humoring you for now.
“Oh? Trying to take control now, are you?”
“I have questions.”
A chuckle rumbles through his chest, low and dark. His hand strokes up your thigh, lazy and possessive.
“Of course you do. Curious little thing. I suppose I can indulge you—for a moment.”
You blink up at him. “A creature from the pit… does that mean the Christian belief system is correct?”
He tilts his head like a raven considering shiny bait. His eyes flicker with interest.
“In a way, yes. The idea of demons, of otherworldly creatures born beyond the veil, exists in many belief systems. Christianity just wrapped it up in fire and brimstone. But I’m older than their Bible. Older than their fear.”
“So you’re like... a common thread,” you mutter. “God, I’m going to rub this in my coworker’s smug Catholic face.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound sinful and indulgent.
“Humans do love being right. But yes—consider me a link. A whisper that never left your bloodline’s stories.”
His hand tightens on your leg again, drawing you in.
“But enough theology. We’ve got more... interesting matters to discuss.”
“Nuh-uh.” You lean back, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He exhales, exasperated but amused, and reclines against your headboard like he’s settling in for a game. His hand never leaves your skin, still stroking your leg in idle circles.
“Very well. Ask away, little bird. I’ll play along.”
“Other creatures,” you ask, watching his expression. “Do they all look like you?”
His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued by your curiosity. “No. We’re all different. Horns, wings, fangs, scales… we come in all forms. Unique. Terrible. Beautiful.”
Your eyes light up at that. “So there’s a variety.”
Another soft chuckle. His hand squeezes your thigh in reward. “Yes, love. A delicious variety. But we do have one thing in common—we take what we want.”
“Fascinating,” you whisper, unable to resist running your fingers over one of his horns again. Smooth and warm, curling wickedly over his ear. You stop suddenly, blinking at him. “Wait. You never told me your name.”
He hums, eyes gleaming with mischief. His hand snakes up to grab your wrist, guiding it to his mouth. He kisses the inside slowly, lips hot against your skin.
“Why would I give you my name?” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk. “Names have power. You know that. If I gave you mine, you could command me.”
A flutter races through your stomach at the casual intimacy of the gesture, at how easily he shifts between teasing and dangerous.
“Well, I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?”
He smiles, still holding your wrist. “Then give me a name, little bird. Something of your own making. A nickname. Something harmless.”
You sit back slightly, studying him with narrowed eyes. You’re not going to admit that he’s every single depraved little thing you’ve fantasized about when your vibrator’s within reach and your standards are low. But gods, it’s hard to think with him watching you like that.
“A nickname…” you murmur, tapping your chin. “It needs to be good. Can’t just call you ‘sir.’”
His grin turns sharp, delighted.
“Oh? You sound almost demanding. Trying to rile me up?”
“What? No.” You laugh, curling your legs a little more snugly around his hips. “I’m just not calling anyone ‘sir.’ It’s weird.”
“Such a strong-willed little human,” he purrs, his grip on your wrist loosening as his other hand slides to your waist. “Not afraid of me at all, are you?”
You shrug. “Not really.”
That surprises him. He chuckles softly, gaze glittering with something deeper now.
“Interesting. Most would be trembling. But you…” He pulls you in until your chest presses against his, your breath catching. “You’re curious. Intrigued.”
“Oh, I’m very intrigued.” Intrigued by what I’m sitting on.
“I can tell.” His hand tightens on your waist. “I can smell it on you. Your mind’s buzzing. Your blood’s warm. You’re practically glowing with it.”
He leans in, voice velvet against your skin. “You want to know more, don’t you?”
You nod eagerly, grinning. “But first, I need to find you a name.”
You point at your phone on the nightstand, making a grabby hand. “Hand it over.”
He snorts, clearly amused, and hands it to you with a flick of his wrist.
“Alright, little bird. What do you plan to do with that?”
“Google.” You settle a bit more firmly into his lap as you start typing. “Gotta name my monster.”
He watches you with interest, one hand still resting warm on your waist.
“Favorite things?” you ask. “Places, smells, colors? Give me a starting point.”
He considers that. “Hmm. I’m partial to deep, rich colors—crimson, indigo, black shot through with gold. And I love the scent of rain.”
Your fingers pause. “Petrichor?”
His eyes flash, pleased. “Yes. That’s the word, isn’t it? The scent of wet earth and plants, the sky pressing down on the land. It’s intoxicating.”
He leans closer again, nuzzling into your hair, voice low and intimate.
“Almost as intoxicating as the way you smell.”
A giggle bubbles up from your chest. “So jewel tones and damp earth. Quite the romantic notions, really.”
He hums, his hand sliding up your side until it settles between your shoulder blades, heavy and warm, as his thumb brushes over the ridge of your spine.
“Yes, I suppose they are.” He considers for a moment. “But there’s charm in that sort of romance, don’t you think? Something old. Elemental.”
His gaze lingers on you a moment longer before he tilts his head. “And what about you, little bird? Tell me—what are your favorite things?”
You keep scrolling, distracted by the screen. “Strawberries. Iced coffee. And I love the smell of tomato vines—not the fruit, just the green from the plant itself. It’s sharp, kind of… nostalgic.”
He makes a pleased sound low in his chest, clearly taken with your answer.
“Tomato vines. That’s a rare one.” His eyes glint as he leans in slightly. “And strawberries and iced coffee—sweet, with just enough bite. That does suit you.” Then, softer, “Do you garden?”
Your fingers pause as you glance up, a flicker of emotion catching you off guard. “We did. Growing up. My mom always had a big garden in the backyard. We’d spend hours out there...”
You trail off, your voice quieter. “No space for anything like that on my little balcony now.”
He notices the shift immediately. The heat of his palm at your waist tightens slightly, grounding you.
“That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “You miss it, don’t you?”
You nod. His voice lowers with something approaching sincerity. “Have you tried bringing the green indoors? Small pots, sun-soaked windows?”
“I’ve got a few,” you say, thumbing through your screen again. “Hoyas. Euphorbias. They’re weird and beautiful and low maintenance.”
He studies your face for a moment, the intensity of his gaze making your skin prickle.
“You have a connection to nature,” he says softly. “It clings to you. Wild things always recognize their own.”
You smirk. “I do like playing in the dirt.”
That earns you a laugh, bright and unexpected. “Not afraid to get your hands dirty, then?”
He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. His touch lingers, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth like he’s thinking about replacing his words with something far less innocent.
“There’s something rare in that. Most humans don’t know how to touch the world anymore. But you…”
He trails off, and you grin suddenly, interrupting him.
“I’ve got it!”
He arches a brow, interest piqued. “You’ve got what?”
“A name,” you say triumphantly, peeking over the top of your phone.
His grin spreads, slow and sharp. “Oh? You’ve decided to name me, then?”
His hand is still at your waist, thumb dipping beneath the hem of your shirt in lazy, circling strokes that are far too distracting for something so casual.
“You have to tell me if you hate it.”
He chuckles, voice warm and indulgent. “I promise to be honest. Now come on, don’t leave me waiting.”
You squirm slightly in his lap, tossing your phone to the side. “Now I’m nervous. I’ve never named a creature before.”
He laughs, clearly delighted by your nerves. “No need to be nervous. I’ll be gentle.”
Another grin. Another hand on your cheek.
“Well… unless you ask nicely.”
You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Doubtful.”
Your gaze drops to his mouth—sharp teeth and that wicked tongue—and your stomach swoops.
He catches the glance, smile turning wolfish.
“There are plenty of things I’d like to do to you, little bird. But biting?” He leans in. “Not unless you beg.”
You swallow hard.
“So?” he murmurs, voice curling like smoke. “What’s it going to be, then? What’s my name?”
You bite your lip, breath shallow. “I think… Kisa.”
The tension in your gut winds tight as you wait, eyes searching his face.
He stares at you for a moment, then—surprisingly—smiles. Not just amused, but something gentler. Softer. Something that makes your throat catch.
“Kisa,” he repeats slowly. “That’s… quite endearing.” He tilts his head. “And why that one?”
You lift a hand to stroke over one of his horns again, fingers trailing the smooth, curling shape.
“It means ‘rain’ in some languages. But in others, it means kitten.” Your lips twitch. “And you do purr like one.”
A deep purr vibrates through his chest in response—he’s pleased, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. The sound makes your thighs clench instinctively.
“Aah. Clever girl,” he murmurs, voice thick. “It’s fitting. I do have a soft spot for pet names.”
He’s still watching you, dark eyes roaming over your features like he wants to memorize the moment.
“And besides,” he says, voice low, “rain is my favorite scent. You chose well.”
Your voice comes out small, breathless. “So you… like it?”
His hand slides up, fingers threading through your hair, his other arm snug around your waist.
“Yes, little bird. I like it.” He presses a kiss just below your ear. “And I like you, for giving it to me.”
A flush rises in your cheeks. You can’t help it—you’re giddy at his approval.
He notices. Of course he does. He chuckles and draws you even closer, your thighs tightening around his hips as he murmurs, “You’re awfully cute when you’re trying not to squeal.”
You bury your face in his shoulder. “Maybe I want you to like me… for more than my breeding abilities.”
You cringe a little at the word.
He snorts, delighted. “Ah, yes. But you must admit, they’re very desirable traits.” He pauses, then adds with mock thoughtfulness, “I’d imagine there’s quite the queue of creatures who’d love to breed you.”
You groan into his shoulder. “Oh my god.”
“But I’m not just interested in that, little bird,” he murmurs, tracing gentle lines along your back. “You’re not just a vessel. You’re… you.”
Your brows lift. “That’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
He laughs, eyes sparkling. “True. But accurate. And I am beginning to find your personality almost as enticing as your thighs.”
He grins wide, wicked. “Though I must admit…” His hand trails down to your belly, palm pressing low. “You’d look absolutely exquisite swollen with my offspring.”
The words hit hard, low and hot. Your breath hitches.
He chuckles at the reaction, his hand continuing its slow, possessive stroke over your belly.
“Can’t you just imagine it? All round and heavy. Marked by me. Claimed.”
Your mouth opens, but your thoughts are slow, tangled in heat.
“Marked?” you echo, dazed.
He hums. “Mmm. Yes. Creatures like me—we mark those who belong to us. A scent, a touch, a magic that lingers.”
You blink. “Belong?”
His gaze sharpens. His hand spreads over your stomach. He leans in close enough that you can feel his smile against your jaw.
“Yes, little bird,” he murmurs, voice curling around you like smoke. “You belong to me now. Mine. Claimed. Protected. Property.”
The spell breaks instantly. “Whoa there, hoss.” You flatten a palm against his chest, firm. “Let’s get something straight—I am not property.”
He laughs, low and amused, his hand still spread over your belly like he’s staking a claim.
“Oh, my little pet,” he purrs. “But you are. Whether you admit it or not. I’ve chosen you. Claimed you. That makes you mine. And mine?” His fingers flex possessively. “Mine are protected. Cherished. Controlled.”
You hold up a finger between your bodies, eyes narrowed. “No, no. That’s not how this works, Kisa. You don’t own me. I don’t care how many horns you have or how nice you smell or how big your dick is.”
The moment shifts. His eyes narrow, going dark and sharp like the moment before a storm. His grip tightens just enough to make your breath catch.
“Oh, but I do own you,” he growls. “You’re mine. You’ll obey. You’ll listen. You’ll kneel, if I tell you to.”
He leans in, heat radiating off him like a furnace. “You belong to me, little bird. You are my property.”
You don’t flinch. You glare.
“Mmm… no. That’s not how this is going to go. I may be down to get absolutely wrecked by some demon who crawled through my bedroom window, but I’ll be damned if I get treated like shit again. Got it?”
That stops him. Just for a beat.
His face twitches—annoyance? Confusion? But then something else flashes behind his eyes. His body stills.
“Again?” he echoes, voice lower. Tighter. “What do you mean, again?”
Your arms cross. Jaw set. “My ex was an abusive piece of shit. And I’m not doing that again.”
You don’t back down—not from the hulking shadow of a creature in front of you, not from the weight of your own truth.
He goes quiet. The anger drains from him slowly, something else slipping in—like oil into water. He studies you in the silence, something colder, deeper, running behind his gaze.
“You’ve been… mistreated.” It isn’t a question.
His hand lifts from your belly to your waist, gentler now.
“Someone hurt you.”
His voice is barely more than a rumble, but there’s something raw in it now. Not rage. Not dominance. Something heavier.
“Who dared to lay hands on what’s mine?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you say, arms still crossed. “It’s not happening again. And I’ll skip what I’m sure would’ve been a transcendent fucking if you’re going to act like every other possessive asshole with control issues.”
His jaw flexes. He looks away for a second, like he’s trying to breathe through something thick and difficult.
“You think I’m being a dick,” he mutters, “for making you mine. But that’s how my kind works, little bird. We take. We claim. We mark. That’s instinct. It’s how we love. It’s how we protect.”
His gaze slides back to yours, searching.
“But… you’ve been hurt. Used. And now you think I’ll be the same.”
His voice cracks faintly at the edges. Like it costs him something to admit it.
“You think I’m going to treat you like he did.”
You shrug, defensive. “You’re sure talking like it.”
He looks like he wants to snarl again, to protest—but something flickers behind his eyes. A beat passes. Then he exhales slowly, shoulders slumping slightly. The fight bleeds out of him, replaced by something you don’t expect:
Understanding.
“I’m possessive. I won’t lie about that,” he says at last. “That’s hardwired. I claim. But I don’t hurt what’s mine. I protect it. Fiercely. Obsessively. I would gut the thing that harmed you.”
The way he says it is chillingly sincere.
You frown, caught off guard by the shift. “Promise?”
He looks at you like you’ve just questioned whether the sky is blue. Like the idea of lying to you is offensive.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I promise. I won’t hurt you. Not like that. Not ever.”
There’s something in his voice—almost vulnerable. It cuts through your cynicism, cleaves past the armor you wear.
You blink. Hesitate. Then lift your hand.
“Pinky swear,” you say, voice softer than before.
He blinks, baffled. Then rolls his eyes. But his pinky wraps around yours all the same—surprisingly gentle for claws tipped in black and a body built for carnage.
“Pinky swear,” he repeats.
You smile, faint and disbelieving. “You know what that is?”
“I’ve been watching humans for a long time, little bird,” he says, brushing your cheek again. “I know more than you think.”
Then, quieter, more serious: “I know what happened to you wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. That someone broke something in you. But I’m not going to do that. I refuse to do that. I don’t want to own you like a thing. I want to treasure you.”
Something in his voice aches. It stirs something deep inside you. Something tired and lonely and wanting.
You swallow. “So what, you’re some demon who only wants to knock me up and protect me?”
He grins, canines glinting. “Not only.”
His hand strokes over your stomach again, slow and warm.
“I do want to fill you, little bird. Stretch you wide, mark you deep. Watch you swell with my seed.” He growls softly against your ear. “But I also want to hold you when you fall asleep. Feed you. Keep you warm. Rip apart anything that threatens you.”
It’s not romantic. But somehow, it is?
“I’m still struggling to believe all this,” you admit.
“And yet you haven’t told me to leave,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You haven’t run. Your thighs are still spread across my lap.”
You flush.
He inhales deeply. His eyes darken.
“You want this. You want me. Don’t you?”
“I—” You falter, because he smells so good—like the deep woods and spiced smoke, like something rich and wild and forbidden. Like temptation wrapped in shadow and claw.
He grins at the way your breath stutters.
“You like the way I smell,” he purrs, nuzzling into your neck. “Like the forest. Like the storm. Like your ruin.”
Your voice is barely a whisper. “Is it… normal for you to smell this good?”
He chuckles low in his throat, the hand on your belly tightening just slightly—enough to remind you who’s holding you, who you’re straddling.
“I can’t say I’ve been complimented on my scent before,” he murmurs, voice a rich rumble against your skin. “But I imagine for a little creature like you, the scent of earth and wild things… it hits something deep. Something instinctual.”
His fingers trace lazy circles on your belly, deceptively gentle. Reverent.
His hand shifts, gripping your hip, pulling you in tight against him. He leans in, close enough that your noses almost brush.
“Or maybe,” he breathes, “there’s something more. Something primal. Something written into the marrow of our bones. Something that says you and I were meant.”
The way he says it makes your head spin. Maybe it’s the heat of his body pressed to yours. Maybe it’s the dark velvet of his voice. Maybe it’s the word itself, echoing in your skull like a bell.
“Fated,” you whisper.
His mouth curves in a slow, knowing smile, fingers grazing your side like he’s memorizing your shape.
“Yes. Fated,” he repeats. “There’s something in me that knows you. That recognizes you. The earth sings your name. The trees whisper for you.”
His hand slides slowly up your side, drawing goosebumps in his wake, and his voice drops to a near-whisper.
“And I can’t help but listen.”
Then he pulls you flush against him, one arm coiled around your waist, his body solid and unyielding beneath you.
“Your scent calls to me,” he murmurs. “Your soul hums the same frequency as mine. My body knows what it needs, little bird.”
His lips ghost over the edge of your jaw.
“It needs a mate. A soft, fertile thing to care for. To breed.”
A whimper slips out of you before you can stop it, breath stuttering in your lungs as your heart kicks against your ribs like a trapped thing.
“A… a mate?” you repeat, dazed.
“Mhm.” One hand rises to cup your cheek, his touch unexpectedly tender. His eyes drink you in—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your trembling limbs—with something like reverence.
“Yes. A mate. Someone to belong to. Someone to cherish. To protect.”
Then his eyes darken, pupils swallowing the simmering gold, something possessive and ancient glinting behind them.
“To breed.”
You swear you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming. Like fireworks detonating in your chest.
“B-breed,” you stammer, barely able to breathe the word.
He chuckles, a low, velvet thing, and strokes your cheek again.
“Of course. You were made for it,” he purrs. “This soft little body… so ripe. So lush.”
His hand drifts down, mapping you again—over your hip, down your thigh, back to your waist, possessive and claiming in every glide.
“To watch you grow swollen with my seed… to see your body stretch and bloom with my offspring. It would be beautiful. A masterpiece. A walking mark of mine.”
You feel like you’re going to combust. The heat between your thighs is unbearable, throbbing, desperate.
And he smells it. The sharp, intoxicating tang of your arousal hits his senses and he growls, deep and low, dragging a clawed hand up to grip your thigh, fingers pressing in just enough to sting.
“My little bird is getting all worked up.”
You let out a sharp gasp when his nails bite into your skin, dragging you closer, the pressure between your legs making your head spin. There’s no hiding your need now—your body is trembling, aching, begging.
His other hand slips into your hair, gently fisting it, tilting your head back just so. Then he leans in, inhaling at your throat.
“Mmm, that sound,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your neck. “You liked that. The way my claws dug in. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering.
He purrs again, pleased, his fangs grazing your skin as he nips lightly, tasting.
“And you want more, don’t you? More of my claws. More of my teeth. More of me.”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, and the hunger there is ravenous.
“Say it. Say you want more. Say you want me.”
“Yes, please,” you whimper, desperate and undone.
His smile turns wolfish.
“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “You know how to beg. How to surrender.”
He grips your thigh tighter, dragging you against him as he tilts your head back even further, exposing the tender line of your throat. Then his mouth is on you—sucking, licking, biting, marking—leaving bruises like promises down your neck.
“So eager,” he growls between kisses. “So willing. You’re already a fucking mess in my lap, and I’ve barely touched you.”
He pulls back enough to admire the marks blooming on your throat, then trails his fingers over your cheek, your jaw, finally gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Are you wet for me already, little bird?”
You nod, dazed, barely coherent. He smirks, satisfied.
“Thought so.”
He gives your thigh another squeeze, like a reward.
“I think it’s time for a little test. Let’s see how good you can be.”
His eyes burn into yours as he leans closer, his voice dropping into something soft and commanding.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
“Yes,” you whisper, and the word feels like surrender—like sliding into something dark and warm and inevitable.
“Good girl.”
His praise ripples through you like a shockwave, and his hand slides higher, fingertips brushing the edge of your core.
“I’m going to touch you now,” he murmurs, his voice like honey and thunder. “You’re going to stay still. You’re going to let me see what’s mine. Understand?”
“Yes,” you breathe, voice cracking with need.
“Good girl,” he repeats, and the way he says it makes your toes curl.
His hand trails over your thigh, nails grazing lightly, teasing the edge of your underwear.
“Dripping for me already, aren’t you, sweet girl? You ready to be ruined?”
You moan softly in response, nodding frantically, too wrecked to find words.
“Show me,” he commands, eyes locked on you like a predator scenting blood.
With trembling hands, you reach for the hem of your oversized T-shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. You sit in nothing but your underwear, exposed and flushed and trembling in his lap.
He growls, low and satisfied, and his eyes devour you.
“There you are.”
His voice is low, almost a purr, as his hands come to rest on your body—smoothing over your belly, your soft sides, the curve of your ribs. Each touch is slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing you by feel alone.
“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers gliding across your skin, tracing the plush swell of your waist with something like awe. “So pretty.”
The words rumble up from deep in his chest, reverent and dark, as if your softness is sacred.
His hands roam, mapping every dip and curve with the care of someone exploring hallowed ground.
“Too chubby,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. That old, familiar twist of anxiety coils in your gut.
He freezes.
His eyes find yours, sharp and dark and unreadable—and then his expression shifts, something fierce and protective flashing across his features.
“No,” he says simply. “You’re perfect.”
His hand moves, slow and certain, cupping the soft of your belly, his thumb grazing gently across your skin.
“Soft. Plush. Luxurious.”
His touch travels up, and then his thumb is brushing across your lower lip, gently tugging at it with a low growl.
“And you taste so sweet, too,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “I could eat you up, if you let me.”
Your breath catches. His fangs graze your lip—barely there—and it’s enough to unravel something inside you. You whimper, eyes fluttering closed as you lean into the touch, your body already trembling.
He chuckles softly, pleased by. One of his hands stays possessive on your waist, the other wandering—petting, claiming, cherishing. He touches you like you’re something precious. Something his.
“Is my little bird going to be good for me?” he purrs. “Are you going to let me play with you, sweet girl?”
You nod, desperate and dizzy, your hands clutching at his shoulders for something solid—something to keep you grounded as your body aches for more.
“There’s my good girl.”
He praises you with a soft growl, one hand trailing down to your thick thigh, the other moving to the waistband of your underwear. He lingers there, the heat of his palm making your skin buzz.
“May I take these off?”
The words are murmured low in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, and gods, why is it so hot that he’s asking?
“Yes,” you whine, breathless.
His laugh is soft and pleased, and then his hand is sliding beneath the cotton, easing your underwear down over your hips and thighs with a reverent slowness.
“There you are,” he murmurs again, like he’s seeing you for the first time. “My pretty little birdie.”
His fingers trail over the newly exposed skin, skimming your bare thighs, your soft hips. His gaze is dark and hungry, devouring you.
“Such sweet skin,” he breathes. “So soft. So delicate.”
He leans in, running his nose along your inner thigh, inhaling deeply. The groan that rumbles from his chest is downright sinful.
“I want to taste every inch of you,” he growls, mouth brushing the soft swell of your hip. His eyes dip lower, landing between your thighs.
“My pretty little bird is so wet for me.”
The pads of his fingers brush over your slick folds, rough and gentle at once—enough to make you gasp, hips lifting instinctively toward his hand.
But he tightens his grip on your hip, holding you still.
“Patience,” he chides, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. His fingers move in soft, maddening circles, teasing your most sensitive flesh but never quite giving you what you need.
“Kisa,” you whine, desperate.
“I know, my dearest,” he croons, clearly savoring the sound of your need. “I know exactly what you need. But we’ve barely even started.”
He nips at your hip, the scrape of his teeth making you twitch beneath him. Still, his fingers keep up their slow torment, feather-light over your soaked skin. He watches you squirm, breath ragged, body flushed.
“So eager,” he murmurs. “So needy. Look at you—already trembling, already begging for it.”
His breath ghosts over your thigh, warm and sinful.
“I can smell how badly you want me,” he murmurs. “How much you need me.”
“Then touch me,” you gasp. “Please.”
He chuckles, amused but indulgent. His fingers press more firmly against your slick heat, circling your clit with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs. “Begging so sweetly. You want me to make you mine, don’t you?”
Your body clenches around nothing, and a frustrated whimper escapes your throat, pitiful and aching.
“Oh, poor little birdie,” he croons, voice full of mock sympathy. “So desperate. So wet. So ready to be ruined.”
His fingers tease, still not quite enough, dragging the need higher until it feels like you might break.
“Do you want it, baby? Want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good?”
“Yes,” you whimper, your voice cracking. “Please, please—”
“There’s my good girl,” he murmurs, proud and pleased. “You’re such a sweet little thing when you beg for me.”
Then finally—finally—his fingers slide between your folds and press inside, slow and sure. You gasp, hips bucking, and he growls low, curling them just right.
“There you go, baby,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Such a good girl, taking me so well. You were made for this. Made to be filled. Touched. Claimed.”
Your body arches, thighs trembling as he works you open with maddening precision, stroking that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
“So good for me. So tight. So sensitive. You’re mine, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yours.”
“That’s right,” he growls, thrusting his fingers deeper, his mouth brushing your throat. “All mine. My soft, perfect little bird. And I’m going to make you scream.”
He growls low in his throat, voice thick with possession, even as his fingers keep you teetering on the edge. His touch is still maddening, still precise—faster now, more urgent. His thumb circles your clit with practiced ease, drawing out soft gasps and desperate whimpers.
“Are you going to be good and come for me, princess?” he purrs, voice deep and commanding. “Going to let go and come for me like a good girl?”
You feel like you’re unraveling, each stroke of his fingers shooting lightning down your spine. Your body is taut, trembling, every nerve lit up and reaching for more.
“Please… please, I need—” The words break apart on a moan as your hips buck helplessly into his hand.
“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face. “Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want.”
There’s something almost cruel in his smile—almost. But it’s laced with hunger, with adoration. He loves seeing you like this—so undone, so desperate, begging just for him.
“More,” you cry. “I need more—please, Kisa—”
“That’s my good girl.”
The praise melts through you, sweet and searing, as his fingers pick up speed, working you with ruthless devotion. His other hand clamps onto your hip, claws dimpling the soft flesh to hold you steady as you writhe against him.
His claws bite into your hip and it’s bliss—the sharpness blooming into pleasure that makes your vision swim. You gasp, head thrown back, the pain sparking something deeper, something darker.
“That’s it, baby girl. So good. So wet. I can feel you—gods, I can feel how close you are. Just from my touch. Just from my voice.” His mouth dips to your ear, hot breath teasing your skin. “All because you’re mine. Say it. Say it, pretty bird. Say who you belong to. Who owns this sweet, dripping little pussy of yours.”
“You! You—you, Kisa. All yours,” you cry, voice breaking under the weight of it.
“That’s right,” he purrs, rough and pleased. “My good girl.”
He doesn't let up, coaxing you to the edge and shoving you over with practiced control.
“Come for me, sweet thing,” he croons.
And you do. The orgasm crashes through you like a storm, stealing your breath and every last ounce of control. Your whole body seizes, trembling hard enough to make the room tilt. It’s blinding, unbearable, perfect.
You can’t move.
You can’t think.
He laughs softly, dark delight curling around the sound as he watches you come undone, completely shattered under his hands.
“You liked that,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers slow and slick. “You loved giving in. Being mine.”
He brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes fixed on yours, and licks them clean with a satisfied hum.
“Well, isn’t my little bird delicious.”
Your body is still twitching, too sensitive to respond, your mind floating in that warm, soft haze. You can barely keep your eyes open, and he loves it. You can see it in the way his mouth curves—something feral beneath the fondness.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “So perfect. So completely mine.”
He leans in, his voice dropping into a silky murmur.
“Do you want to know how I knew you’d taste so good to me?”
Your breathing is shallow, lips parted, but you can’t even answer—not with words.
“I knew,” he continues, almost purring, “because you were made for me. My little bird. Mine to hold. Mine to keep. Mine to take—over and over again, until there’s no doubt in that soft, aching body of yours who you belong to.”
You moan, low and weak, your thighs twitching at the mere suggestion.
He chuckles, clearly pleased by the pitiful sound you make.
“Poor thing,” he croons. “Wrecked after just one… and yet still aching. Still greedy for more.”
“Please,” you whimper, the word escaping before you can even think it.
He tilts his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “Please what, little one?”
His voice is honeyed heat, pure indulgence. He knows you’re falling apart. He likes you like this—pliant and desperate and begging.
Because you would let him do anything to you.
And he knows it.
He watches the way your body trembles, the way your thighs clench and twitch even as you gasp for breath. His expression is all hunger now, but still touched with that unsettling tenderness that makes your heart twist.
“You’re such a greedy little thing,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles along your trembling thigh. “So sweet. So good. But one’s not enough for you, is it, my girl?”
You manage a shaky nod, lips parted as you suck in a breath. “N-no… I still… I want…”
“Oh, I know what you want,” he growls, leaning over you again, his voice brushing your skin like velvet. “You want to be filled. Claimed. You want to be bred until you’re too swollen and sore to even think about standing. Don’t you?”
His hand slides up your belly, fingers splaying wide across the plush curve, reverent and possessive. “You want me to use this perfect little body. Again. And again. And again. Until you’re stuffed full and dripping, marked inside and out.”
You whimper, legs falling open for him instinctively. It’s like your body is answering for you.
“There she is,” he croons. “That’s my girl. That’s my good, obedient little bird.”
He dips lower, mouth brushing over your stomach—pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses into the soft give of your flesh. His fangs graze gently but never break skin, and it sends a shock of need pulsing between your legs.
“You’re so soft,” he groans. “So fucking perfect. I could spend hours here. Days.” His voice vibrates low against your belly as he drags his tongue over the curve. “Everything about you calls to me. The way you taste. The way you sound. The way your body gives way under my hands.”
You feel his breath ghosting lower and lower, his lips skimming across your skin, making your breath catch.
“I’m going to make you come again,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “And you’re going to take it. All of it. You’re going to lie there and be good and let me make this pretty pussy mine.”
His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open slowly—reverently, almost—and you can feel how soaked you are, the cool air teasing across your folds making you shiver.
He groans when he sees you. “Fuck, baby. Look at you. Already making a mess for me.”
His thumbs spread you gently, gaze dark and starved. “You need this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whisper, trembling. “Please.”
And then his mouth is on you. Hot and hungry, tongue broad and slow at first as he licks a thick stripe to your clit. You cry out, hips bucking, but his strong arms lock around your thighs and keep you pinned.
He moans into you like you’re his first and last meal. Every stroke of his tongue is deliberate, like he’s savoring every drop of your slick.
You can hear the wet sounds, obscene in the quiet room. He’s feasting on you, growling low in his throat as if the taste of you drives him feral.
“That’s it, baby,” he pants against you between strokes. “Let me eat. Let me drink you down like the sweet thing you are.”
Your hands scramble for purchase—his shoulders, the sheets, your own thighs—anything to ground yourself as he devours you.
He pulls back only to press a kiss directly to your clit, then grins up at you, lips shiny and chin wet.
“Think you can come again for me, pretty girl?” he asks, his breath warm against your soaked flesh. “Think you can fall apart just from my tongue?”
You nod desperately, breath ragged, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.
“Then lie back, little bird,” he says, voice dark with promise. “And let me ruin you.”
He dips down again, tongue parting your folds with practiced hunger, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He devours you—tongue dragging over your clit in slow, firm circles before flicking, teasing, then flattening again with obscene, unrelenting pressure.
Your whole body arches, muscles tightening under his touch.
“Oh—fuck, Kisa—” Your voice breaks as your thighs twitch around his head.
A deep growl vibrates through his chest, and the sensation floods your core. He’s practically purring, like he needs this—like tasting you is some kind of sacred ritual.
Your hands shoot down to his head, fingers tangling in his hair—and that’s when you feel them.
The horns.
Warm. Smooth. Solid. Perfect.
You grip them before you can even think about it, needing something to anchor you through the chaos building in your belly.
He freezes. Just for a breath.
Then—
A low, rumbling sound rips from him, deeper than a growl, closer to a snarl. His claws dig into your thighs, not hurting, just enough to make sure you stay right there.
“Ohh... fuck. Yes.” His voice is wrecked. “Hold on, little bird. Use them. They’re for you.”
He dives back in with renewed purpose, tongue dragging through your folds as he sucks your clit into his mouth, lips sealing around it with filthy devotion. And when your grip tightens on his horns, pulling him closer, holding him exactly where you want him—he moans into you like a man possessed.
“That’s it,” he rasps between licks. “Good girl. Use me. Fuck my face if you want to. Just let me taste everything you give me.”
You cry out, tugging him tighter, grinding up into the relentless pressure of his mouth. You're shaking already, hips fighting against the hold of his strong arms wrapped around your thighs.
“You feel that?” he pants. “You’re so close, I can taste it. You’re about to fall apart for me again, aren’t you, baby?”
Your breath is coming in quick, high-pitched gasps, your whole body tensing under the pressure that’s been building since the last orgasm shattered you.
His tongue moves faster, more precise, and his fingers return—two of them sliding into you easily now, curling just right, stroking the place inside you that makes your legs seize up.
“Come on,” he whispers, voice thick with lust and awe. “Be a good girl and fall apart for me again. Show me how pretty you look when you lose it. Show me how good that sweet pussy tastes.”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin slick with your arousal, his dark eyes shining with absolute hunger.
“Come for me, baby. Grip those horns and let me ruin you.”
You break with a scream, hips bucking, thighs squeezing around his head as the orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave. You’re shaking, gasping, gushing, your body no longer under your control.
He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t dare.
Tongue and fingers work you through it, coaxing every last ripple of pleasure from your body until you’re sobbing with the sensitivity, with the fullness, with the overwhelming ache for more.
Only then does he finally slow. Withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, savoring the wet sound as he pulls free—and licks them clean with a guttural growl.
His voice is wrecked. “You taste like heaven. Like something sacred. I should be worshipping you on my knees every night.”
He kisses your thigh, then your belly, then the underside of your breast as he slowly moves up your body. His hands never stop touching you—rubbing, soothing, tracing lazy circles into your soft flesh.
And when he finally meets your gaze again, there’s something dangerous in his smile.
He crawls up over you like a stormcloud rolling in, slow and heavy with promise. His body radiates heat, shadowing you completely as he moves, and you’re still panting, thighs sticky and trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you.
But he doesn’t press into you. Not yet.
Instead, he hovers—his cock thick and heavy, flushed and glistening—and dragging it along your inner thigh like a threat.
You whimper, trying to lift your hips, to catch him, but his strong hands press your thighs open and hold.
“Uh uh,” he growls, smirking down at you. “Not yet.”
“Kisa—please—” Your voice is hoarse with need, so wrecked and wet you can feel how ready you are. Every inch of your body is screaming for it.
But he just watches you squirm, dragging the tip of his cock slowly up the slick seam of your folds. Not entering. Just teasing.
“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your fingers fisting in the sheets, trying to resist the urge to grab his hips and force him inside.
He tilts his head, like he’s considering it.
“You’ve already come so sweetly for me,” he murmurs, running the head of his cock over your clit, slow and light, making your hips jolt. “Already soaked me, haven’t you? But you still want more.”
“Yes,” you breathe, almost ashamed by how much you mean it. “God, yes—please—”
He chuckles, low and wicked, bending to nip at your neck again, his voice hot in your ear.
“Beg.”
You freeze.
“What?”
His cock drags down again, slipping between your folds with just enough pressure to make your toes curl—but not enough to give you what you want.
“I said beg for it, little bird,” he growls, lips brushing your throat. “Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“I—I need you,” you gasp, trembling, throat dry. “Please. I need your cock—I need it so bad, I—”
“Mmm.” He hums against your throat, the sound vibrating through you. “Better. But not good enough.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, that smug, dark grin cutting across his face as he brushes his cock right up against your entrance—and stops.
“I want to hear you say it. Say what this pretty pussy is begging for. Say you want me to fill you. Stretch you. Breed you.”
You whimper, eyes brimming as the ache in your core turns molten.
“Please, Kisa,” you sob, hands flying up to grip his horns again, desperate. “I need you to fuck me—need you to ruin me. I want to feel all of you—want to feel you inside, filling me up—please, I can’t take it anymore—just fuck me!”
His pupils blow wide at your words, and the snarl that rips out of him is feral.
“Gods, you’re perfect.”
He doesn’t make you wait another second.
With one powerful thrust, he drives into you—slow and deep, stretching you open inch by inch until your body clamps around him like it was made for this. For him.
He growls through gritted teeth as he bottoms out, trembling slightly from the effort of holding still.
“You feel that?” he hisses against your jaw. “That stretch? That fullness? That’s what you begged for, little bird.”
You moan, eyes rolling back as you feel him settle deep inside, your body fluttering around the thick intrusion.
And he stays there—deep, still, throbbing—until your fingers tighten in his horns again and your hips jerk beneath him, wordless, needy.
Then he starts to move.
He’s buried deep, pressed flush to your hips, and the fullness already has your mind reeling—too much and not enough at once.
But then he pulls back.
Not all the way. Just enough that you feel the slow, excruciating drag of him slipping out of you, your walls clinging desperately to every inch.
And then he pushes back in.
Slowly.
“Gods,” he groans, breath catching as your body wraps tight around him. “You feel that? How perfectly you take me?”
You can only moan in response, already shaking, the stretch just on the edge of unbearable.
“So tight,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So wet. It’s like your body knows me. Like it’s been waiting for this—just aching to be filled.”
He draws out again, his cock gliding slick with your arousal, only to thrust back in with an agonizing slowness that makes you whimper.
“That’s it. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch, my sweet thing.”
You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but he’s relentless—keeping the pace glacial, dragging the thick length of him through your fluttering walls again and again. Letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every goddamn inch.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek. “So sensitive already. So good for me. Look how well you open for me, how greedy your little cunt is. You don’t want me slow, do you? You want me to take you.”
“Yes,” you gasp, breath ragged. “Yes, I need—Kisa—please—”
“Mmm. You’re begging again,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “So pretty when you whimper. But this is how good girls get claimed. Earned. Not rushed. Not wasted.”
His hand slides up your body, heavy and possessive, splaying over your chest, holding you down.
“I want you to remember this. Every time you touch yourself, I want you to feel it—right here—” he thrusts in, a little deeper, the blunt head of his cock nudging your cervix just right— “where I’ve been.”
You cry out, hips trying to meet his, but he pins you effortlessly.
“Oh no, little bird. I’m in control now.”
He leans in, brushing his lips over your ear, voice a dark lullaby.
“Let me make you feel it. Let me stretch you, ruin you, fill you.”
And then he rolls his hips again—deep, deliberate, claiming—until your body trembles and your voice breaks on another whimper.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Taking me so good, squeezing me so tight. Just a little more, sweetheart. You want to be full, don’t you? All the way?”
“Yes,” you sob, tears prickling. “Please—please, I want to be full—want to be yours—”
He growls, low and possessive, hips grinding deeper.
“You are mine. And when I’m done with you, there won’t be a part of you that doesn’t know it.”
He pulls out halfway, your slick clinging to him, and then presses back in just as slowly, the girth of him splitting you open all over again. You arch, panting, trying to grind down and take more, faster, but he pins your hip in place with a low growl.
“None of that,” he murmurs, voice like smoke. “You asked for this. Slow and deep, remember?”
He rolls his hips, cock nudging that sweet, aching spot inside you with maddening precision.
“Right there. Feel that?” His lips brush your ear, his voice a velvet promise. “That’s me. Deep in this tight little cunt. Making her remember who she belongs to.”
You whimper, a broken, desperate sound, your fingers clawing at his back. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
“I can feel you fluttering around me. Like your body’s trying to pull me in deeper. Like she doesn’t want to let me go.”
He chuckles softly, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing in again with a slow, punishing grind.
“You’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby? You getting messy just from how I talk to you?”
“K-Kisa,” you choke, tears pricking your lashes. “I need—please—”
“Oh, I know you need.” His hand strokes down your side, over your waist, thick fingers finding the softest part of your belly. “But I don’t think you’re ready yet. Not until you’re begging like you mean it.”
He takes your wrist and guides you, slow and deliberate, until your palm curls around the base of it. Heat surges through your belly at the feel of it—warm, ridged, real.
“Ohhh, yes,” he groans, pupils blowing wide.
You do, without thinking, anchoring yourself to the curve of his horn as he thrusts deeper, slower, grinding against that spot that has your toes curling.
He smirks.
“Fuck. You like that, don’t you? Grabbing my horns while I fuck you nice and slow, stretching out this greedy little pussy. Makes you feel powerful. Makes you feel owned.”
You nod frantically, your grip tightening.
“You’re such a filthy thing,” he croons, hips rocking deep, deep, deeper. “You want me to split you open while you cling to my horns and beg for more?”
“Yes—yes, please, please, I need—”
“What do you need, baby?”
His voice is all heat and honey now, the kind that sticks to your bones and burns through your chest.
“Say it. Say exactly what you want me to do to you. Be good and ask for it.”
Your voice breaks, wrecked and high with desperation.
“Want you to fuck me deeper,” you sob. “Want to feel every inch—want to feel you own me—please, Kisa, please—fill me up, stretch me out, make me yours—”
He groans, cock twitching inside you at the sound.
“That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He keeps grinding into you, slow and filthy and relentless, his mouth pressed to your ear, his breath hot as his words drip down your spine like molten honey.
“You’re so good for me. So fucking pretty like this. All flushed and begging. Beg for me again, little bird. Let me hear how desperate you are. Let me hear how badly you need to come on my cock.”
Your nails dig into his back, the other hand clenched tight around his horn, and gods, the way he groans when you grip it—he likes it. Maybe almost as much as you do. Maybe more.
“I—please,” you pant, hips trying to chase the rhythm he keeps teasing you with, but he holds you still, letting his cock grind against that aching spot just enough to keep your head spinning. “Kisa, I need it, I need it—”
He hums, mouth pressed to your jaw now, trailing heat down your neck, just behind your ear.
“Need what, baby?” he murmurs, drawing his hips back so achingly slow you feel the stretch of every ridge, every pulse. “This?” Another slow, deep thrust. “Or this?”
He drags his tongue over your throat, his teeth scraping lightly as he presses in again, holding himself there, thick and pulsing inside you.
“Or is it the way I talk to you while I fuck you nice and slow?” His breath is a growl. “The way I tell you how good your chubby little cunt feels wrapped around me. How pretty you look spread out like this. All soft. All mine.”
You whimper, legs trembling, thighs twitching as he rocks into you again. And again.
“That’s it. Let me feel you squeeze me. You like being filled like this, don’t you? Claimed.” He shifts his hips, changing the angle just slightly, and your whole body jolts. “Marked.”
Your moan breaks into a sob, pleasure cresting, writhing just beneath the surface. You’re soaking him, trembling and needy and ruined.
But still, he doesn’t let you come.
Not yet.
“No,” he croons when your hips buck, when your breath hitches, chasing release. “Not yet, little bird. You beg first. Beg like you mean it.”
You shake, panting, nails biting into his shoulder as your voice breaks against his throat. “Please—please, I need to come—I’ll do anything—please, Kisa, I can’t take it—”
“Say you’re mine,” he growls, thrusting deep and staying there, hips flush to yours. “Say this little cunt belongs to me.”
“It’s yours,” you sob. “It’s yours, Kisa—please, let me come, I’ll be so good—please—”
“Say you want to come for me. That you need to.”
“I need it,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut, body on fire. “Please let me come, Kisa, I need it—I need you—need your cock—I can’t—please—”
He growls, a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest, and then his pace finally changes—just slightly. A little harder. Still deep. Still slow. But now he’s fucking you through it, working that perfect rhythm, grinding into the spot that makes you cry out.
“That’s it. Take it. Let me feel you come. Squeeze me, baby, just like that. Give it to me.”
And gods, when it hits, it shatters you. Mind scattering as everything goes dark from the force of it.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the tear off your cheek.
“Sweet thing,” he murmurs, voice like velvet over gravel, “you came so hard for me, didn’t you? Look at you. Look how pretty you are when you break for me.”
You’re still trembling, hips twitching with aftershocks as his cock stays buried deep inside you. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Your body’s wrecked but greedy, pulsing around him like you’ll never stop needing it.
Kisa’s hand strokes down your side, slow and possessive. The other slips between your legs again—gentle, maddening.
“That’s it,” he breathes, lips brushing your ear. “Still trying to pull me in deeper. Still begging, even now.”
You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, boneless and aching and wet.
“Such a perfect little mess,” he croons. “All that sweet heat dripping down your thighs. Fuck, you’re made for this. For me.” His fingers tease where your bodies meet, dragging slickness over your clit in slow, lazy circles. “So good for me. So soft. So wet.”
A whine escapes you, high and sharp, your hips jerking despite how raw you feel. He’s still rock-hard inside you, thick and heavy and twitching with restraint.
“You’re not done, little bird,” he whispers against your skin. “Don’t you dare think I’m finished with you.”
Your voice is a hoarse, desperate thing. “I c-can’t…”
“Oh, you can.” He smiles, all fangs and feral glee, nuzzling into your throat. “You’re gonna come again for me, sweet girl. I’m gonna make you. Gonna fuck you through it until you can’t even say your own name.”
Your hips roll instinctively, trying to get friction, and he grinds into you, so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. The way he talks to you—low, mouthy, filthy—it lights your nerves up like firecrackers.
And then his hand comes up, cradles your jaw, guiding your face to his. “Look at me.” His voice is sharp silk. “Watch me while I ruin you.”
You meet his gaze, glassy-eyed and panting, and he smiles—sharp, dark, hungry.
“Good girl.”
He starts to move again—slow, deliberate thrusts. Stretching you all over again.
“That’s it, baby. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch.” His hips roll forward again, a little deeper this time. “You’re gonna take all of me. You’re gonna stay open and dripping and mine.”
Your fingers tighten in his hair—and then slip, desperate for purchase, until you’re grabbing hold of his horn again. You whimper at the feeling of it under your palm, and he fucking moans at the same time.
“Ah, fuck. You like that, don’t you?.” His cock twitches deep inside you. “Use it. Fuck yourself on me.”
You gasp, hips rolling, and he groans against your skin. His rhythm stays maddeningly slow—just enough friction to keep you strung out, not enough to tip you over. He wants you to feel it. Wants to drag it out.
“Tell me what you want.”
You’re wrecked, so far gone you can barely string thoughts together. But your mouth opens, and words pour out like a prayer:
“Please—please, I want to come, I need it—I need your cock, I want you to fuck me full, please, Kisa, I’m begging, I’ll be so good—just please—”
He growls, deep and rough, and kisses you hard, biting at your lip as his pace finally begins to build.
“That’s my good girl,” he breathes into your mouth. “You’re gonna come again for me. You’re gonna soak me, clench around me, milk my cock like a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
Your answer is a sob as his hips drive into you harder.
“Hold onto that horn, baby,” he snarls, snapping his hips. “And don’t you let go.”
The hand in your hair tightens, twisting just enough to send a spark of pain through your scalp—pleasure hot on its heels. His other hand is still at your hip, clawed fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh as he sets a brutal pace now, all that slow teasing cast aside in favor of something relentless.
“Good girl,” he snarls, hips snapping into yours. “That’s it. Hold on tight. Gonna fuck you through it—make that pretty little pussy cry for me.”
You're still gripping his horn, moaning uncontrollably as he drives into you—deep, punishing, perfect. Your thighs are trembling, your breath catching in ragged little gasps as your body reels under the rhythm of him.
“Fuck—Kisa—” It’s too much, too good, too fast, and your whole body is spiraling.
“You feel that?” His voice is all grit and possession, barely holding together. “That’s me, baby. Deep inside. Filling you up. Stretching you open.” His thrusts get rougher, sharper, every one of them shoving you closer to that edge again. “You were made to take me like this. Every inch. Every time.”
Your moans dissolve into high-pitched cries, your voice breaking with every thrust.
“I can feel you, little bird. Feel how close you are. So fucking tight—fuck—it’s like your body’s begging me to come with you.”
His mouth is at your throat now, hot and open, mouthing down the curve of your neck as your orgasm builds to an unbearable pitch. His voice is a filthy snarl against your skin.
“Come on. Come for me again. Be a good little thing and soak my cock.”
You break with a cry, body arching as your release crashes through you—hot and messy and so much—your muscles tightening around him in hard, desperate pulses. You’re gasping, moaning, your hand still locked around his horn, your other fingers clawing helplessly at his shoulder.
“Fuck—” he groans, hips stuttering, barely holding on. “So tight. So fucking tight. That’s it. That’s fucking it—”
He buries himself to the hilt with a final, punishing thrust, his entire body tensing above you as he roars through his release, coming hard and deep. You feel it—feel him flood you with heat, thick and hot and endless, feel the way he jerks inside you as his cock throbs with it, feel the way his arms cage you in like you’re the only thing in the world he needs to hold onto.
“Mine,” he growls, panting ragged into your throat. “All mine.”
You're shaking, gasping, wrecked and so full you can barely breathe. He doesn’t move—still buried deep, still pulsing with the last lazy twitches of his orgasm—as his hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing your lips.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice gone soft and hoarse. “My perfect little bird. Took it so well. So greedy for it. So good.”
You can’t speak, can’t move, but you nuzzle into his touch like you need it to breathe. Because you do.
He kisses you, slow and filthy, tasting the aftershocks on your tongue, and you can feel the possessive purr rising in his chest again.
You’re still trembling when he finally eases his weight off you, but he doesn’t pull out—not yet. He’s so deep, still locked inside, and his body seems unwilling to part from yours. Instead, he lowers himself gently, chest pressed against yours, arms bracketing you in as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.
“Shh…” he breathes, brushing damp hair from your face. “Breathe, little bird. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Your legs are shaking, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You feel everything—the aftershocks still pulsing through your thighs, the aching stretch where he’s still nestled inside, the sticky warmth dripping between your legs, too much to hold in.
He noses gently along your jaw, pressing a kiss there. Then another. And another.
“You were perfect,” he whispers. “So perfect. Every inch of you. Took all of me like you were made for it. And you are, you know. You’re mine.”
He’s not teasing now. Not taunting. His voice is low and warm, the words wrapping around you like a blanket.
You shift just enough to let your arms curl up around his shoulders, weak and sluggish, and he responds immediately—gathering you close, one arm cradling under your back, the other sweeping under your thighs. He pulls you into his chest like you're weightless.
“I’m going to clean you up,” he murmurs into your hair, “and then I’m going to hold you. Hold you until you stop shaking.”
You bury your face in his neck as he moves, careful and slow, every step unhurried. He carries you as if he’s made for it—like your body fits his arms, like your softness was sculpted for his strength. He murmurs soft, soothing nothings the entire time.
“You did so well. Let me take care of you. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
The water is warm when he settles you into it, steam curling between your skin and his. He holds you in his lap in the bath, arms wrapped tightly around you, his large hands moving in slow, tender passes over your thighs and belly, between your legs where you’re sore and still dripping.
You wince, just a little, and his arms tighten.
“I know, I know,” he soothes, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Too much. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I just needed you so bad. Couldn’t help it. But I’ll take care of you now. You won’t hurt for long. Not with me here.”
He cleans you with reverence. Soft cloth, slower hands, everything whispered.
“So soft,” he breathes. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I never thought I’d deserve.”
You melt further into him, dazed and floating, lulled by the sound of his voice and the heat of his body. His touch never leaves you. Not once.
“After this,” he says quietly, “I’ll put you to bed. I’ll hold you while you sleep. I’ll stay all night if you let me. I’ll stay as long as you want.”
You hum, too tired to respond. But your fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck, a silent answer.
He smiles against your cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere, little bird. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”
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