summary: Meruem drags you from captivity, unsettled by your reactions to him. But it’s not terror that gives you away—it’s fascination. You quickly become the King’s latest obsession, and his methods are anything but gentle.
warnings/themes: Reader Insert, Monsterfucking/Teratophilia, Power Imbalance, Vaginal Sex, Wall/Standing Sex, Rough/Painful Sex, Creampie, Large Cock, Non-Human Genitalia, Imprisonment/Captivity, Dark, Angst, Dubious Consent, Stockholm Syndrome Themes, Breeding, Fear Play, Possessive Behaviour, Choking/Breathplay, Canon Compliant.
The scent of the holding cell is a thick, stagnant soup of unwashed bodies and abject terror. You sit in the corner, your spine pressed against the damp stone, constantly watching the heavy iron door. The other captives huddle together, a shivering mass of human cattle, but you remain separate. You’ve spent the last week watching the shadows move, timing the rhythmic, silent footsteps outside.
It isn’t just vigilance. It’s something else—something gnawing and irrational. You find yourself leaning into the cold, staring at the space where the King usually stands during his infrequent, bone-chilling inspections. It’s a sickness of the mind, you’re sure of it. You’ve gone mad from being cooped up in here for far too long. He should horrify you. Mostly, he does. He is a predator who views your kind as little more than a snack or a minor intellectual curiosity, yet there is a terrifying elegance to him that pulls at you.
When the door finally groans open, it isn’t one of the King’s Guard who enters. Somehow, you’re aware before you ever see him—feet striking stone, the rhythm too measured to belong to anyone but the King himself. The soldiers snap to attention, unlocking the iron doors as if some invisible cord has jerked them forward. Meruem steps inside, his presence an anatomical insult to the squalor around him, and pauses to survey the collection of frightened, filthy humans.
The air in the room doesn’t just grow cold; it seems to vanish entirely. Conversation dies; the others retreat from the bars, each hoping to shrink into the cracked concrete walls. Not you. A shot of adrenaline surges up your spine, dread and anticipation coiling in your chest. He is pristine, his emerald and obsidian skin gleaming under the dying torchlight. His violet eyes scan the room with the clinical detachment of a god deciding which part of a hive to prune. His gaze passes over you, indifferent—for a second. Then it returns, lingering just a moment too long.
You stare right back. You know you shouldn’t.
He stops in front of you. You don’t look down. You can’t. His sheer magnetism holds you hostage. He reaches out, not with a hand, but with the tip of his tail. The stinger hovers inches from your throat.
“You do not cower like the rest,” he observes, his head tilting at an inquisitive angle. “Your heart rate is erratic, yet it lacks the rhythm of fear. Why?”
His voice is quiet, but it silences the whimpering of the other prisoners with unsettling ease.
You fumble for words, pulse stuttering. “I... can’t be sure, my King,” the words come out raspy from disuse. Your eyes drift—unwillingly—over the sculpted lines of his arms, the armour-like plates of his thighs, the unnatural beauty of him up close. It takes all your will not to flinch when he notices.
“A lie,” Meruem says, then he flicks his fingers towards the guards. “This one.”
He turns and walks out. You’re yanked upright, arms still bound, by two soldiers. The others look away. The silence feels like a sentence.
He leads you deep into the heart of the palace, through sprawling marble halls and the silent, watchful silhouettes of his Royal Guard. The soldiers deposit you in the throne room, untie your wrists and retreat, leaving you alone with him. When the door clicks shut behind them, the silence is absolute. You wait, cold sweat prickling your spine.
The throne room is cavernous. The air carries a faint tang—iron, dust, a sweetness that makes you think of flowers crushed underfoot. A Gungi board sits abandoned on a low table. Meruem somehow looks even more inhuman in the beams of moonlight slanting through the stained glass.
“Are you hiding something, human?” he asks, turning to face you. He doesn’t stay at a distance. He stops close enough that you can see the subtle striations on his cheekbones, the iridescence of the chitin that crests over his skull. His eyes are impossible—violet and bottomless, unblinking.
“No.” You can barely get the word out. He smells like the dark, like thunder right before it breaks.
He circles behind you. You sense rather than see his tail curl low, as if to remind you what he is. “Tell me what you are, then. Because I have yet to decide if you are valuable…or simply another animal to be culled.”
Your hands clench. “I—I don’t know if I can be of any value to someone like you, my King.”
“For days, I have felt your focus on me. It is a heavy, suffocating weight. Even now, you can’t stop. Why? What is the nature of this?”
Heat crawls up your neck, mortifying. “I’m not—”
A clawed hand finds your shoulder, turning you sharply. He looms before you, all sculpted muscle and alien precision. “Do not insult my intelligence.”
You try to twist away, but his grip is unyielding, forcing you to face him. The hard, jointed plates of his fingers bite into your skin. His other hand lifts, hovering at your jawline. You flinch.
“I am familiar with the odour of fear,” he notes, voice dissecting. “That isn’t what clings to you. This is... something else, something I can’t place.”
You stare. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
He tilts his head. “Perhaps. But first, I’d like to know what makes you so different.”
His hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around your throat. It isn’t a crush-grip, but a shelf of iron that pins you to the marble wall. His thumb presses firmly against your windpipe, just enough to make every breath a conscious struggle. “You are hiding a pulse that screams when I touch you. Speak. Or I will peel the truth from you.”
The pressure on your throat increases. Your hands fly up to his wrist, your fingers digging into the hard plates of his forearm. He feels like a statue come to life—dense and utterly immovable. His eyes search your face.
“I’m not hiding anything,” you manage to wheeze out, your eyes watering. You can’t hold out. The secret boils over, shameful and raw. “It’s you. I’m... attracted to you.”
Meruem stares, his brow furrowed, a rare expression of genuine confusion flickering across his features. He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. He’s smelling you, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the chemical cocktail of your arousal and your panic.
“You desire me.” It isn’t quite a question. His voice has dropped to a low, resonant hum. “You are inviting this contact.”
You nod, terrified. “Yes.”
He lets go of your throat, only to slam his palms against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you in the cage of his silhouette.
“Explain,” he commands.
“I…have a crush on you.” The words sound childish, pathetic, but they’re all you have. “I fantasise about what it would feel like. To touch you. To be touched.”
“This ‘crush’? It’s the word your species uses to mask its fragility?” he asks, his voice dripping with intellectual disdain. “A biological compulsion. To fixate on what you can never possess?”
You nod, your breath coming in jagged hitches. Meruem’s eyes bore into you, filled with a dark, hungry curiosity. He looks down at your body, then at his own—the lethal, segmented armour of a conqueror.
“Strange,” he says, almost to himself. “But not without merit.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and dare to speak again. “I know what you are. I don’t care.”
You wait for violence. Instead, he steps back half a pace, expression unreadable.
“Desire,” he repeats. “A human mechanism for advancement. If I can utilise this—if I can breed this intensity into my own kind, the world will belong to the Ants in a way even I had not envisioned. You will be the specimen.”
He doesn’t waste time with the delicacy of a human lover. He reaches for the hem of your tattered tunic and tears it down the centre. He watches your chest heave, his eyes tracking the way your skin pebbles with gooseflesh in the cold air. His tail slides up the inside of your calf, slow and testing. The marble wall is ice against your back. Meruem’s body, impossibly solid, pins you in place. He’s watching your every twitch with a terrifying persistence.
“Show me the mechanics of this desire,” he commands.
He moves his hand down. Your underwear is gone in one swift tug, leaving you bare against the marble. He studies you with consuming focus, taking in the shape and texture of your body, fascination warring with something sharper in his gaze.
Then, he adjusts his own stance. He isn’t smooth; he’s all ridges, lines, and sharp delineations between what’s insect and what’s flesh. He lowers his head, mouth brushing the curve of your jaw. His tongue is not quite human, flicking out to taste the salt on your skin. You flinch, startled, but he just huffs an amused sound. You expect him to be cold, but his skin radiates heat where it meets yours—alive and searing.
His hands roam your body with evaluative detachment at first: measuring your waist, feeling the arch of your ribs, mapping every shiver and catch in your breath. But as your pulse rises, as your hips move just a little in invitation, his grip tightens.
His tail coils up higher, snaking behind your knee and lifting your leg until you’re off-balance, your body entirely supported between him and the wall. The tip of his stinger traces the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You whimper, making him pause, his pupils narrowing. A thousand thoughts seem to flicker behind his eyes—curiosity, calculation, and a growing kind of fascination that borders on awe.
He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You are not afraid?”
You gulp. “I am...”
His smile is a flash of fang. “Good. You should be.”
You watch, breathless, as the segmented plates at the base of his abdomen—where the humanoid torso meets the heavy, insectoid pelvic structure—shift. With a sharp, clicking sound of chitin sliding against chitin, a hidden seam in his armour parts.
What emerges is as alien as the rest of him: a dark, velvet length that seems to pulse with its own internal heat, devoid of the imperfections of human flesh. It is smooth, veined with the same faint bands of green that stripe his tail, and crowned by a swollen head that gleams in the low light. The sight is shocking, otherworldly—a thing made for power and function, not pleasure. Yet as he strokes himself, his eyes fixed on your face, it’s clear he’s not immune to want.
He doesn’t wait for your permission. He hooks your lifted leg over his hip, his tail coiling around your waist instead and hauling you flush against him. The contrast is dizzying—the cold, hard marble behind you and the blistering, inhuman heat of him in front.
When he pushes inside, it isn’t a gradual entry. It is a singular, profound invasion. You cry out, your fingers clawing at the dark pigment on his shoulders, your back arching so hard it feels like your spine might snap. He is too thick, too solid, a physical presence that seems to fill every empty space within you. Your body strains to accommodate the relentless heat of him.
He begins to move, his pace a relentless, driving force. He isn’t swayed by the friction; he seems to thrive on it. His movements become more fluid as he learns the exact angle that makes your whimpers break into a sob.
Still, you don’t break. Your hands scrabble for purchase on his armour, nails scraping lines over chitin and skin alike. He lets you touch him, even guides your hand to the join where his plates part, where he is softest, most vulnerable.
“The sound you are making,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “It is a signal of distress. This is truly what you want?”
“Yes,” you gasp, your head thumping back against the wall. “You’re just—so big—please—be—careful.”
“I am the King,” he growls, his tail tightening its grip on your waist, pulling you so hard against his moving hips that you feel the impact in your teeth. “I do not grant ‘please.’ I take. And right now, I am taking the very essence of your species’ will.”
He increases the violence of the rhythm. It isn’t just sex; it is a demonstration of biological superiority. His skin feels like polished stone sliding against you. He watches your face the entire time, his pupils dilating until they are twin voids of violet-black, drinking in the sight of your undoing.
Your cries echo off the stone, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding. His tail tightens around your waist, supporting your weight entirely, freeing his hands to explore your body. When his thumb finds the small, sensitive knot of nerves at your centre, he lingers on the sharp intake of your breath, then applies pressure with incomprehensible accuracy.
The world shatters. You don’t just climax; you come apart. Your vision goes white, your voice dying in your throat as your body enters a state of pure, rhythmic convulsion.
Meruem feels the shift. He lets out a guttural sound; a noise that isn’t quite human or ant, but something entirely his own. He drives into you one last time, his entire frame locking into a rigid, trembling line of power. You feel the surge of him—heavy and hot—filling you with a finality that feels like a brand.
When it’s over, he keeps you pinned. His tail still holds you aloft; if anything, it seems even more possessive now that the storm has passed. He stays there for a long time, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in slow, heavy puffs that feel like steam.
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. He looks... different. Not soft, but focused in a way that has nothing to do with conquest.
“This desire is a powerful toxin,” he says, his voice returning to its haughty, kingly tone, though there is a new edge to it. He reaches up, his finger tracing the line of your lower lip. “You are no longer a prisoner of the cell. You are a prisoner of this room. I have much more to extract from you before the human race is truly understood.”
You try not to smile, you feel ruined and breathless. “I understand, my King.”
He steps back, and the chitinous plates click back into place with a definitive, metallic sound, leaving you sliding down the marble wall, gasping for air in the sudden silence of his reign.
You’re not sure what you are now—victim, offering, experiment, or something perilously close to being cherished.
"— For the first time in a long time, two unpredictable opponents have clashed in the Heavenly Tower arena: the God of Death and the Queen of Gambling! Everything is on the line, and only the universe knows how their battle will end..."
Finally, it's only been a year!
A battle like that, with all its chthonic inevitability, really gets the tension going, doesn't it?)
/To be honest, mimicking a manga style is no easy task, but still, the result turned out pretty damn good! Decent enough~
+1 drawing to the "long-suffering works" collection 🥰
same warnings as pt 1 apply, frequent mentions of kite
pt. 1 here
the battle against the chimera ants had been grueling. the fear that you may not return home or escape the barren wasteland the ants had created plagued your mind like no other encounter ever had before. that is, besides your little rendezvous with morel mackernassey.
it had been weeks, maybe even a month or so, you weren't really keeping track now. you found it too grueling to count the days since you had lost kite, the love of your life. and yet, here you were, so close to the thing that had done that to him, and all you could think about in this moment was, will i ever see morel again?
that damn sailor. he was ruining you. this was supposed to be the moment you avenged your lover. but in this moment you could only think about him. you wondered where he was, surely the time wasn't right, but was it ever right in these sort of circumstances? being a hunter called for drastic and risky measures.
and in this moment, the fear of never getting more time with morel overcame every other sense in your body, so you abandoned your post. you set out to look for morel. something about these life or death circumstances did it for you. you needed him, and you needed him now.
as you wandered around the castle grounds, you knew that there was every possibility he could be involved in a fight, or even refuse your advances in the current circumstances, but none of that mattered. your body ached and yearned for him, until finally... you found him.
sex in the woods certainly wasn't the most romantic thing. nor was it something you thought you'd ever do again after losing kite. the lack of comfortable places to rest on was always frustrating, and the fear that a chimera ant could be lurking in the shadows lay heavy on your mind, but despite this, morel had you bent over, holding you up with your arms pinned behind your back, pounding into you.
୨୧⸝⸝˙˳⑅˙⋆꒰ 𖹭 ꒱⋆˙⑅˙˳⸜⸜୨୧
the thought of the ants, and anything or anyone else for that matter, disappeared as morel's thick cock plunged into you. the sound of the ongoing war drowned out by your heavy breathing and moans.
"just like that, darling." morel growled freeing your arms, and now gripping your hips to thrust himself deeper and more violently into your slick, tight cunt. "you like this don't you?" he bent over, whispering into your ear, freeing a hand to pull your hair away from your face. "you're so pretty when youre squirming around me..." he pulled out, a soft 'pop!' could be heard. he grabbed you and turned you to face him, all of his movements fast, and intentional. he was primal in his urges now.
"lift that leg up for me now darling," he demanded gruffly, gently aiding your leg to rest upon his shoulder as he held you flush against his body. reaching down, he gripped his hard cock, slowly teasing its way back into your heat. "atta girl..."
you could feel yourself stretching around him, causing a gutteral moan to escape your lips as your arm gripped him as tightly as it could, nails digging into his skin, until finally his pelvis was flush with yours, he was all the way inside now, and it felt amazing. "morel.." you whined, feeling as the base of his cock stretched you to your very limits.
"I'm nowhere near done with you yet." he whispered, beginning to thrust into you at a rate in which you couldnt even keep up with, you were being fucked stupid, unable to process what was happening around you or to you. all you could hear were the moans escaping your lips, unable to even understand that it was you they were coming from.
"shhhshh shhh.. wouldn't want anyone coming to investigate now would we?" his right arm traveled down to the small of your back, supporting you as his free hand moved to the tie still around his neck, which he loosened and stuffed into your mouth, a temporary gag in the circumstances he was faced with. he then used both arms to pick you up, cock twitching inside of you, and fucked you silly as he stood there, in the woods pants around his ankles, the tiny tings and jingles from the metal of his unbuckled belt just barely audible between the squelching and muffled sounds of pleasure coming from you.
"mmh..." he inhaled sharply, feeling as your walls clamped down around him, your legs fighting to squeeze together around him, your climax incoming despite you having fought it off for so long. "just a little longer hun," he kissed the top of your forehead and continued to plunge into you, despite reassuring you it would be only a -little longer- it felt as though it had gone on for hours. you could feel your pussy swelling from the intense beating it was receiving, but despite that, you held out for longer, until finally you could feel him throbbing inside of you. "thats it... im almost there..." morel barked, and the two of you finally felt that release that had been pent up for so long come to a head, as his thick cum filled your insides, warming your core.
you wrapped your arms and legs around morel, trying to catch your breath. "don't think im done with you just yet..." he cooed, a thumb stroking your cheek, and his stupid smirk that you hadn't been able to get off your mind re appearing on his face.
