very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏
Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.
You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.
That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.
When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.
The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.
As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.
Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.
That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.
Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.
“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.
You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.
The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.
“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.
Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.
And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.
Demon Boyfriend who’s convinced that he must be forgiven, because he has you sprawled out under him.
Every inch of you is Heaven. Forgiveness. Holiness. Absolution.
Sliding into your sopping wet pussy, drawing out a heavenly moan from your holy lips, only convinces him that he’s right. You are proof that sins, any sins, can be forgiven. Otherwise, Father would never give him as something as perfect as you.
Long, dark claws dig into the soft fat of your fleshy hips as he drags his cock along your velvet walls. Those perfect eyes filling with tears that make his chest tight.
“I love you. I love you,” you hiccup out in that sinless, broken voice. Tears sliding freely down your cheeks now as the confession makes his hips jerk against your cervix.
“I love you too, baby. Fuck,” he grunts, sweat beading along his forehead as his hips shudder against yours.
When he spills inside of you, that’s the nail in the coffin of his conviction. He was allowed to fill you. Father must have forgiven you, and your body, your acceptance, is proof that his sins have been absolved.
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.
(spoiler alert, this has become a series ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
“I know you’re awake.” The voice is 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.” His voice is 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 do have questions.”
A chuckle rumbles through his chest, low and dark. His hand strokes up your thigh, lazy and possessive.
“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, eyes flickering 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 pointed ear. You stop suddenly, blinking at him. “Wait. You never told me your name.”
He hums, eyes gleaming with mischief, hand snaking 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. 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, 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. “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 new 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, chuckling and drawing 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, it's a very desirable trait.” 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."
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, and 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.
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 smell 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, easing you back, 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, 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 gorans. “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.
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, 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, 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 one horn. Heat surges through your belly at the feel of it—warm, ridged, real.
“Ohhh, yes,” he groans, pupils blowing wide.
Without thinking you tug, 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, mouth pressed to your ear, breath hot as his words drip down your spine.
“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 fat 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. 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.
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, 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.”
Hi! I’m a big fan of your work and your writing style.
If you’re still open to prompts(no worries if not):
Perhaps an incubus who falls in love with it’s mark, and struggling to remain composed or ‘professional’ due to their feels?
Please and thank you ❤️
(Omg I love this idea. Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like what I did with it! I'm so sorry this took so long to complete. I wanted to try and do something different with this one to experiment a bit more. Any advice or critique is welcome 😁 I do want to make a part 2 for this eventually, but I honestly have no idea when I'll actually be able to write it. Until then, any ideas for the 2nd part (or a name for him) are more than welcome! Without further adieu, please enjoy the show! - 🍓)
Incubus x Fem!Reader
After starting work at a new office, you've been trying to ignore your incubus coworker and his countless attempts to invite you into the supply closet, or his home after work hours. It's not until he admits that he doesn't just want a one-night stand that you might give him a chance...
Contains: tentacles, sexual tension, bondage (tentacles), gagging, grinding
This wasn't supposed to happen. It never took him more than a few days to convince someone to go home with him. Usually, he was able to do it in a matter of hours, and they ended up bent over his desk. Why were you so difficult? You were just a human. The most beautiful human he had ever seen walk into the office, but just a human either way.
Then why did you turn him down everytime he even walked up to you? Sure he had a rep, but it was a good one. A lot of the other girls at the office considered him good for stress relief, so why wouldn't you let him show you that? Or more importantly, why did he care so much that you kept rejecting him? He couldn't wrap his head around it. He had been rejected in the past and was never all that affected by it. But why did your rejections hurt so badly?
He couldn't feed on anyone else until he had you. The thought of feeding on anyone but you made him feel nauseous. Everyone else smelled terrible in comparison. He even almost gagged once when he was in a morning meeting, and you had called in sick.
You were like a breath of fresh air, and your kindness towards everyone in the office since you arrived made him annoyed. Some of the other monsters in the office were starting to flirt with you after you had rejected him the first time. It made him so angry that you were torturing him like this.
He was done with the casual approach at this point. He couldn't stand having people look at you like he did. He wanted you all to himself, at least for one night. He isn't supposed to get attached to his marks, but he couldn't help it. You had ruined him by simply existing. Everyone he looked at that could be a potential mark were nothing compared to you. They didn't have your body, your voice, your eyes, your smile, or your scent. He just wanted to drown himself in you just once to purge his urges at least, but you wouldn't let him do that.
But today was different. He had a plan. Your team had a short meeting that morning, and he had pretended to leave first, instead waiting outside the door until everyone else had left. He noticed you always stayed back for a few moments to yourself for whatever reason, often just cleaning, but this time, you were going to be staying back for another reason.
All of a sudden, he heard giggling from inside. Your giggling. It was followed by a masculine laugh and the disgusting scent of werewolf flooding his senses. He growled and peered through the crack in the door to see you smiling and giggling with a werewolf that sat next to you during the meeting. His claws dug into the doorframe as he tried to listen in while looking at you through the crack in the door.
"Oh, you're too funny." you said with a sigh, wiping a tear from your eye as you stared up at the handsome young werewolf.
"Why, thank you (Y/n). I take pride in my sense of humor." he said with a cocky smile, leaning into your space as he spoke.
"You should. I always laugh when we talk." You said softly with a sweet smile, seemingly leaning towards him as well.
"Well, how about I get you to laugh later tonight? Why don't we grab drinks after work tonight? There's a bar near my place..." he proposes to you with a smile, his fangs bared.
The door suddenly swung open before you could even contemplate an answer.
"There's a bright yellow sport car in front of the building getting towed. You better go get it, dog." The incubus growled through grit teeth, glaring into the werewolf's eyes.
"Son of a bitch... I'm so sorry, I gotta go. Think about what I said. I'll be expecting your answer after lunch." Ths werewolf softly purred to you before quickly walking outside the room. The incubus wasted no time and swung the door closed, letting it slam.
"What was that about? Coming to try snd get in my pants again?" You spat before rolling your eyes and starting to organize your papers. Gods, you were such a feisty human sometimes. He loved that about you.
"Technically yes." He chuckled, the rumble in his chest more appealing than you'd care to admit. "I didn't want anyone else around."
"I know you won't do anything unless I give my consent." You said bluntly as you tapped your papers together and tucked things away. You knew incubus couldn't do anything without some kind of genuine verbal permission.
"What? Oh fuck no. Nothing like that... Jesus christ, who do you take me for?" He sounded offended as one of his hands came up over his heart.
"A horny incubus that won't leave me alone." You groaned as you turned towards him, going to walk around him. Suddenly, his arm shoots out, blocking your path as he plants his hand on the wall. His claws were peaking out and leaving marks on the wall.
"You don't understand." He growls, a bit harsher than intended before he inhales deeply, trying to calm down as he runs a hand through his hair between his horns. "Once I have my target set on a mark, I can't change it unless they reject me."
"Then why do you keep coming back? I've rejected you so many times... Don't you have plenty of other girls that would be more than willing to give you a snack?" You pointed out how many women were always hanging all over him. It made you sick. Of course you wanted to fuck the hot incubus in the office, but you know yourself. You don't like to share. You like having a partner that's yours and yours alone.
"No. I've never encountered anyone that makes me feel like this..." He leans in towards your face and softly sniffs the air. "You smell so good... I can't think of feeding on anyone else right now... I think I just need a taste... just one night..." His voice is dripping in a pleading tone, bartering, but practically begging for you.
"I can't do that." You said bluntly as you avoided eye contact with him. The heat pooling in your panties didn't help your faltering moral defenses. You knew better. You had to stay firm. Firm like the bulge forming in his dress pants...
"Please?" His deep desperate voice broke you out of your daze as you softly gasped, trying to pretend to be offended instead of turned on as your face turns red and you glare into his eyes.
"N-no! I'm not interested in having a one night stand with you!" You barked, your chest heaving as you stared up at him. Your heart raced as you took in his appearance unintentionally. He was tall and slender, with sharp features. his typically carefully slicked back hair was a bit disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration. His horns were short and blunt usually, but you could see them growing by the moment. In fact, it seemed like his entire frame was growing.
"Oh." He purred. "I get it now." A wicked grin spread cross his face as you tried your best to maintain an annoyed expression. "You haven't been rejecting me because you don't want to sleep with me."
"What?" You jaw slacked open as you looked up at him in shock. "Why else would I be rejecting you?"
"You've been rejecting me because you want me so bad you know you'll want more." He chuckled, his other arm suddenly swinging around to cage you against the wall. "I can tell by how wet you were right now."
"That could have been from anyone else today." You scoffed, but you knew you couldn't pretend you weren't also starting to get desperate. Yiu also couldn't pretend that in an office full of monsters, most of them could probably smell your arousal whenever you had walked into a room.
"I'm an incubus, baby. A demon of pleasure. I can smell it in your blood how turn on you get from being around me." He chuckled with a grin. Fuck. He was onto you. "And it started shortly after I walked in the room..." Double fuck.
"Fuck you." You hissed through grit teeth, your blood pumping as you thought about how many times he must have known you were turned on by his presence.
"Oh babygirl, don't be so hostile. If you wanted more than just one night with me, we could easily arrange that." He starts to lean in close to your face, but you put a hand on his chest and push him back. You couldn't have him in your space like this for long or to hell with your morals.
"Look, I don't sleep with guys unless I'm dating them. I don't do friends with benefits or random office hookups." You finally admitted with a sigh, avoiding eye contact in embarrassment. Your hand on his chest alone was driving him wild. You had never touched him before. He felt his horns getting bigger as he struggled to keep his mostly human form intact.
"Wait, what? Why not?" He said as he finally processed what you said. It was hard to pay attention when you kept touching him.
"Because I know I get attached easily." You admit shyly, your voice nearly whisper quiet as you pulled your hand away. You had his full attention now. "Think about it. You're an incubus that needs to feed on pleasure to survive. You have a good routine going here with everyone else in the office from what I've heard." You let out a shakey sigh as you felt tears start to well in your eyes. "If I'm added into the mix, I know I'm just going to end up hurt... because it already hurts..."
"Wait a minute, what do you mean it hurts?" His voice has changed from frustration to worry mixed with confusion. He didn't understand what was hurting you.
"Excuse me?" You question, a bit confused by his confusion.
"What hurts you right now?" He asks, a bit more clearly as he stares into your eyes and gently cups your face. His touch makes you stiffen, although all you want to do is melt into his hand. As if he has some kind of truth spell on you, you take a breath and let out a soft sigh.
"Y...you do... you hurt me... I see how you talk to the other females in the office... it hurts... ever since I walked into this office I've found you attractive... I've only been here for a few weeks, and I've honestly already been looking to transfer to a different department so I don't have to be around you all the time." You admit softly, averting your gaze before his hand suddenly grabs your face by squishing your soft cheeks.
"What?! Hell no!" He barked with a growl. The thought of you transferring away from him made him enraged. He couldn't let that happen.
"Excuth me?" You mumbled through your squished lips, his grip firm, so you couldn't move, but not harsh.
"You heard me. Hell no." His grip on your face loosens as both his hands move up to hold the side of your head. The look in his eyes is wild, his pupils huge as he doesn't even seem to blink. "You've ruined me, so you don't get to run away from me like that."
"W-what?" You stutter confused, staring back at him as you tried to process his words. What does he mean you ruined him?
"If all you wanted from the beginning was to have me all to yourself, you should have said something." He mutters as his thumbs slowly rub your cheeks. His gentle touch makes you let out an involuntary sigh. "You've made me want no one but you since you got here anyways... your rejections were like being stabbed in the heart... God, without you around, everyone else smells like hot garbage... you smell like fresh summer rain that I wanna drown in forever..." He whispers to you as he moves his hands down your neck and to your shoulders before dropping down your back slowly.
"You really feel like that?" You whisper softly as a shiver goes down your spine. His hands find your hips and hold you firmly in place as he presses his chest against yours. Your arms and papers squish between the two of you as his hot breath bathed your face.
"Yes. I mean every word... if you want to try and date me, I'd be more than happy to only feed from you." He slowly leans down and presses his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply as you can feel his hardening bulge against your lower stomach. "I just don't know how much longer I can wait for you... being this close is torture... I can take you on a proper date tonight, but..." His breathing seems to get heavier as you start to hear the ripping of fabric from behind him. "I need you." His eyes were filled with need at he looked like he was about to start drooling over the most deliciousmeal he's ever had. He was starving and desperate to just feel you. "Please."
"I need you too." You finally whispered, breathless yourself as this was finally too much. You hoped he was telling the truth, but your horny brain didn't even care anymore. You needed him just as badly in that moment.
"Fuck, you have no idea how much I've needed to hear you say that." He lets out a relieved sigh and chuckles before a dark black tentacle comes out from the darkness and grabs your papers, throwing them onto the table. He wastes no time in pinning you to the wall, his wings bursting out from his back and ripping open the back of his suit. "Shit." He grumbles, quickly just tearing off the rest of the fabric on his upper body as he pulls up your skirt, making you wrap your legs around him as he grinds his bulge against your panties to tease you. You're about to let out a moan as he takes your soft lips in a deep kiss. You instead moan against his lips as your hands find his hair, gently tugging as he moans in return.
He's barely even done anything yet, and he feels like he just had a full meal. Your pleasure was so easy to stir and the buzz it gave him was addicting. This was dangerous. He didn't think you'd actually be so tasty. But you were now quickly becoming his new favorite meal. More tentacles manifested out of the darkness, wrapping around your arms and legs slowly as they explored your body and held you in place. The tentacles were warm and wet against your skin, almost feeling like strange tongues. You feel them pin your arms behind your back, your chest now pushed out as he rips the front of your blouse open. You gasp and squirm a bit about to complain about your shirt being ripped before he quickly silences you with a quick kiss.
"I can get you a new shirt, baby. Just relax and enjoy this." He purrs softly, making you shiver before his lips are back on yours again. He slides his tongue into your mouth and seems to be trying to taste as much of you as he possibly can. Two tentacles slide into your bra and wrap around your breasts, fondling them as they flicked your nipples. He quickly unbuckles his pants and pulls out his throbbing cock from his boxers, rubbing his length between your slick folds. He groans against your lips softly before pulling away to rest his forehead against yours.
Your brain is fuzzy as you look up at him, your eyes drunk with lust and he could swear you had hearts in your eyes. Your eyes flicked downwards and widened as he chuckled. He was bigger than you expected, but you weren't going to shy away from a challenge. However, before you could tell him to go ahead and fuck you, you felt a warm, slick tentacle move your panties to the side before prodding your dripping wet hole and slowly sliding into you. It was thick, stretching you slightly as it wriggled inside you against your most sensitive bumps inside you.
"I can tell you're a needy one... a secret kinky side... I like that." He groans as he bucks his hips against yours, rubbing his cock against your bundle of nerves. Your back arched as you couldn't help but let out lewd moans, another tentacle swiftly sliding into your mouth. "You're really enjoying this. I can't believe you resisted this for so long." He chuckles with a wicked grin. You moan around the tentacle in your mouth as you squirm, your eyes fluttering as the tendril in your pussy plays with your sensitive walls. Your face flushes as you felt yourself starting to get close already.
"Fuck baby... if you taste this good just to play with, I need to know how good you taste when you cum." He pants softly as you notice drool from the corners of his mouth dripping down onto your chest. His eyes are wild with lust as they dart over your body laid out just for him. His cock continues to thrust roughly against your clit, picking up the pace along with the two tentacles inside you. You don't know how much more you can take.
"Cum for me baby." He commands, making you shiver as you suddenly come undone. Your pussy contracts around the tentacle as you gag on the lne in your mouth. Your entire body trembles as you're fucked through your orgasm, the tentacles only pulling away slowly for a moment after you're done cumming. You're panting and gasping for air as the black tendril slides put of your mouth, your pussy red and puffy as the other slides out as well.
You're left whining softly as your pussy clenches around nothing and you try to catch your breath. You want to tell him you wanted more. That you wanted his cock. You needed it. Drool drips down your chin as he leans in to lick it away, pulling his dick away as the black tendrils move you to the large table. He begins licking the sweat from your body, leaving you wet and needy.
Once he finally moves to 'clean' between your legs, you're groaning and moaning softly with need. He licks up your thighs, stopping before touching your pussy. Your squirming in the grip of the tentacles still, bucking your hips as you pray for him to touch you. You're left whimpering and shaking with desire as he fixes your messy panties and pulls your skirt back into place.
"You really are needy." He growls as his eyes finally start to settle from their crazed daze. The tentacles slowly release you and he uses the shreads of his shirt snd jacket to ensure you're cleaned up. "But I can't get too carried away... not yet."
"I wish you could have." You whisper with a cheeky smile as he begins to clean your face of any spit or tears left behind. He chuckles lowly as he holds your face with one of his clawed hands. His eyes still held a burning desire for you, and you knew he saw the same in yours.
"You'll find out tonight. You took the bus today, right?" He asks as he manifested two of his shirts, opening one of them up and sliding it on your arms before beginning to button it up. You notice his more demon-like features starting to slowly go away, showing that he's much calmer now as he takes on his human appearance again.
"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow, wondering why he was asking. It wasn't uncommon for you to just take the bus when you didn't feel like driving in the morning. He quickly finished buttoning the shirt he put on you before putting on a shirt himself now that he won't rip it with his wings.
"Good. You're coming home with me after work." He said with a smirk as he buttoned up his shirt. You whined softly and bit your lip as he now covered himself. He helped you off the table, but held your hips as you stood in front of him now.
"I want you to save that energy for our date tonight."
"Oh really?" You giggle as you run your hand along his chest, undoing the top bottun to let a bit kore of his chest show. "You better finish what you started then." You feel him practically purr as he stares down at you with a mischievous grin.
Human moving down to hell with their demon partner in preparation for the demon going into heat?
Feel free to go silly if you wish lol.
(sorry for how long this took <3)
Archdemon bf x male!reader
Now, when your demon boyfriend told you that his heat was starting soon, you didn't really know what to expect. Honestly, you were kind of distracted with the idea of your boyfriend being a hot mess that you mindlessly agreed to so many different things without even thinking. Looking back at it, you couldn't remember much of what you agreed to other than... the biggest one.
That being that you suddenly found yourself in Hell. You half expected the fire to burn but for some reason, it ignored you as equally as it ignored your boyfriend. The demon whose lap you were currently using as a seat. Or more accurately, he preferred it when you sat on his lap. His red-skinned hand around your waist, keeping you steady while a triangular-tipped tail caressed past your back.
"All done now, cutie." You didn't realize just how much work your boyfriend had been ignoring in Hell by spending time with you. Though before your thoughts could go any further, the demon lifted you up with ease. Considering he was far taller and bigger than you, it went without a surprise that you weighed akin to a feather to him. Before long, he laid you out across a stone slab. "When does your heat begin?" You couldn't help but ask but a devilish smile was returned. "It already has."
You looked down, past the crimson toned physique of the infernal beast before you, your eyes landing on the loin cloth that was struggling to hide two scarlet cocks. Both heads peeking out, pre-cum dripping for their tips in excitement for the feast before them. Just the image alone of your boyfriend waiting to ravish you was enough to send a jolt through your own cock, that was equally tenting through your boxers.
That was the thing about an Infernal Heat. A demon could ignore it until lust was all that blinded them and from the smile your boyfriend was giving you - he couldn't contain it any longer.
Gerald Brom. From his illustrated Folk Horror novel 'Slewfoot.'
Connecticut, 1666: An ancient spirit awakens in a dark wood. The wildfolk call him Father, slayer, protector. The colonists call him Slewfoot, demon, devil. To Abitha, a recently widowed outcast, alone and vulnerable in her pious village, he is the only one she can turn to for help.....
Always a pleasure finding a Folk Horror story that isn't practically Christian propaganda. 'Slewfoot' is quite the opposite. Being the bastard lovechild of 'Beauty & the Beast' and 'The Witch.'
This book's definitely for the monster fuckers. Not that there's an explicit love story, but the friendship between the heroine and her Satanic forest god encourages one to write some truly depraved fan fiction.....
Now I can't stop thinking about a demon boyfriend who possesses his human gf but it's only because she's mentally ill and/or disabled and cannot take care of herself well, so he just takes care of her himself and takes all the stress away from her so she has one less thing to worry about 🥺
