part two of monster fucker may: patch (demon m!oc) x f!reader (original work)
after your awakening, patch infiltrates your life as your knight, resulting in both a tragedy but also in everything you had ever wanted —
themes: yandere oc, so he’s written in that sort of way iykyk; oral (receiving), possessive behaviour, touching, angsty smut — note: based as a continuation of this piece which i recommend reading first! • w.c: ~2k • read on ao3
It had only been a short while ago that you had learned of the generational curse that haunted your bloodline, which uncovered something so romantic and yet so tragic, leaving you lost, honestly, over what to feel. Since the discovery, your mind had been a mess of nerves and agitation. You did not understand the true reason behind why you must be subjected to such cruelty, for soulmates, in your mind, were born of purity, and not tragedy.
Even that night, just a week ago, when you had joined him in the depths of the dungeon, had awoken something darker that was once dormant. Maybe it was something better sinister than beautiful; Patch did admit to being a monster, after all, didn’t he? So, whether or not he did suit up in shining armour, did not hide away those inky black eyes, nor the way in which he looked at you.
Perhaps, everyone who remembered, even if only briefly, had a right to be afraid.
And you, realistically, should have been terrified.
Even your own two loyal swords, that had been at your side since you were just a young girl, immediately despised him openly. Patch may have forged some trickery in convincing the king—your father—of his intentions as a knight, but those closer around you, sensed what was off, and where it was all coming from.
Not that it affected Patch and his plan of reconnecting with you at all. Lifetime, after lifetime again, he had a singular-minded focus born out of obsession and love, to reconnect with his princess for as long as time allowed it. If you accepted him even in your fifth reincarnation, then he would treasure what little time he could spare with you.
For he was a man left obsessed, addicted to the woman who cursed him to an eternity of yearning and need, which would never fully be fulfilled.
For the time that it mattered, at least, Patch had no such issue in standing in line with your other two knights—as reluctant as they might have been. The job was the same: to protect the sweetheart of the castle. It was just that Patch, much to their irritation, lingered in your shadow in a way that was far more invasive than necessary, but upon finding out that you were to be married off to a suitor, something deeper and uglier manifested within him.
In such cases, he would not be separated from you as he, along with the other two, was bound to you as per the call of the king. Knights would often stick by their princess, turned queen, for the rest of her life, but even so, the development in that of itself, caused fear to spike in him, for he was unable to surrender his heart to someone else, who was likely just a political choice of a candidate. Maybe a son belonging to an alliance the crown sided with. Rarely, did it happen that real romance bloomed between a prince and a princess. Though, even if it were normal, he still did not like it. The envy that surged through him upon hearing the news troubled him so deeply that he had to keep the rest of himself contained in the armour he wore, lest he spill the contents of his true form and be found out too quickly, too soon.
As you made the effort of at least looking nice, Patch reached for you before the others could. He pulled you away with insistence, his hold on your arm bruising, almost, as he tugged you through the hidden corridors of the grounds, past the walls designed to imprison, far away from the throne room and just outside. Away from the cobbled walls that kept you trapped inside, and off to a hidden garden, concealed by a veiling willow and tall, flowery grass.
He told you with a gentler voice, at its reveal, that he once had planted this just for you.
Only to be met with a playful response from your disbelieving lips, your eyes widening at a response so certain and bold. “Oh really?” you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.
He met your scepticism with a questioning tilt of his head, his bulky armour creaking with the motion, although, you could have sworn that beneath it, you could hear faint bells jingle. “Yes, my princess,” he replied, his voice fervent and worshipful. “I fell in love with you at first as your laughter, yes, but once upon another lifetime ago, I was also the man who left wildflower bouquets for you in the mornings. Now a knight in this life,” he added, granting you a courtesy bow, “and who knows where else, such devotion will take me next?”
His armour started to detach from him in a way that did not seem real, popping off from his frame like buttons bursting from pressure. Beneath it all, was indeed a man, but with the cadence of the monster he truly was beneath it all. A broken doll with marred porcelain skin, a painted face barely concealed with sharp eyes far too knowing for any mortal being.
Then, he stepped forward, his hand outstretched once more as he pulled you off to the garden as soon as he had you—past the swaying branches of the tree—into the heart of it below, seating you over the base of the trunk, the roots catching on your clothes.
Then, with a pointed look, he was ready to confess once more—
“I believe that the king wishes to save you again, even if it is purely subconsciously,” he revealed, bitterness strong in his tone. He knelt before you, showing real pain in the depths of his inky eyes. “To take you from me once more, handing you off to a man unworthy of you,” he grudgingly revealed.
You gulped but nodded. It was bound to be eventually. You did not seem surprised and that briefly bothered him, but he suppressed the true extent of his anger with the faintest tears, hoping to win you over once more.
“I have no desire to let you go, even if our time must be brief and decided by the cruel measure of fate,” he continued. “Always, I promise, my princess—I’ll keep you as mine. I’ll have you as mine.”
Perhaps at this point, you should have been afraid, but the love he spoke of was real and you were confused: for whatever it was that you felt in the dungeon gripped you thoroughly and spread through you like a fever—
“Of course, patch,” you replied, seeing the broken mess of a man turned monster before you, even if he did keep that side concealed. “Fate might be cruel, but it brought me back to you, didn’t it? No matter what happens, we’ll meet again and again and… again.”
Patch smiled at that, letting slip of his demonic demeanour. A genuine spread over his lips—hinting at pure joy—though tainted with monstrous pride that refused to settle. Something hungrier emerged, simmering beneath the facade he let on, and yet when he touched you, it was done so with reverence.
His fingertips grazed along your shoulder, across your throat, and then settled right beneath your chin, encouraging you to keep your focus on him.
“Of course we will,” he whispered, leaning closer to press a kiss on your mouth and then your neck, hovering above you as you kept sitting on the soft mossy floor. “I’ll make sure that we do.”
The rough bark of which you were sitting bit into your spine as he slowly kissed his way down, his intentions becoming clearer by the second, going as far as to push up the hem of your heavy skirt with both hands, bunching the fabric upward to reveal the bare expanse of your lower half. You helped him slightly, lifting your hips as you did so.
His fingers twitched with anticipation, tracing the soft swell of your hips before lowering his face, bringing his lips as close to you as possible. His digits found your folds, all slick and swollen, hidden behind damp curls as he explored you gently. Slowly, almost agonisingly so, he slipped his touch inside, coming to run lazy circles around your clit with his fingertips, hoping to spark desire from within you.
“Goodness,” he rasped, his voice all thick and strained with want. “How I have missed this—or worse yet—how on earth have I survived so long without you?”
“It hasn’t been that much,” you reminded him, your fingers curling over the soft moss and clovers beneath it, your nails briefly catching on the dirt. “Only a few days ago at most.”
Patch did not answer right away, moving to sink even further within. His face disappeared between your thighs until all you could see was his chestnut locks and feel a sudden, wet heat connecting with your sensitive skin. Your back arched on instinct, silently praising him from the way your body responded. His tongue lapped tentatively at first before surrendering to a light, teasing pressure, sending wave upon wave of pleasure that coiled from within your gut. Breathless gasps left your lips as he drank from you almost greedily, his nose half-buried in your scent. He did not seem so shy about expressing his need for you either, with grunts of appreciation sounding through the garden.
Upon finally pulling back, he was flushed, with a glistening smear marking his chin.
Finally, he had an answer for you, but by now, you had almost forgotten what you even asked.
“All that I wish for in this life or the next,” he began, breathlessly, his lips drooping to form a lazy grin, “is to be with you in every possible way a man could ever be with a woman. romantically, intimately, in the day and in the night.”
He dove back in right after, his tongue seeking out your clit once more, although by now, he seemed relentless. His tongue stroked over your nub with heavy licks, eager to hear you come undone and for your composure to falter. It was surely close by now; the delicious friction sending waves of tingling heat through your core, your hips grinding on instinct, encouraging him to push even further. Your knuckles were half-buried into the earth, too, tearing out clumps of dirt and roots as you fought for stability.
“Yes—yes, yes—“ he muttered in rising approval, proud of provoking the noises that he had been hearing from you. “You taste so sweet,” he praised between ragged breaths, “so sweet.”
Indeed, your sounds almost fueled him, encouraging him to dive back in as soon as he dared to give you pause; his hot breath was almost searing hot as it huffed along your inner thighs.
“Patch—“ you started, your closure imminent.
He caught you, his hand clamping around your leg, holding you steady. “Almost,” he promised, his words muffled by your flesh. “I must do this right—“
You tried to reply just then, but he no longer waited for a response, plunging back into your flesh with a renewed, almost feral hunger. His mouth worked along your slickened bud with a force that just about made your vision swim, and honestly, you found it almost too much to bear! Both the pressure and the hotness were close to breaking you, making your limbs feel all weak, your body heavy, and your heart a mess.
Arching again off the bark, your head tilted back, a moan or something desperate tearing from your throat.
Almost.
Almost—
Patch responded perfectly; now determined to see you finish, sucking on your clit like a man starved. Any words of lingering hint or warning had died in your throat as you allowed yourself to surrender to just pure sensation.
Your orgasm bloomed quickly as it happened—a sweeping feverish tingle that radiated over your body, stealing your breath away. Your legs quivered as it happened, tightening and then releasing as you collapsed against the now flattened foliage, shuddering under the weight of your own release.
Patch slumped against you, sounding just as breathless, his cheeks overcome with bruised, glistening scarlet. His eyes, in contrast, no longer looked as monstrous, revealing the hint of the man he was once, whose only crime had ever been was falling in love.
But, just as quickly, the sounds of your search started to breach the containment of the castle walls, reminding you both that you were technically speaking, needed elsewhere. Inside.
He commanded his armour back onto his form, as unnaturally as before, making the effort in helping you regain your composure, going as far as to smooth your dress and brush the dirt from your palms.
“Shouldn’t keep them waiting,” he regrettably murmured, gesturing for you to follow. “There are only so many times that they will not suspect me, especially if I am found with you,” he added, still breathless from the pleasure he gave you. “But I wish for there to be many more times, if I can help it. So we must return, at least for now.”
You, too, were breathless, but resigned to a nod:
Excited, yes, but also terrified, over just how long—or how little—this would last.
